heyahe

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DECEMBER

on a bright thursday morning amidst the first of holiday jingles and passing cars outside of manhattan city hall, you and jungkook get married. he pays the thirty five dollars fee to obtain a marriage license and you pay the twenty dollars to hold the civil ceremony, with his coach serving as the witness. jungkook’s other teammate, chris, is present to take pictures. the whole thing goes by quickly and as celebration, you end up outside a food truck serving lamb over rice.

jungkook sits beside you on a bench in a plain white button down and dark slacks - casual, but tailored perfectly to every curve of his body. he shovels an impressive spoonful of tomatoes, lettuce and meat into his mouth. somehow, your new husband is not shivering from the light snowfall gently cascading down on new york city, with just a leather jacket on his shoulders.

“chris just sent me the pictures - look at how cute we look,” he chuckles, swiping through his phone.

your attire is no better, but at least you have your winter puffer on. otherwise, your outfit is a bit ridiculous. the only white dress in your closet that is appropriate for a civil ceremony is a satin, long sleeve piece that hits the mid-thigh and you compensate with fleece-lined leggings to battle the weather.

when you look over at jungkook’s screen, you’re surprised to see the amount of photos captured, considering how short the ceremony was. the two of you have a flight to catch in a few hours to make a road game trip out to philadelphia, so it was always meant to be an in and out trip. there are some solo shots of you and jungkook, but your heart sinks when you notice the pictures of the two of you exchanging rings - something about the way you’re looking at each other.

a small smile twitches at the corner of your lips. “yeah. we do look cute.”

the rings were optional and you were taken aback when jungkook turned up with matching wedding bands. the band catches the light when he steals an olive off of your plate, nestled on his left hand like it belongs there.

technically, it does. the signed marriage certificate proves it.

whatever internal conflict storming in your chest only grows.

neither of you bring up the passionate lovemaking where you accidentally uttered those incredibly serious three words. you’re partly convinced that jungkook doesn’t even think anything of it, treating that evening like any other day. meanwhile, you’re tearing yourself up over it - dissecting all of your feelings and thoughts in agony. you can’t brush it off, but you also don’t have it in you to bring it up and make things weird.

so, you move on. you move onto december, you move onto the wedding, and you move onto all of the other things you need to worry about. besides, the new york titans have been bouncing between the second and third place in the eastern conference, which means that you’re sure jungkook also has other things to worry about. you also have your own plate of things to deal with, especially with your maternity leave coming up soon.

strangely enough, all of this begins to feel comfortable and that’s when you know things have gone awry. it isn’t just the whole being pregnant situation, but everything that has come with it. you get used to living in jungkook’s massive penthouse and the roar of the titans crowd at every game you attend after a day of work. you grow familiar with each arena at away games out of state and blossom friendships with his teammates.

later that afternoon, you’re on the team plane on the very short trip between jfk and philadelphia international airport. next to you, jungkook has closed his eyes for a nap and you’re left playing uno with chris and yeonjun, as well as the team’s captain, seungcheol. you’ve come to realize that somebody seems to always have a deck of uno in their bags, no matter how long the flights are.

“so, when’s the real wedding going to be?”

you hope that the flash of a grimace on your face is missed by seungcheol, who is still under the impression and you and jungkook are together. really, everyone outside of your immediate family is and to this day, neither of you have bothered to correct them.

yeonjun lights up. “yeah, do you guys have a date in mind yet?”

the civil ceremony was always going to be before the end of the year, so insurance can be sorted out before your due date. meanwhile, having an actual wedding with vows and flowers has been up in the air. you aren’t opposed to the idea, but with your relationship growing more complicated, your feelings have become mixed at best. it would be nice to be surrounded by your family and friends, commemorating a special day, but the difference between what’s real and what’s convenient has become a blurred line.

so, you smile and shrug at seungcheol’s question. “it’ll have to be after the baby is delivered,” you say.

you and jungkook haven’t spoken much about this wedding - the “real” wedding - apart from your preference for a summer date. getting fitted for a dress seems like a chore when you’re pregnant and your schedule is already booked with doctors’ appointments and classes and work.you can’t even imagine all of the other things you have to take care of. there’s no way you’re going to stop working until the next trimester because your job comes first, along with preparing for motherhood.

in your hotel room after the game that night, you emerge from the bathroom with a fluffy white robe tied around your growing frame.

“so, we have a doctor’s appointment in two days, we need to buy a present for jimin’s wedding in february, and i need to talk to head office about starting my maternity leave soon. . . .”

life is just getting busier, but jungkook is always there to bring to back to earth.

he calls your name. “shh, let’s just relax for a bit. i ordered your hot chocolate.”

jungkook is already in bed, but wide awake. the two of you stopped getting separate hotel rooms at some point, then stopped getting separate beds, until it’s every single road game that you find yourself in a luxurious king size with him laying next to you.

there’s a bit of a snowstorm brewing out the window and adds to the coziness of the room. the windows are pulled to reveal the blurry night sky and a fireplace near the couches is ablaze, bringing a calm warmth to your surroundings. jungkook has ordered room service and included a request for a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for you. he has the mug outstretched and a grin on his face when you come outside.

“and whipped cream? you spoil me.”

jungkook laughs as you carefully take the drink from him, blowing over the hot surface. no matter the season, he always seems to sleep shirtless, you’ve noticed, and tonight is no different. his lower half is just in dark sweatpants and the rest of his plated dinner balanced on top. you already ate at the arena and being an athlete, he’s always had a crazy high volume diet anyways.

so, you just get ready for bed. you don’t bother turning around or going back into the bathroom to change, completely dropping your robe to slip into the pajamas you laid out before your shower. it’s difficult to miss jungkook’s obvious staring.

“did you say something?” he says, eyes fixed on your naked form.

somehow, you still blush. “can you at least try to be subtle?” you stick your tongue out at him as you pull on a shirt.

you don’t see the appeal. you’ve obviously grown heavier and filled out in certain places, in addition to your growing bump. it was nothing to be ashamed or insecure about - you were about to become a mother - but, it’s as if jungkook has somehow grown double attracted to you.

he looks at you with darkened eyes every time he catches a glimpse of your body, from your curves to your thickness. jungkook doesn’t miss the way you subtly touch your lower back as you put on lotion, your posture slightly slumped forward.

jungkook calls your name, voice low. “is your back hurting?” he asks with eyes fixated on you and has abandoned the show playing on the television in front of the bed.

“just a little,” you murmur, barely audible under your breath.

he says your name, clear and almost demanding. “come here.”

just like that, something ignites deep inside you. it’s hard to brush off, the way jungkook lights a primal desire in you.

you turn to him, blinking. you can see the look on his face and you know you can’t refuse when he uses that tone, either. so, you put your hot chocolate to the side and slowly climb onto the bed, crawling next to jungkook.

his touch is icy hot, as he leans over and brushes hair out of your face. “you’ve been in a bad mood since we got here after the game,” jungkook says.

you grimace. it is partly true. as soon as you and jungkook checked into the hotel room, you’ve been fretting and getting irritated at nearly everything. you started ranting about your calendar and all the things that you and jungkook had coming up. you complained about the temperature and started talking bad about the other team that the titans played tonight, about how awful their coach was acting.

“i guess,” you respond, pouting petulantly.

jungkook chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your neck. even with how gentle his touch it, you still shiver and can’t help yourself.

he whispers, “my poor wife.” jungkook presses another kiss on your skin, now trailing a line down your neck down to the valley of your breasts.

you gasp instantly, back arching off the mattress at just the way the tiniest of contact sparks arousal within. in response, jungkook pins your hips down and climbs on top of you, continuing to leave feather-light kisses everywhere.

“let me take care of you,” he breathes, his hands now finding your breasts. a thumb circles each nipple over thin fabric, as jungkook smirks when you hiss at the contact. “fuck, they’ve gotten bigger. more sensitive.”

he tugs your camisole all the way down so that your tits spill out of your pajama top, not hesitating to latch his mouth onto them. it’s true - they’ve been extra sensitive lately and you’re whining at the feeling of jungkook’s skillful tongue swirling around the bud.

your mouth hangs open, feeling your panties grow wet and sticky already. “please -” you say, threading your fingers through his hair. it’s like you’re melting into him, coming so close that you will fuse into one soul.

“i got you, baby.”

eyes fluttering shut, your head swims at jungkook’s promise. it doesn’t take long for his hand to trail down your body, slipping underneath the waistband of your panties to draw slow circles around your clit. he makes a guttural noise at the back of your throat when he feels how wet you are, while still not letting go of your tits.

you’ve noticed how obsessed jungkook has been with them lately, always massaging and caressing them and never failing to suck on them until you’re begging for his cock. he has you completely at his mercy and your breath hitches when he suddenly pulls away to yank off the remainder of your clothing.

jungkook swallows hard when you’re left bare to him and spreads your legs, admiring your glistening folds.

you bite your lip and watch him move lower down your body, until his mouth is hovering over your core. he presses closer and a single digit teases at your entrance, while his other hand digs into your thighs and betrays how starved he is for a taste of you.

“gotta warm this pussy up before you can take my cock,” he rasps, beginning with a slow lick up your centre with a satisfied hum “tastes so fuckin’ good.”

you cry out at the lightest of contact, pushing jungkook’s head closer. he finally pumps a second finger inside of your wet heat torturously, as his tongue circles just right around your clit. he sucks and flciks and traces it with ease, while his fingers curl and feeling how you clench around them.

your mouth hangs open with needy moans with each movement, whining jungkook’s name as he laps hungrily at your cunt. he watches you, too, eyes flickng up to watch every little twitch and gasp that leaves your darkened lips. hitting that sweet spot that jungkook knows all too well, it’s all it takes for you to come undone beneath him.

“fuck, jungkook -”

the orgasm ripples right through you and you grip the bedsheets, clutching desperately at the fabric while jungkook continues sloppily delving his tongue into your oversensitive pussy. he works you through your white hot climax and groans raggedly as your release coats his face.

when he finally pulls away and you’ve caught your breath, jungkook brings you a water bottle from the mini fridge across from the bed. he approaches, kisses your hair, and hands it to you

you silently take it appreciatively, gulping down the cold liquid. even with the clear desire in his look, he never fails to still somehow be gentle and put you first.

jungkook takes the bottle away from you, settling back on the bed. his darkened eyes scan your face - from your reddened cheeks, blown out pupils, and wet lips.

“ready?” he whispers, as your hands trail down his chest and abs. you stop right at his v-line and the waistband of his sweats, where his cock is painfully hard.

you lick your lips and nod enthusiastically through heavy lids.

about an hour later, the two of you lay on the mattress with short breaths and tangled limbs once more. jungkook takes a moment to clean you up with a warm towel and reheats your hot chocolate for you - long forgotten as soon as he looked at you with his intoxicating gaze.

you curl into his arms as you wait for the hot chocolate, surrounded by a comfortable silence. you’ve gotten used to jungkook’s selfless and doting touch, the way he takes care of you like it’s second nature.

and the truth is, you have gotten comfortable.

everything around you is a complete 180 from what your life looked like less than a year ago, but you’ve become more than okay with that. you love your new job when you get to do exactly what you enjoy, but with the added benefits of a flexible schedule. the pay is nice, but you’ve been so invested in the hustle since you were a student and you forgot what it’s like to have free time. hobbies. a life. you have more than enough time to hang out with your friends and make new ones - you’ve also gotten very comfortable with jungkook’s.

in fact, everything in his life has somehow become a bit of yours and that’s part of the comfort that you’ve turned a blind eye to. his home, his friends, his bed. the latter of which is surely the worst of them, but there are so many things that have become second nature to you, too.

an average nba player spends half of his regular season on the road. that’s forty one games, forty one nights for a six month period where they aren’t home. you always understood this as jungkook’s friend and got used to not having him around. now, you spend half of your time traveling the country with him and the other half sharing a home.

you get to eat gumbo in new orleans with him, go snorkeling along the beaches of miami, see a baseball game at fenway park. you don’t even mind being on the road constantly with jungkook when it’s always fun. along with your new job, all of these experiences have been a welcome distraction away from the complications going on in your life.

there isn’t a day where the two of you are apart when you go where the team goes. with that comes the many unlikely friendships with the titans basketball roster.

for instance - on one random sunday after the team plays a road game in orlando, you end up at a four year old girl’s birthday party. it turns out that chris’ ex wife and daughter lived there and he invited the entire team to the disney princess themed affair - including you.

it’s a sunny day in florida - a stark contrast to the winter that has swallowed new york city whole - and you take a second to enjoy your surroundings. laughter and music fills your ears, as you take a look around the party.

since joining the titans, you’ve been to quite the number of outings. most of the time, they’ve been birthday parties or other business event and have grown close with the guys because of it. these things can get quite tiring, though, as they often run late and it feels like you’re in a constant battle with your sore feet and back. when jungkook told you about the little girl’s party, you thought it would be nice and felt honoured to be invited to quite the intimate event - like the guys have really started seeing you as a part of the team and a serious part of jungkook’s life. plus, it’s the one event where you won’t be the only one standing around sober.

“would you like a glitter wand or a pink tiara?”

jungkook’s arm curves around your waist, appearing behind you with chris and heeseung as you pour yourself a cup of juice.

you raise an eyebrow at their appearances. chris has clearly gotten his eyeshadow done by his daughter and heeseung has a bunch of butterfly clips in his hair. meanwhile, jungkook is flashing various shades of pink nail polish at you when he holds up the props, painted messily on both of his hands.

“wow,” you huff out a laugh, accepting the tiara by lowering your head slightly. “i left you alone for ten minutes and the girls have given all of you a makeover?”

he grins and sets the tiara on your head, leaning in close to brush away some strands of hair that would get tangled. one hand steadies your cheek, which you’re sure isn’t entirely necessarily, but you don’t mind the touch.

beside you, heeseung tries adjusting a butterfly clip that’s about to fall off his head. “birthday girl said we all have to dress up as pretty princesses,” he informs you flatly.

jungkook kisses your forehead when he finishes fixing your tiara. “well, you don’t need to dress up to be that.”

you roll your eyes at him, muttering something about being corny. the kids have been running around all afternoon and only started settling down when it was time for the ‘makeover station’ in the backyard. it gave the adults a breather, able to actually sit down and relax for a little. the rest of jungkook’s teammates are good sports and played along the whole afternoon, pretending to be royal servants and whatnot. you could tell everyone was close and it meant something to you, being able to be apart of the inner circle.

chris pretends to make a gagging noise at the two of you, causing you to blush. “take a look around, kookie,” he gestures around the birthday party of glitter and dresses. “this will be your future in a few months.”

jungkook blushes and scratches his neck. “guess you’re right.”

at that, you pause and you do look around your surroundings. you see jungkook’s coach, scolding his two kids for arguing with one another. in the kitchen, seungcheol’s wife is balancing their newborn baby on their hip while he makes silly faces at her to stop her from crying. and, of course, all the little humans on the grass, laughing and playing amongst each other.

it hits you all at once. hell, it follows you home the next day.

jungkook comes home from a jog and the last thing he expects is the sound of your sniffling. he drops everything immediately - keys clinking as they hit the tiled floors, jacket abandoned at the door, and even his gym bag dragged off his shoulder immediately. he’s so far away from the kitchen, but it’s like his senses somehow heighten when it comes to you.

“what happened? fuck, are you hurt?” his panicked voice rings through the penthouse, along with the sound of him running inside with his shoes still on.

you’re sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor pathetically, face buried in your hands. the freezer drawer is half open, obvious that you changed your mind midway through looking for a snack to sob like the world is ending. you’ve been home all day, dressed in pajamas and your glasses perched upon your nose, now sliding off your face from the tears.

before you can look up to respond, jungkook is already knelt down beside you and looking for any signs of injury. he carefully peels your hands away to reveal your face, a concerned look flashing in his eyes when he sees your tear-stained cheeks.

you don’t even know how to answer. you just nod your head at his initial question, even if it’s embarrassing to admit that you’re crying on the floor for no reason.

well, there is a reason. you couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid disney princess themed party and your mind started wandering to what your daughter with jungkook would look like at that age. then, it hit you.

“we’re really gonna be parents,” you croaked out. jungkook stops freaking out as much in that moment, steadying his breath and instead, his eyes soften.

he whispers your name and rubs your back. “yeah. we are.” he’s so gentle and doesn’t rush you with a reply.

jungkook sits next to you, cross legged at well. you look up and for a second, your heart stills. the image is strangely reminiscent of the way the two of you used to sit in the basement of his mom’s house, playing 2k on his xbox.

there was one particular day in junior year when you got dumped by your first ever boyfriend and you immediately went crying your eyes out to jungkook after class. so, he took you to his house and ordered pizza for the both of you, while you played endless games together.

back then, he didn’t make you feel stupid for making your breakup seem like the end of the world. you’d been so dramatic the whole bus ride on the way from school, ranting and trying to not burst into tears every few seconds. jungkook didn’t even tease you once.

“let me know if you want some water,” jungkook says into your ear.

now, he’s letting you cry your eyes out with every ounce of fear and anxiety bubbling in each sob. he’s not even questioning the intensity of your emotions, not daring to crack a joke. he takes it seriously, as he always has.

“i -” you sniffle again, trying to keep your tone straight. “- j-just wanted some mozzarella sticks. . .”

“yeah?” he encourages, voice still soft.

“- and then, i, um, started thinking about the baby. i don’t know why, but i felt this,” you take a deep inhale, slowly. “i don’t know, all these voices. making me think of everything that could go wrong, the ways i could fail -”

that’s when jungkook stops you.

he puts a hand on face, cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “you’re not going to fail.”

“aren’t you scared, too?”

“shitless, even.” jungkook surprises you by tugging you towards him and opens his legs so that your back is pressed against his chest.

in reality, you look a little silly like this, siting on the cold kitchen floor with tear-stained cheeks, but jungkook’s touch automatically eases you - even if it’s just a little bit.

you swallow hard. “you don’t look like it,” you say.

jungkook’s chuckle vibrates through his chest and you can feel it against your body. “i gotta be strong for you and baby girl.”

as you lean back into jungkook’s arms, he buries his face into the crook of your neck. you sigh - jungkook smells like clean laundry and his musky cologne.

“i want everything for her.” you sniffle, blinking more tears away. “i want those stupid disney princess birthday parties. i wanna watch her graduate and teach her how to drive. i want it all.”

you didn’t know just how much you truly want to be a mom until ths moment. you’ve been living selfishly for the majority of your twenties, not even considering a future that you share with a partner and child. now, it’s all that you want and you realize that you, in fact, can have that and all of your other dreams.

with jungkook’s hum into your ear, you wonder if you would be able to realize this without his prsence in your life.

his hand trails down to your bump, caressing your belly lightly. “hear that, baby girl?” jungkook lowly mutters, voice softer than usual for your daughter growing inside you. “mama’s gonna give you the world. although, i think i should be the one teaching you how to drive -”

you laugh, lightly elbowing jungjook. “oh, shut up -”

“- trust me, i was there when she got her license. had me risking my life every time i got into a car with her.”

the air in the room is suddenly a bit lighter and it feels like you and jungkook are back on the balcony, laughing on the smoking couch.

you think for a moment. “seriously, though. this is. . .going to be the rest of our lives.”

“yeah,” jungkook says, stroking your hair. “i don’t know if i’ll be the best father in the world. i don’t know what that looks like.”

he’s vulnerable in his words. you have rarely been able to hear from jungkook about the way his parents’ divorce left him through the years, but you’ve always known. that’s why you’ve admired his drive to be there for your daughter.

“you’re going to be amazing,” you huff, squeezing his leg.

“we’re going to be amazing,” he corrects and you can’t see his face, but you can hear the smile through the way he speaks. “please don’t worry.”

it isn’t the first or the last time that either of you have expressed your anxieties for what’s to come, but like clockwork, you’re always there for each other. that’s what matters that most in your head. with jungkook at your side, it feels like you can take on anything.

he also makes sure that you get your mozzarella sticks.

in the latter half of the month, the day after a successful win against their rivals in brooklyn, the new york titans organization holds their annual corporate christmas party. you’re used to little office potlucks with boxed wine and instead, you end up at rainbow room - an eighty five hundred square foot event space on the 65th floor of the rockefeller center. it’s one of new york’s iconic landmarks with sweeping skyline views and crystal chandeliers that bewitchingly shimmer like stars, especially at tonight’s black tie dinner.

“are you sure my hair is okay?” you whisper hastily to jungkook, palms trying to flatten out the top of your head.

the two of you have just stepped into the space and after being immediately greeted by several colleagues, step away to find your table. you don’t get a chance to double check your appearance after jungkook thought it would be a great idea to bend you over in the limousine on the way here. not like you complained - it was technically your idea to crawl onto his lap because you decided that he was looking too good.

partition up, of course.

he smirks as he looks over at you, noticing the way your cheeks have been flushed the entire time since getting here. he’s obviously very pleased with himself and you have to subtly pinch his side when you notice that he’s somehow still eying you up, even after your antics.

jungkook leans into your ear. “gorgeous,” he says simply, which makes you blush even more.

“you’re so shameless.”

“what? you look nice in this dress.” his hand grazes just above the curve of your ass as he leads you to your assigned dinner table.

you roll your eyes. “you think i look good in anything.”

“a man can’t resist his wife’s pregnancy glow.”

“whatever,” you huff, but still smile a little at jungkook’s love for showering you with compliments. you would think that it’s too much, but it’s the way that he looks at you that tells you he means it. “i guess you look pretty good, too.”

jungkook grins wide when he notices the once over you give him. his dress shirt is rolled up, revealing his strong forearms and the intricate art that lines it. you’d be lying to yourself if you couldn’t admit that you’ve been staring at the way his slacks hug his thighs and legs, either. this seems to always happen when the two of you end up at these formal events.

the starting five and their significant others are seated at one table, near the stage. everyone gets out of the way for the franchise player when you approach with him and you make eye contact with his teammates, who wave at you both.

“first titans christmas party as a wife, you bored yet?” yeonjun jokes, as you and jungkook sit down.

again, with that damn word. wife. you still don’t feel married when all of you friends and family are anticipating a real, white wedding. but, you sit there in front of all his friends with matching bands on your ring fingers, intertwined in a hand hold that hasn’t been broken since getting out of the car.

you laugh a little. “surely, these things can’t be that bad?”

beside you, heeseung grimaces. “just wait until the general manager starts her speech. she goes on forever.”

the agenda begins and heeseung was right, the titans’ general manager gives the longest address in probably the history of humankind, but you get through it with jungkook’s sarcastic jokes under his breath that only you can hear. a few other key figures in the organization go up and make speeches. your table erupts - seemingly awake for the first time all night - when seungcheol goes up to the stage and does his. clearly the team is used to these things. he thanks everyone on the team and does a special acknowledgement to the starting five, ending with jungkook.

“and, of course, our all-star point guard - jungkook.” seungcheol grins when everyone in the room gives a loud cheer at the mention of the name. “a generational talent and is going to be an even better father, come this spring.”

you clap extra loud for jungkook, even with the unwanted attention in your direction. it's hard to avoid as jeon jungkook’s very obviously pregnant date, but you can ignore most of it when his face literally lights up at the mention of his incoming fatherhood. he’s so genuinely happy and excited, eyes bright as a clear day.

then, you feel it. jungkook takes your hand. you don’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers once more.

in that moment, from how right everything felt, you realize jungkook wasn’t lying. part of the reason why you’ve been so scared is because you are genuinely excited to have this baby. you never saw yourself as a mother in any form until you found out you were pregnant and it brought all all these brand new experiences you were looking forward to, the daydreams of what a little girl with your smile and jungkook’s eyes would look like - with that came the anxiety of what could go wrong.

looking at jungkook, you’re certain that, no matter what, he would be there to make things better.

a slow creep of that strange discomfort begins to crawl into your bloodstream after this. it was the same one you felt the day you found out the baby’s gender, maybe even what laid underneath after getting married at city hall.

being unable to drown your thoughts away with liquor is obviously out of the question, so you seek fresh air to clear your mind. the best you could do without getting too far away is an outdoor terrace on the other side of the 65th floor. you recgonize some other party goers around, probably with the same thought as you.

you find yourself a secluded corner away from the loud chatter and ciagrette smoke, placing your hands on the rail with a hum. there are warming lamps everywhere, so you aren’t left shivering in your evening gown as your eyes survey the skyline beyond. of course, the city is alive at this hour and lights gleam from nearly every direction ahead. the green goddess stands tall, even from as far as you are in manhattan and you feel a little more at home. even if you aren’t from here, you’ve spent your entire twenties in the hustle and bustle of the city and every corner of new york has a special memory. a lot of them with jungkook, especially this past year.

sighing deeply, you screw your eyes shut. you came up here to get your emotions in order and away from that nagging feeling in your chest when you think about him for a little too long.

you only open your eyes again at the sound of a woman calling your name.

“are you okay, honey?”

when you spin around, it’s that stupid ginger lady from back earlier in the fall, when you and jungkook attended a charity gala. just looking at her ticked you off from her haughty smile to the saccharine way she called you honey. like she’s already sneering down at your presence.

you plaster a smile on your face. “nora, right?”

it’s an unfortunate encounter - you thought that invites would only be extended to employees of the titans organization. you suppose it makes sense, as nora is a local journalist that has been covering the team for years.

“my, you’re so far along now! it’s obvious at how different you look,” she gushes, hands clapping together.

you think of happy thoughts and not of the way your eye twitches at her backhanded compliment. you aren’t worried about your puffy cheeks or weight gained, but you don’t appreciate it being pointed out. still, you have to play nice and force a chuckle.

“well, that’s what happens when you’re pregnant,” you reply wryly.

nora continues unfazed. “and i heard that you and jungkook tied the knot! how timely.”

initially, you just want to get through this conversation and return back inside before your very short fuse goes off. but, her choice of words make your ears perk up.

“timely?”

she leans against the rail, a smirk on her face as she looks at you up and down. “well, of course you two would want to get married before the baby comes.”

you wonder if this damn woman is a sports journalist or more concerned with gossip. you’re not used to such scrutiny into your personal life, which is something that you just have to accept if you’re going to be attached to jungkook. the news about your quiet wedding has mostly been kept quiet, but you can imagine that this peace won’t last for long.

“i’m not sure what you’re getting at,” you say, still trying to keep your voice polite.

nora lets out a shrill laugh. “jungkook is the face of the franchise. if he knocked you up by accident, he has to save face and get married. he’s mr. family-friendly, cereal box cover athlete. why risk losing millions of dollars in brand deals?”

there’s no way. she has to be baiting you on purpose. blood running cold, you can’t imagine jungkook getting down on a knee for you because he wants to, what? save his endorsements?

your jaw drops. “listen, i don’t think you have any idea what you’re talking about -”

“- of course, you don’t, sweetie. you’re not in this industry,” nora cuts you off and that sickly sweet tone drives you mad. “jungkook has an image to upkeep. brands prefer a ‘family man’ over a scandal. marriage doesn’t just keep endorsements alive, they even increase their value.”

it shouldn’t hurt you this much, but you’re frozen in place. all sorts of doubts run free through your mind - beginning with the very first moment when jungkook asked you to marry him. you feel so small, shrinking down beneath nora and the skyline of the city.

the truth is that you don’t know anything about this industry or fame. the league is a very player-centric place, where individuals have so much star power and drawing ability over their own team. it’s one of the reasons why jungkook is so popular as a player when he’s everywhere. he’s in commercials, on the cover of frozen chicken nuggets, billboard, and television shows. his image is important and you’re a fool to think that you’ve gotten comfortable with this new life laced with fame and money by association, when in reality, it’s clear that you’ve learned nothing.

you feel like a pawn in a big game of chess.

nora says something else, but you’ve already brushed past her without a word.

back inside the rainbow room, dinner service has ended. you weave your way through the crowd of servers, heart thumping, and back to your table. most of the attendees are now moving around to mingle and chat amongst themselves.

jungkook is waiting for you at your designated seats and he grins brightly when he notices your return. he waves and the wedding band on his finger catches the light, making you feel queasy.

you don’t know what you’re going to say after nora’s words slithered into your head space. a part of you surely doubts them, but when you take a look around your surroundings, there’s a tough pill to swallow. you are not a member of this world, of this society, that chases fame and success. you’re wearing a dress worth more money that you could have dreamed of months ago and eating caviar with a silver spoon.

everything has moved so fast. you’re caught in the middle of the threads, splitting. all of it is suddenly too much under the wink of the chandeliers above and you need to go.

somehow, jungkook is already a step ahead of you. he notices your furrowed brows and before you sit down, he’s on his feet.

“i think you need some more fresh air,” he murmurs, gently touching your arm. “how does that sound?”

you can’t really speak because you’re scared that your hormones will get the better of you. so, you nod.

jungkook warm smile widens - like there’s some easy fix to the dull ache in your chest - and reaches for your hand. you pretend to not notice and walk ahead of him, towards the elevators, leaving his hand cold.

as you approach the exit, you can’t see jungkook’s face as you’re a pace ahead of him. when he catches up to you, there’s a sideways glance from him that you don’t meet.

the two of you grab your coats and once at the ground level, you let jungkook lead the way.

“where are we going?” you finally speak up. you’ve been silent for the past few minutes, wrestling with your anxious thoughts. it’s hard to keep your voice neutral, as you continue to ponder by yourself.

jungkook looks over at you with an unreadable expression, exhaling. “we’re going to the top of the rock.”

you frown at that. the observation deck at 30 rockefeller plaza was one of the first places that you and jungkook visited together when you moved to new york. you haven’t been back since that day, but vaguely recall that it was the moment where you truly realized that you both made it. jungkook achieved his dream of making it to the league and you found yourself at your dream school.

“it’s past midnight,” you say. “surely, it’s closed?”

he smirks at that. “baby, i’m jeon jungkook. i have my connections.”

just like that, you end up at the top of the rock alone with him. the security guard didn’t even blink when jungkook asked for access and now, it’s the two of you there at the highest level of the deck.

the air has shifted up here, dense with thickness. jungkook knows that something is off with you, but you can also tell that he has something to say. the inky-black canvas beyond feels even farther away with where you are, infinitely deep. the city’s lights are diamond points also feel distant - as if you and jungkook are wrapped up in your own sphere.

“i got something for you. for christmas.”

he puts two hands on your hips from behind you and for a second, your inhibitions fade. they have a tendency of doing that at his touch and you curse yourself for it.

you turn around and jungkook is holding something shiny in his hand. dangling and silver.

car keys.

“you’ve got to be kidding - “ you start, but jungkook has already put them in the palm of your hand. for a second, you forget about your worries.

he laughs good-naturedly. “hear me out. i know you’re going to remind me about new york traffic, but our baby daughter is not going to be riding in my two seater bmw.”

you scowl and flip over the keys. of course, it’s fucking cadillac.

“you really didn’t have to,” you mumble, cheeks flushed.

he responds, “the car is an escalade. think of it as our family car.”

“family car.”

“it’s for us,” jungkook says, pulling you close. “for our future.”

you want to see the best in him, you really do. it’s what you’ve been doing for over a decade - standing by jungkook’s side and supporting him as his best friend. but, right now, you aren’t his best friend anymore. you’ve come to realize that you’re living in a strange void in between that and more, a growing discomfort that has been highlighted by the pain of the consequences laced in between the edges.

before you speak, you think about what nora said. you think about how comfortable you’ve become with the cards that you’ve been dealt with - not once realizing that you’re not the one dealing them. you’ve always been in control of your own life and destiny, while it now seems like you’ll never get that again, not with the life that you live that’s forged based on jungkook and jungkook alone.

“i. . . “ you trail off, suddenly feeling like walls are closing in on you, despite being outdoors.

the top of the rock over looks the vast expanse of twinkling new york city, but you’re suffocating underneath the lights.

jungkook peers down at your face and is immediately concerned. “what? are you feeling alright?”

“what are we doing here, jungkook?”

his body freezes, like he’s heard you wrong - yet, by the way his eyes soften, it’s as if he was expecting this. maybe not now, but at some point.

he says your name, whispered. “i don’t know what you mean.”

a lie and you both know it. it’s a struggle for jungkook to get the words out, a painful stretch over each syllable. the mirage has snapped by the will of your anxieties, the perfect life that you’ve been living for the past few months. if you’re being honest, you don’t want to do it, but it’s a noise that has only grown louder with each passing day. you love jungkook and you love this baby, but everything has become deafening and you can no loner pretend.

you don’t realize that there’s tears stinging in your eyes until you pull away and turn around, just so you can blink them away.

“we can’t keep this up,” you say, voice shaking. “you know this isn’t normal. are we supposed to play house for the rest of our lives?”

“we just got married and we’re having a kid,” jungkook breathes out, jaw set. “you think i’m here playing house with you? what part of you makes you think that i’m not taking this seriously? our future seriously?”

“well, why did we even get married in the first place?” you snap and spin around. “is it really health insurance and our sorry asses traumatized by our parents divorces?”

a distinct flash of hurt appears on jungkook’s face. it kills you to be the reason behind it and you nearly backtrack, but he speaks again first.

“what are you talking about?” jungkook demands.

“did we get married because it’s convenient for our daughter or because it’s convenient for you?” you finally say, gripping onto the railing. “i’m sure it would be a bonus for the face of the titans’ franchise to be a father and keep up that family-friendly image of yours -”

“what? are you insane?”

it’s a tense stand off between the two of you, as you realize what you spat out. his face is flushed, as he processes your accusation. you breathe heavily and wonder if you should have just kept your mouth shut. no. the anxieties would eat you alive.

to your surprise, jungkook steps closer to you and you have no room to back up. he’s practically pinned you against the railing, both hands on either side of your body. you can smell his musky perfume and count his eyelashes at this proximity. for a second, you nearly lose yourself in it - the intoxicating effect he has on you.

it’s clear that your misunderstandings from that stupid reporter about his image are wrong, but everything else seems to bubble to the surface. you don’t know how to navigate these waters - you and jungkook promised each other that neither of you would be alone, but you’re still feeling confused and lost. at least, more so than him.

you manage to let out a murmured reply. “you. . .i don’t know. i don’t know anything about your world and all of this has just happened so fast,” you admit. it’s not just the baby, but the moving in, the new surroundings, and everything that has to do with jungkook.

he sighs quietly, still inches away from you. “you’re not saying everything you want to say.”

finally, he utters a semblance of the truth.

at that, you bite your lip. jungkook has always read you so well. the problem is that you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. it’s all just too much.

“look, you’re my best friend,” you start carefully. “i know my place in your life, so you don’t need to be worried about that. i. . .i just don’t want to pretend that this isn’t something otherwise.”

"your place in my life?” he answers, eyes narrowed.

you smile sadly, looking down at your feet. “i’m only here because i’m the rebound. an accident. getting married to me was the easiest and most beneficial option when you knocked me up.”

jungkook is stunned. his mouth hangs open and he tries to conjure up a reply, but he just stands there. he can’t get his thoughts together in time, but that’s enough for you. you thought that jungkook would be here to make everything better, but you don’t even know what that’s supposed to look like.

or, maybe you’re scared to see it for what it is.

all you can do is kiss his cheek and gently push past him. you mumble something about needing space and that you won’t be home and just like that, you’re gone with the wind. you leave jungkook standing there, feeling and looking like the stupidest man in the world.

when’s finally come back to earth, jungkook realizes that you’ve left and you’re not coming back. he lets out a string of curses, kicking the nearest wall in anger. running a hand through his hair, he can’t explain why he couldn’t correct you. he looks out into skyline, trying to calm himself down by counting the lights and remembering the touch of your lips on his cheek.

you hate running away. it failed you last time and you promised yourself that you wouldn’t do it again, not to jungkook. he’s made you feel safe in every sense of the word since this whole situation started. but, you don’t even know how you’re supposed to look at him now. it scares you and you know it’s your fault for allowing the boundaries to blurt. so, for now, you do run and you make a silent apology to jungkook when you do, promising that it’s only temporary.

JANUARY

in the week stretch between christmas and new year’s eve, you spend the majority of it locked up inside your studio apartment. jungkook plays a road game on christmas day in phoenix and it’s the perfect excuse that you give to your family when you visit layla’s house for the holiday. your maternity leave has just begun and it came at a timely manner, so you don’t need to see him at work. in fact, you don’t expect to see jungkook until after new year’s, where you promised you would reconvene with him after the space that you insisted that you needed. he still texts you daily and you give updates on your well being, but you keep it at that. he also has someone park the escalade in the parking garage of your apartment, just in case you need it.

i just need a breather, is what you told jungkook over the phone, citing all the changes that have caught up to you.

returning to a semblance of your old life was supposed to give some sort of clarity on what you would be doing going forward. a part of you considered just ending your sexual relationship with jungkook, for you thought that it was the main reason for all of these complications. you knew that you weren’t anything more than jungkook’s best friend and mother of his child and further expectations would simply crush your spirit.

it’s what you’ve done for the majority of your adulthood - not letting anyone in.

but, a little voice inside of your head tells you that it’s deeper than just sex.

on new year’s eve, you make yourself a cup of tea and order an entire box of pizza just for yourself. some of your friends invited you to some celebratory plans, but you decided a long time ago that being the only pregnant person in the group on a night out is not fun. having jungkook around was always nice because he didn’t drink around you and always made sure you felt included and entertained.

the titans aren’t playing a game tonight, so you presume that he’s probably out partying, since he never did that with you around. he’s always been so considerate. you’re sat in front of your couch, on your second slice of pizza and flipping through video streaming services, wondering if you should just go to bed.

until, there’s a knock on your door - no, it’s a bang. and then another. and then, you hear a familiar voice call your name.

you already jump up to your feet at the first knock, but it takes a second for you to waddle to your front door. you’ve been moving slower as the pregnancy has progressed and you roll your eyes at jungkook’s impatience. when you swing the door open, you can see why he’s like this.

“oh my god, you’re wasted.”

jungkook has one hand braced against the doorframe to hold himself up, but you can smell the liquor on his breath and his eyes are bloodshot red.

“i -” he starts, collecting himself. “- just came by to see how you were doing.”

“a text wouldn’t do?” you reply dryly, trying to lighten the mood and shake off the shock on your shoulders. the last thing you expected tonight was for jungkook to show up unannounced. “it’s almost midnight, shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

jungkook doesn’t reply right away. you step aside to let him into your apartment and he stumbles slightly when he walks, but he makes it to your dinner table - the same dinner table where the two of you first discussed getting married. you glance at his hand. he hasn’t taken off his wedding band once and neither of you.

when he sits down, he looks up at you and rubs his eyes. “i wanted to be here. with you.”

you sigh at how stubborn he can be. you’re not mad that he’s here - you’ve been starting to feel guilty about the space you’ve taken.

as if jungkook reads your mind, he says, “you know i’ve never been good with. . .space,” he admits lamely.

you understand. jungkook doesn’t respond well with being left alone or with detachment. you should’ve known that a week ago when you told him that you would be staying in your studio for the next while, but all of your emotions built up to a peak where everything exploded as once. you thought a week would be fine, but it’s clear that he hasn’t held up well.

sitting down next to him, you frown. “i’m sorry. i really am,” you whisper. “but, seriously, jungkook. why are you here?”

he doesn’t answer at first again and it reminds you of that night at rockefeller. a part of you is angry at him for that night, when you just wanted some sort of response. you weren’t sure what you were expecting then, but it sure wasn’t just jungkook staring at you blankly. it definitely wasn’t him letting you walk away without a protest.

then, he finally speaks. jungkook speaks like he’s thinking each word as it comes out, dissecting the taste of each one with furrowed brows.

“that night, back in june. at frank’s,” he begins, eyes on the ground. “when i felt hopeless and like nothing could go wrong, i had you to remind me of the good things in my life.”

you press your lips together. that night wasn’t on your mind when this conversation began. you haven’t thought about it in a while, with how seemingly far away it feels after all the changes and developments in your life since then. jungkook’s words hit you hard, but you try to keep yourself grounded and not get lost in them.

he meets your eyes and you can’t look away. “that night, i realized i didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

“jungkook -”

“- and you were never the rebound, don’t you understand? it was never like that,” he snaps - not at you, but at himself in frustration.

you take a shaky, sharp inahle of air. “what are you saying?”

“this. you. i don’t think i deserve it, but i got it. i had you. and you need to know what that means to me.”

neither of you move. neither of you can. this time, you’re the one rendered speechless. his expression is pleading, like he’s asking you for something without saying it. it’s a language that only the two of you can speak. you notice the way he looks at you, as if with a brand new set of eyes. fresh and grounded.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s just realized something.

he’s never felt like he’s deserved you. jungkook has always known that you’re far too good for anyone - including him, but he’s now come begging at your door anyways. and he knows why. everything writes itself and he’d be blind to not recognize it.

the air in the room falls silent in every way - even with the hum of the television, the honking of traffic outside and the kettle in the kitchen whining.

outside the walls of your apartment, booms emerge from the fireworks splitting in the sky. it’s midnight. a new year.

you don’t push further or ask questions. you apologize for leaving abruptly and the two of you make up, but nothing else comes of the conversation. the night ends with you climbing onto jungkook’s hug for a genuine embrace - a silent one, but an embrace at that.

“happy new year,” you whisper to jungkook.

he sighs deeply, one hand on your hip and the other on your belly. “happy new year,” jungkook whispers back, gently caressing the bump.

that’s the last time that you see jungkook for the next two weeks. the titans are due for an eight game stretch on the road, which amounts to exactly fourteen days where he is out on the west coast and can’t return home. he already knows that you won’t want to travel and that it isn’t good for you to be constantly travelling anyways, being in your third trimester now. you inform him that you’ll just spend the two weeks at your mom’s house and he doesn’t argue with that logic.

jungkook texts and calls daily, never failing to make time in his busy schedule to check up on you. in fact, he’s constantly worrying about you, but you brush him off every time, assuring him that your family is around to keep an eye on you. he joins you for virtual doctors’ appointments and orders you dinner several times a week.

the fourteen days feels long than it is, especially when something hangs heavy in the air between the two of you. there isn’t necessarily a lack of communication, but you both recognize the need to step back with anything resembling affection or more, at least for now.

it leaves you tearing yourself about the situation. you don’t want to ruin the friendship you have with jungkook, but you’re aware that there’s no going back to how things were before this past summer. that’s obvious. you just can’t get him off your mind and you keep denying why.

then, on the day you return to new york city, you get a chilling call on the way back from the airport. bleary eyed from your nap on the plane, you answer half-awake.

“mrs. jeon? your husband has been admitted to the emergency room here at mount sinai hospital -”

as soon as you hear that, your phone dies.

and like any good and loving wife, you drop everything and redirect the cab driver to take you to the upper east side, where the person over the phone tells you jungkook is staying. your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach and it’s as if a static noise has drowned out everything else. you realize that your phone died midway through the call, before you could answer any questions.

“oh my fucking god,” you hiss under your breath, watching the scenery pass by through the window as the taxi rushes you to the hospital.

you wonder what could have happened and jump to the worst conclusions. what if he got into an accident? or tore his acl during practice? he’s always had knee problems. your breath quickens when you think of every possibility that could have resulted in jungkook at the emergency room and you have to ground yourself, pressing crescent moons into the palm of your hands.

the next half an hour through egregious traffic is a blur. you wait anxiously to arrive and when you do, your body works on autopilot. the smell of rubbing alcohol and cleaning products fill your senses when you push the door open to the emergency room entrance, likely looking ridiculous with your duffel bag and rolling luggage. there’s already tears threatening to spill in your eyes.

“i’m mrs. jeon,” you tell the man at the front desk, the words coming out of you in a hurry.

it’s the first time you’ve ever referred to yourself as jungkook’s wife aloud and your cheeks burn hot. he’s done it before when introducing you to people and the title always come out so smooth, so natural.

the receptionist understands immediately and you’re led to a private room, secluded from the busier parts of the hospital wing with increased security. it reminds you of when jungkook had a sprain during his rookie year and back then, you were shocked at the precautions that the hospital took with their famous clients. now, you’re grateful that he’s away from prying eyes, especially in the disheveled state that you’re in.

“jungkook?”

when you walk through the door, he’s laying there with his arm out for a nurse. he’s in tact. he’s even laughing and telling jokes with her. a nasty burn runs through his forearm, which is currently being dressed with sterile gauze. he’s dressed in casual house clothes and sits on the hospital bed, legs swinging.

he looks. . .mostly normal. jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight of you and you instantly drop your bags to the floor.

his mouth hangs open. “why are you here? did your phone die?” jungkook questions, glancing at his own sitting on his lap. your message thread is open on the screen, with unanswered blue bubbles from his end.

“yeah,” you breathe out, approaching closer.

the nurse looks up at you with a polite smile. “did you rush here from the airport, mrs. jeon?”

when you nod, jungkook lets out a strained chuckle. “you didn’t need to do all that over a cooking burn.”

a what?

that’s what the person over the phone was trying to tell you. for a second, you think this is a joke, but by the very healthy way jungkook is sitting up, there aren’t any other visible injuries. your eyebrows are creased, as you take the situation in.

on his face, a half smile threatens to twitch, but jungkook can see the puzzle pieces coming together in your eyes and he tries to hold back. at least, he’ll save it for when the nurse is gone.

“jungkook. . . .” you take in a sharp inhale. “you burned yourself while cooking?”

“well - shit, that feels better -” he starts, but cuts himself off when the nurse applies ointment to the lower part of the burn.

you want to face palm. instead, you calmly collect yourself and sit on the chair next to the bed, as the nurse explains the situation.

“it’s just a second degree burn,” she says. “your husband was boiling water and had an accident. we cleaned the wound and gave him pain medication, along with this antibiotic ointment. he’s about to just be discharged, actually.”

jungkook scratches the back of his neck with his free arm. “i didn’t even know that you were back from your parents already.”

“you sent yourself to the emergency room over boiling water?!”

the nurse finishes with jungkook’s arm and with impeccable timing, stands up to excuse herself. jungkook winces at the tone of your voice, but she’s clearly amused.

“i will be back with mr. jeon’s discharge papers and burn care instructions,” she says, sending a wink your way.

when the two of you are left alone, you end up doing something that you did not expect.

you cry.

once the nurse leaves, jungkook tries cracking a joke about his cooking. “the one time my private chef goes on vacation for a few days - wait, don’t cry. jesus, don’t cry, please come here.”

every worry running through your chest like a marathon builds up in that moment and crashes down without warning. you’ve never been so worried in your life when you got that call from the hospital, especially when your phone died and anything could have happened to jungkook. it starts small at first - those tears stinging your vision and rolled down in hot streaks. you have to cover your mouth with your hand, as your skin prickles and your shoulders sag.

“i thought you were dead or something,” you admit through your sniffles, even with how stupid you feel.

jungkook grabs you with his good arm, pulling you close to him. you don’t hesitate to climb onto his lap, not unlike new year’s even, but this time you really envelope yourself in his warmth. you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting the tears fall and trying to calm yourself down with the sensation of his gentle hand rubbing your back.

jungkook whispers into your hair. “no, baby, i’m okay.”

you really don’t cry this much and you’ve been blaming it on your pregnancy hormones, but you know this time is different. it’s different because you can’t imagine what you would do if jungkook was hurt or worse.

“s-sorry -” you hiccup, trying to muffle your crying now.

he only chuckles and wraps his arms around you tighter.

“i was texting you this whole time. i tried to tell you that i’d be getting discharged quickly,” jungkook says, stroking your head.

“when i got that call, i just got so scared,” you mutter, still feeling stupid for rushing in here like an idiot. “i just -”

you cut yourself off before the next words come out and you do so with frozen limbs. jungkook pulls away when you pause, curiously. he meets your eyes, quietly assessing your face.

then, jungkook presses his forehead against yours and finishes the sentence for you.

“i know.”

he doesn’t say anything else. just those two words. the fact of the matter is that he does know and he knows by just looking at you. you’re still and can’t find what to say, what to explain of yourself. but, you don’t need to. it’s as if your body melts into his and everything along with it - your emotions, your worries, your soul. he reads it all, even before you’re able to.

jungkook always had an uncanny knack for that. it’s funny because it took him months to realize his own, not until new year’s eve when he showed up drunk at your door. when he sees the unsaid ardor swirling in your eyes, it’s a mirror of his own. he doesn’t say much else because it confirms everything he’s suspected all along.

he just decides to give you the time to figure it out yourself. but, here in this cold hospital room with sharp fluorescent lights and pale walls, jungkook finds your warmth and you find his. a part of his heart settles softly, now knowing what he knows now. all he has to do is let you realize it yourself.

FEBRUARY

when jungkook returns home after all-star weekend, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that you’ve quietly moved back into the penthouse. he comes home late on sunday evening from indianapolis, body worn out and deprived of sleep, as he trudges into his condo with luggage behind him. jungkook doesn’t notice anything off at first, especially with his airpods on full volume. the lights are still on, but he attributes it to the housekeeper forgetting to shut them on her way out.

then, he smells it. the waft of kimchi jiggae filling the space. jungkook pulls his headphones off and there’s more. the sound of your music playing throughout the home. your keys are hung by the front door and your shoes are kicked off.

his heart fucking skips a beat.

“um, hi.”

you appear in front of him, having heard the door open. you’re well into your third trimester now and have opted for nothing but baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts, which is what you wear when jungkook lays his eyes on you. you have a shy smile on your face, one that he hasn’t seen in a long time - at least, not since when the two of you just met as kids. his eyes trace over your bump, the white of your t-shirt not doing much to hide it.

“hi,” jungkook says and breathes out your name. “you’re . . .making dinner.”

he can’t stop the grin that breaks out. what jungkook really means to say is you’re back, but he’s too caught up in the moment to correct himself.

the traces of you around the apartment are back, the small details that jungkook’s been missing and agonizing over. your lip gloss would always be forgotten haphazardly on the coffee table or your kuromi lanyard that had your employee pass to madison square garden hung by the keys. he forgot how the faint smell of citrus would linger in the hallway from your room. well, almost. while you’ve been gone, jungkook has sometimes come into your room, just for that scent.

“i made your favourite,” you reply quietly, chewing on your lip. for some reason, you don’t know how to act around him right now.

it’s only been a few days since jungkook went to the emergency room for his dumb boiling water burn. he took a day to rest at home, where you stayed by his side to hang out with him, but also be nearby in case he needed anything. but, then, you awkwardly went back to your place while jungkook fell asleep for a nap. the day after, you needed to leave to see your sister for her birthday weekend and he needed to fly out for all-star weekend.

when you came home this morning, you just knew that you needed to go back to jungkook’s. your heart gave you no other choice, so you packed up all your belongings and came right back.

jungkook drops everything in his hands. he makes strides towards you and you don’t expect him to left you off the ground. you squeal when his strong arms wrap around you and spin you around like you weigh a feather.

i missed you, is what the embrace means.

when jungkook brings you back to your feet and you laugh, kissing his cheek, your answer is clear.

i missed you, too.

the next day, jungkook has a hand on his steering wheel and the other gently enclosed around yours, as you head off to a wedding of a high school friend together. you’re telling him a funny story about layla’s birthday party and your thigh is bouncing excitedly as you do. it’s been so long since you’ve been able to have jungkook like this and you’ve been kicking yourself for the past while because of it. as soon as he walked through that sunday after all-star weekend, you made his favourite dish - even though you don’t exactly make the best or most authentic korean food - with plans to apologize profusely.

when you asked jungkook if he wanted to talk things out, he said no.

“what?” you asked last night, looking at him like he was crazy from across his dining room table.

he took a long gulp of his water, but isn’t fazed by your reaction. “nah, we’re cool,” jungkook said. “i don’t really have anything to bring up. do you?”

we’re cool. you remember those exact words the very first time you wound up in jungkook’s bed, when you wanted to do nothing but run when you realized what had happened. he’d been so calm and relaxed about it, like he read your thoughts. he knew you too well.

right then and there, you know something is up. jungkook had been beating himself up for weeks about causing you to push him away and now he doesn’t want to discuss what’s been on his mind? hell, you haven’t even made up your mind on what you want going forward.

and like clockwork, jungkook reads your mind. he smirks like he knows the answer to a riddle that has ruined your mind.

“exactly. so, let’s talk when you’re ready. take your time.”

you sleep in your own bedroom last night for the first time in months - not in your apartment and not in jungkook’s bed. you’re floating in that strange in-between, the void in the middle of the before and the after of when you and jungkook crossed the line.

but, it keeps you up for hours, as you toss and turn. you wonder when that line was even crossed to begin with - was it when you started sleeping together? when you moved in? was in that night in june? most importantly, where you do want to be?

he knows something that you don’t and it drives you mad.

you can tell that jungkook is moving carefully, too. he doesn’t do too much, even in spite of his words - he didn’t say anything last night when you announced that you would be retiring to your bed and not his, hasn’t initiated anything more than a hug and is being selective about the terms of endearment that he uses. jungkook is more than used to previously having your warm body under his sheets with him every night. kisses were normal and he never took his hands off of you.

even now, his hand clasped in yours is the most physical contact that you’ve had with him since returning to the penthouse yesterday.

jungkook is so easygoing about it, though, along with everything else.

he sighs, tapping his fingers on the wheel as you move through the last of traffic on the way out of the city. “can’t believe jiminnie is getting married.”

it’s quite early in the morning, as you and jungkook left at nine in the morning to make it for the ceremony, even though the drive to the venue isn’t more than two hours long from manhattan. the sun is shining bright over the stark white swept ground of fallen snow with skies clear and vast.

“more like, i can’t believe jimin is the first of our group to get married,” you joke.

jungkook coughs. “wow, am i chopped liver?” he pinches your hand slightly, just underneath where your wedding band is, to remind you.

“ow!” you laugh, momentarily swiping your hand away. “ugh, you know what i meant.”

"you're acting like you weren't literally there," he snorts.

neither of you kept in close contact with any of your high school friends right after graduation, but jimin was the exception for you and jungkook. he was on the same varsity team as jungkook in high school and never went on to the collegiate level, opting to go into sports journalism. the last time you saw him was sometime in the spring, when he told the two of you that he was getting married. his fiancee is a new york native and the couple chose a venue nearby where you live.

“you think he's gonna have a heart attack when he sees us?”

considering jimin saw you both in person to announce his engagement, you felt bad about not being able to return the courtesy. albeit, it's not like either you or jungkook have went around showing off your wedding bands and pregnant belly either - the news has mostly been kept to your friends and family. rumours have slowly started to spread outside of work following seungcheol’s speech at the company christmas gala, but jungkook hasn't gone out with any public statement.

you wince. “maybe we should have said something.”

“it's not exactly something you can just blurt out over the phone!” jungkook exclaims and you can’t argue with that.

the last of new york city sweeps past you through the windows, as you and jungkook past by dozens of buildings and lights. the two of you reminisce about high school and how things have changed since then - not directly talking about your situation, but it leaves your mind racing again.

two years ago, you and jungkook attend his cousin’s wedding as each other’s date, just an hour away from your hometown in a pretty garden venue. it’s the june right after jungkook gets selected for the nba draft and he insists that coming for the open bar would be a fun way to spend time together before he gets shipped off to the summer league for his professional basketball debut.

the reception is lively and you’re giggling with jungkook over gossip about his aunt when the time for the bouquet toss comes.

for whatever reason, he thinks that it’s a hilarious idea to pull you to your feet.

jungkook snickers. “come on, you could be next!” he says, knowing damn well that you spend zero of your free time with men.

“koo, i will rip your hand off your arm -” you hiss, but the mc for the night, his mom, has already spotted you and beckoned you over by name.

jungkook’s mom is cheering you on and with dozens of eyes on you, there’s no way to avoid the pressure. begrudgingly, you fully rise from your seat and join the flock of single women standing near the bride.

you’re wedged between a bridemaid that you don’t know and one of jungkook’s cousins.

“everyone better get out of my way,” one girl grumbles from behind you.

single ladies by beyonce comes on and your cheeks redden at the sound of jungkook whistling your name. you make a mental note to smack him later on.

the bride approaches with a wide grin and a posy of calla lilies in her grasp.

“ready ladies?”

you stand right in place, just waiting for the moment to be over, so you can go sit back down. your thoughts are preoccupied with the pain you feel in your soles, regretting your choice of shoes. the strappy platform heels looked cute in the store, but you wish you broke them in before today.

“god, i can’t wait until the dinner service starts. . .” you mumble to yourself, completely lost in your own world. you haven’t eaten in a few hours now and it’s starting to affect you.

then, it happens.

your arms aren’t even fully stretched out and your eyes are elsewhere, but some how, the bouquet lands right in your hands.

you blink rapidly, confused for a second. the crowd roars with life when you catch the flowers, as do most of the women surrounding you. you peer down again, turning the posy and realize that you do, in fact, have the bouquet in your hands.

“wow, look at you!” teases jungkook’s mom from a few feet away, the same mischievous glint in her eyes that you often see in her stupid son. the apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree. you had to give her props for her natural ability to joke around.

she calls over the photographer and you sheepishly shuffle over to where the bride is, posing for a quick picture.

the bride winks at you before you leave. “good luck,” she muses and you swear your cheeks burn even hotter.

when you walk back over to your table, jungkook already has his big mouth open to tease you. after taking a quick scan of your surroundings, you flip him off at a low angle, away from where anyone could see.

“can’t wait for the wedding,” he says, obviously very pleased with himself.

little did he know back then, jungkook would be at that very wedding - standing across from you, no less.

jimin definitely freaks the hell out when he sees you and jungkook with wedding bands, along with your very pregnant belly. actually, he chokes on air when the two of you come to greet him at the reception. you approach, holding hands, and jimin’s reaction gives you a good laugh.

you’re wearing a flowy floral piece that hits midi length, embroidered and layered with sheer tulle. even with the fit, it’s hard to miss your bump at this point in your trimester.

“well, this is the best wedding present ever,” he jokes, coming forward to envelope both of you into a hug.

you squeak at the way jimin tightly embraces you, laughter bubbling in your throat. “congratulations,” is all you manage to say, unsure of how to tread the conversation.

jungkook is far more relaxed, clapping his friend’s back. “you did it!” he exclaims, nearly taking jimin off his feet during their hug. "

jimin grins widely, taking a once over the both of you. “we’re due for some coffee, it seems,” he snorts and crosses his arms. “you two have some explaining to do. congratulations to you guys as well, by the way.”

you can tell that jimin is bouncing with excitement and the number of questions behind his eyes. “have anything you wanna ask now?” you ask, wryly.

“oh, i have a ton,” he answers. “but, that can wait. i do wanna know if it’s a boy or a girl, though.”

jungkook grins. “it’s a girl.”

“a girl!” jimin sighs wistfully. “oh man, i didn’t think i’d be crying again already,” he says, having already been through his share of tears during the ceremony. he even dramatically bring a hand to his eyes.

you roll your eyes and playfully smack his arm. “don’t cry, you big baby. you have a reception to get through!”

eventually, jimin has to say goodbye so that he can greet more of his guests and so, you and jungkook find your assigned table for the night.

the decorations are gorgeous, as you survey the surroundings in the greenhouse. something about lush greenery and twinkling string lights feel even cozier with the background of a fading winter outside - the stark contrast between diamond snowflakes falling and the abundance of dreamy florals scattered throughout. sheer drapes and warm hanging lanterns emit a welcoming glow in a storybook-like vision, as jungkook pulls out your chair for you.

“this reminds me a bit of your cousin’s wedding,” you comment, playing with the name card.

it doesn’t say mrs. jeon - of course it wouldn’t, neither you or jungkook told jimin about anything when you rsvped - and for some reason, you have to fight a frown on your lips.

jungkook slides in next to you. “oh yeah. where you caught the bouquet.” he smirks, thinking back to the memory and how he was so pleased with himself after forcing you to your feet.

you scowl at the look on his face. “you were such a menace for that,” you say. he knew that you weren’t good with unwanted attention, so of course he would do such a thing.

“well,” he starts, tapping his chin. “guess it came true.”

his eyes flicker towards your left hand, as you pour two glasses of water. your engagement ring catches the light brilliantly and the wedding band underneath shines just as brightly. you catch his gaze and you involuntarily find yourself lingering on jungkook’s hand, where his own band reflects.

“so, i guess all of this is your fault,” you deadpan, bringing the cup to your lips. “you jinxed it for us.”

back then, neither of you would have predicted any of this happening, especially not from a silly bouquet toss.

jungkook lets out a chuckle and doesn’t hesitate to reach over to grab your hand. he gently runs his thumb over your ring finger and you don’t pull back, instead intertwining with his.

“just be glad that you won’t need to stand up for the bouquet toss this time.”

the reception goes by relatively fast. the wedding party does their grand entrance, everybody does their dances and speeches, dinner gets served, and soon, the dancefloor opens. you cut a glare in jungkook direction when it’s time for the bouquet toss, as you catch him snickering to himself.

when the dj calls for guests to start dancing, you’re hesitant to do so. you get out of breath easily at this point in the pregnancy and your feet are a little swollen, even if you’re wearing ballet flats. still, jungkook rises to his feet and holds a hand out for you.

“oh come on,” you grumble, pointing to your current state.

an upbeat taylor swift song is playing in the background, a little too fast for you to ever keep up with. the crowd is hollering and having a great time, with jimin and his wife partying it up in the middle.

“you totally owe me a dance, wife.”

“i give you permission to dance without me, husband,” you quip back dryly, watching jimin somehow pulling off doing the dougie to love story. “i’m just gonna slow you down -”

and then, the song changes. it’s a romantic, slow piece that comes on and in the moment, the lights dim. the candlelight glow from the surrounding tables and lantern frame the dancefloor like fireflies, as the dj speaks into the mic once more.

he announces, “this one is for all the couples in the room. can we get you all on the floor?”

the crowd cheers and jungkook only looks back at you more expectantly. he has that handsome half grin on his face that you can never say no to.

“dance with me,” jungkook utters once more, voice lowering and more soft than before. “please?”

his eyes are so bright and you can’t help but clasp your hand in his. his touch feels electric when you do so, a certain static illuminated. jungkook helps you stand with a widening grin, his eyes briefly sweeping over your figure from head to toe.

he places a hand at the small of your back and leads you to the dancefloor. the two of you weave through the crowd carefully and you think you see jimin wink in your direction. you notice that jungkook can’t stop looking at you, completely fixated on you as if there was nothing and no one else in the room.

“what?” you ask.

jungkook blinks, realizing he’s been caught. “uh,” he says, sheepishly. “nothing. you just look really beautiful tonight.”

you don’t get a chance to respond, as he tugs you further into the throng of guests with his back turned and his hand moving from your back to your own. it’s a good thing, too, because you try to open your mouth and only stutter some incoherent vowels. the little compliment sends goosebumps up your arm. his hold feels safe and secure, guiding you gently without letting go. he doesn’t get to see the stupid smile briefly break out on your face, but you do squeeze his hand.

there’s a glow on your face when he stops in a corner behind a pillar, spinning around to pull you towards his chest. it’s an intimate spot, just close enough to the dancefloor, but far enough away from most prying eyes.

your hands find leverage on his shoulders, hanging around his neck. his body is warm and you think you could melt into him. jungkook places his hands on your hips, beginning to rock lightly to the soft melody playing in the background.

he has the kind of smile that belongs in fairytales and daydreams, the kind that you get lost in.

jungkook’s breath ghosts over your ear. “how’s your feet?”

you pause, looking down at your shoes. “hmm, could be worse. i’ll probably have to concede in an hour or so,” you admit with a laugh.

“i’ll carry you back to the hotel,” he declares and earns an eyeroll from you.

“whatever you say, prince charming.”

the romantic song in the background continues and you peek over jungkook’s shoulder to look at all of the other couples in the vicinity. there’s older couples who have clearly been together for years, decades even. an elderly pair embrace and sway like they’re in their own world. you could only pray for something like that in your future.

you take another look around the venue. jimin’s bride wears a beautiful mermaid dress, embellished with small crystals that catch the light in the greenhouse. guests watch on blissfully with warm smiles in the direction of the happy couple. you survey the delicate florals around tables, the elegant linens, the intimate fairy lights that glitter like far off stars. it leaves you envisioning a moment like this reserved for yourself, surrounded by love and a promise for the future.

your eyes flicker up to meet jungkook’s gaze - unflinching and swirling with adoration.

he looks at you like you’re the centre of the universe, flourishing amidst constellations and a million suns.

then, it hits you.

in every version of this fantasy, there’s no one else but jungkook.

all of your daydreams about weddings only involve him. you only want his lips amidst candlelight and an ivory train following you down the aisle. there’s not a future where it’s not jungkook feeding you a slice of buttercream cake with your arms looped. he’s the man that sweeps you off your feet and never leaves you behind, even when it’s all you’re begging for. when your hair turns grey and your movement slow, it’s jungkook that wraps his arms around you and sways with you back and forth to an old tune from your youth.

you don’t need to imagine any moments or promises, not when it’s right in front of you.

he is the beginning and the end. you realize that there isn’t a future where that doesn’t exist.

it’s jungkook and always has been.

“koo?” your whisper is hesitant, as if your lips have moved on their own accord.

jungkook hasn’t broken the gaze once, his eyes examining the crease between your brow and the way your shoulders straighten ever so slightly.

he says your name. “what is it?” jungkook whispers back, tightening his hold around your waist. “what are you thinking about?”

like stories and films told throughout generations, it begins slow - at least in your head. you move a hand to the curve of his jaw, your manicured nails light against his flesh. without registering it, your breath slows, until it’s completely held with a sharp inhale. your chest feels like it’s going to explode, as an entire army marches through each vessel. you can feel it, the way your blood runs hot. lacking heels, you instead stand on tipped toes to meet his height.

jungkook doesn’t move. he watches you intently and you can feel his reluctance, like his eyes are deceiving him. he can’t move - not until you move first. the nagging feeling has been hanging over your head the whole night, even since yesterday and so, you make the decision.

finally, you lean in and your lips meet his.

“you.” is all you whisper.

his movements respond instantaneously, dragging you even closer to him. the rhythm you set is slow and you want to feel everything. jungkook kisses you back with the same softness, vanishing into your touch. his frame relaxes as if he’s been holding himself up with force for weeks and it’s your lips that have brought him peace.

your kiss tells words that you didn’t know you held in your heart. it’s not just your mouth, but the way you grip hard onto jungkook’s shoulders and the sigh against his lips. the kiss tastes like cherries and peppermint, taking its time and forgetting about the world around you.

because, right now, it’s just the two of you.

when you pull away at the end of the song, jungkook’s forehead is pressed against yours and he tries to steady his heartbeat. it’s pounding and you still feel it now, pressed against him, like it’s going to leap out of his body at any moment.

you’re no better as you stare right back at him, breathless in every sense of the word. through these past eight months, there hasn’t been a single kiss shared like this one. it was gentle, harmonious, and most of all, it felt right.

you don’t need to explain yourself - you see that he knows. he always has known, even before you did.

this is what he’s been waiting for and what you’ve been failing to hide.

so, jungkook smiles and as do you. he pulls back slightly, only to press another kiss to your lips. chaste and belonging.

on the way back from his cousin’s wedding two years ago, you and jungkook are completely trashed. it’s a little past one in the morning when the two of you stumble out of the uber, stopped in front of the hotel where you’re staying. your platform heels do nothing to aid your lack of balance, even with the straps for ankle support. jungkook gets out of the car first, doing his best to catch you when you accidentally trip once on your feet.

“woah -” jungkook snickers, hands on your waist.

the two of you are lot closer than what he’s used to, but jungkook knows it can’t be helped with the state you’re both in. doesn’t even care, even. he puts all of his concentration in making sure you don’t fall on your ass, his hold tightening.

you giggle back, clutching onto his arms for dear life. your dress falls right above your knee normally, but has ridden up slightly with the near fall and the way you don’t even notice. jungkook reaches down and pulls the fabric, ensuring you’re covered properly.

“my feet are killing me,” you drunkenly complain, forehead to jungkook’s chest. the world is spinning around you and you need to press your head into him to steady yourself momentarily.

“you’re a mess,” jungkook replies, but isn’t much better himself and is moving side to side involuntarily. he looks down at you with a laugh and gathers your hair in his hands, tying it off with a scrunchie that he’s kept on his wrist all night for you.

you pout up at him. “shut your mouth,” you say.

the uber has driven off at this point and jungkook looks down at your shoulder, relieved to see that your purse slings off of it. he reaches inside, not bothering to move you away from leaning on him, and finds the key cards to your hotel rooms.

you pull away when you feel his movement, curious. jungkook holds the key cards up to your vision and affectionately pats your head.

“c’mon, let’s get going inside. you’re gonna start shivering.”

it may be june, but the the air in the middle of the night has a bite that reaches your skin. as if on cue, you shiver.

you try to take one step, but wince. “i don’t think i’ll make it upstairs,” you remark, holding onto jungkook once more.

“hurts?” jungkook asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at your shoes.

“yeah, give me a second, i’ll take them off - shit!”

the last thing you expect is to be suddenly scooped up from the ground and you flail awkwardly when you no longer find yourself on your feet. a yelp leaves your lips as jungkook heaves you into his arms, bridal style, and you initially struggle to wrap your arms around his neck.

even in his drunken state, jungkook is strong and doesn’t struggle to lift you up. he grins down at you, obviously amused with himself, as he makes strides towards the hotel doors.

“stop moving so much,” he advises against your lack of balance, even in his arms.

you sputter out, “what the hell are you doing?!”

he finally gets you comfortable in the carry, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. he’s so sturdy and unwavering, the way he has you in his hold.

“i’m carrying you up to your room. duh.”

“put me down, you fucking loser!”

jungkook continues to cackle, trudging inside. you have to lower your voice at this point - the lobby is completely empty, save for the front desk receptionist who doesn’t even blink at the sight of jungkook carrying you inside. clearly, she’s seen her fair share of middle of the night antics from guests.

soon, you’re inside of the elevator and you’re still trying to wiggle out of jungkook’s grasp.

“we’re almost there,” he says, smirking down at you. “stop moving. i’m trying to help you out here.”

you roll your eyes. “whatever.”

the elevator dings open and you’ve reached the twentieth floor of the hotel. you and jungkook have rooms right next to each other, where he makes a beeline for.

you’re impressed at the way jungkook is somehow able to unlock the door to your room and kick it open. before leaving for the ceremony, you woke up a little past your initial alarm and in the hurricane that you left in your getting ready, you didn’t have time to clean any of it up. jungkook just chuckles, unsurprised, when he flicks the light open and sees your makeup scattered everywhere.

he walks over to the bed and finally drops you, gently and slowly. you huff when he does so, the world finally straight in your eyes.

jungkook grins as he suddenly kneels in front of you. “don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who’s been complaining for hours about your feet.” he’s now undoing the straps of your heels - fumbling slightly in his drunken state, but is determined to get them off your feet.

his touch is soft as he pulls at the clasp, ridding them and tossing them to the floor.

“yeah, yeah,” you retort, watching him. “. . . thanks.”

you feel a buzz in the room, ringing in your ears and up your arms. jungkook rises to his feet and walks over to where your clutter is on a nearby table. he locates something and when he approaches you once again, you can see that it’s a pack of makeup remover.

his hand cups your cheek, urging you towards him, as he takes a wipe from the package. you’re a little too slow to realize what he’s doing, until he’s tenderly dragging it across your cheeks and eyes. you sit still, humming to yourself and letting him do it without protest.

when jungkook is satisfied, he tosses it into the trashcan. he turns around and you have a water bottle outstretched for him, having not forgotten to make sure he’s good, too. you push it further into his hands and he takes it with a grateful laugh.

even when he’s taking care of you, it’s like you never forget to do the same with him.

jungkook has always been the type to dote over others. he does it with his family and with girlfriends, never asking for anything back. you’re the only person in his life that has always made sure he’s also taken care of. it’s never changed.

“gonna be okay?”

you look up at him through your eyelashes, a small and genuine smile on your face. “yeah. i will.”

jungkook returns the soft smile and leans down to press a kiss on the crown of your head.

“i’ll go now. goodnight, idiot.”

“goodnight, koo.”

jungkook parks the car in the underground garage of the hotel, singing under his breath. you recognize it as the song that jimin and his now wife chose for their first dance. in the passenger seat, your eyes had been half-open the entire drive from the venue and you couldn’t help it when jungkook’s relaxing voice lulls in the background.

he looks over at you and chuckles, leaning over to unbuckle your seatbelt for you. the brief brush of his hand over your arm wakes you up, as you meet his eyes.

something has shifted in the air. you can tell by the gleam he fails to hide and the way his touch lingers for a little too long.

jungkook exits the car and comes around to open your side, a hand outstretched to help you up.

when you stand on your feet, there’s a clear grimace on your face from the dull ache shooting through your body.

“shit, it hurts,” you mumble, placing a palm on the side of the car for a moment.

he sighs, snaking an arm around your waist. “your feet?” he asks and you nod.

the swelling that came with your pregnancy has only seemed to worsen as the weeks go by. sometimes, it’s just your face and especially your nose. you try your best to stay off your feet, but it couldn’t be helped tonight. they’re red and obviously bigger than usual, but at this point in the night, your ankles are also swollen.

jungkook frowns and of course, he does what he does best.

he sweeps you off your feet.

you can’t stop the shriek that you let out when he does so - suddenly hooking his arms around your body and scooping you right up. he carries you like a damn feather, not even blinking. the shriek transforms into a laugh and you’re both giggling on your way inside.

“be careful!” you chide.

jungkook just playfully rolls his eyes. “you’re the mother of my child, i’ll never be more careful in my life than i am now.”

the action has memories crashing into your conscience like a tidal wave, as you feel a strange sense of deja vu.

only, the circumstances are different. jungkook still insists on picking you up as if you weigh nothing. this time, you’re both stone cold sober. your feet don’t hurt from dancing and ridiculously tall heels, but they’re swollen from your third trimester. you’re pregnant tonight and you’re carrying a life created by you and the man carrying you up to your hotel room.

your best friend. your lab partner. your neighbour. your husband. the father of your child.

and as you look up at him with big eyes and parted lips, jungkook is your world.

he glances down at you with nothing but love swirling in those brown eyes. he looks at you like you’re his world, too.

the two of you make it up the elevator and onto the floor when your hotel rooms are. separate. when you rsvped for jimin’s wedding, it was long ago and before anything happened between you and jungkook, so you booked a room for yourself. jungkook didn’t change the reservation and didn’t ask any questions when you walked into your own hotel room when you checked in that afternoon. he’s given you that, along with the way he respectfully kept himself from you when you moved back into the apartment.

“you’re such a show off,” you tease.

even if neither of you have been drinking tonight, you’re both still giggling to one another when you make your way down the hallway. your legs dangle freely and your hold around jungkook’s neck is secure, not trying to fight his grip.

jungkook shakes his head with a grin. “you love it.”

“i do love it,” you reply without hesitation, playing with the locks of his hair at the back of his head. it’s an easy admittance, even with the way you playfully complained the entire time.

he just smiles again, a flush across his cheeks.

jungkook gets your hotel room door open and approaches your bed, gently sitting you down. despite the long day and the fact that it’s past midnight, your earlier fatigue in the car ride back has suddenly departed. your eyes are open and alert, watching jungkook’s every move with your heart stuttering in your chest.

like before, jungkook kneels in front of you and slips your flats off your feet. you groan at the release, your poor body under so much pressure.

“you packed your compression socks?” he asks tenderly, pausing to massage the flesh. you can’t help the moan that leaves your lips and you tilt your head back slightly.

“yeah. in my duffel bag.”

he stands up and before looking for your bag, kisses your temple. your duffel bag is on the chair by the wall and jungkook digs through it, finding your socks and your makeup wipes. when jungkook turns around, he’s also hit with that sudden wall of deja vu.

you sit prettily on the bed, hair slightly messy from the feburary wind outside and the craze of the night. he remembers how he cleaned you up last time, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss with the small movement. his eyes trace your figure, over the straps on your shoulders, the flowers on the fabric, and the way the dress molds around that beautiful bump.

he thinks you’re absolutely radiant.

his wife.

jungkook just stands there for a moment, until he meets your curious eyes and he needs to snap out of it.

taking a deep breath, jungkook walks over and wordlessly rolls the socks onto your feet. he wipes your face clean, smiling down at your doe eyes as he does so.

when jungkook pulls away to throw out the used wipes, something in your heart lurches. your breath quickens as he stands up to face the nearest trash can and you suddenly reach out, grabbing a fistful of fabric to keep him from moving.

his eyebrows fly to his hairline, concerned immediately.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, hurried. jungkook looks over you to see if you’re hurt in any way and comes closer.

at that, your face flushes deeper. the heat crawls and meets your ears and neck, until you can sheepishly say what’s on your mind.

you chew on your lip before spitting it out.

“don’t go. stay.”

like last time, you think that jungkook is about to toss that makeup wipe and make his way back to his own room for the night. you can’t let that happen, your heart won’t allow him to go farther than a few feet. so, you speak up, even with how embarrassed you are to beg him to not go.

jungkook freezes at your words. he takes a moment to process what you’ve said, before a smile break out on his face. he takes several steps closer again, kneeling until he’s at eye level with you.

“my love, i was never going to go anywhere,” he whispers, reaching out to brush his thumb across your cheek.

just like that, your heart settles into the earth. it roots itself into the tree that has grown with you and jungkook all this time, the flowers on the branches blossoming and the leaves turning an enduring emerald. you feel a sudden calm that has been crashing against your walls for months now, as you finally let everything in. you feel this calm in everything - his reverent touch, his devoted gaze, his genuine words.

the calm spreads in the way he leans in for a gentle kiss.

you and jungkook have always existed in an evergreen orbit, always circling around one another and never leaving each other’s side. it’s been this way for years and even now, throughout it all.

even when you run away and he buries his fears, the orbit is steadfast and unbreakable. when something pulls on a star, the light always pushes back. it’s a light that isn’t just illumination, but pressure. a quiet force that shapes the edges of worlds. for years, the two of you have been persisting gravitational pulls within, as the orbit leaves fingerprints in starlight.

you return the kiss and when it’s all over, it’s just him. he buries his face in your neck and you let yourself melt, no longer pushing back.

JUNE (AGAIN)

every single person in the madison square garden jumps to their feet - possibly every person in all of new york does. jungkook can’t even catch his breath if he tries, completely bent over the bench as the titans’ coach barks order for the next play. yeonjun shoves a cup of gatorade in his direction, seeing the pained expression on their star point guard’s face. the thumb sprain from the third quarter is absolutely killing jungkook, along with the amount of minutes that he’s knocked down in this game, but he has no choice. this is game fucking seven and they’re one possession away from a championship ring.

“jungkook. jungkook!”

chris shakes jungkook’s shoulders and the latter male finally straightens his posture, as about a dozen eyes stare back at him. they’re running out of time, while the crowd grows louder and louder in the background in an almost deafening fashion. jungkook thinks that he’s never felt such a rush of adrenaline in his life.

coach looks at him, eyes fiery. “can we count on you?”

“yes.”

the answer is instant and just like that, jungkook has switched it all off. any other game, he’d been out ages ago, but this is now or never.

millions watching across the country and beyond, he can’t fuck this up. jungkook swipes at the sweat rolling down the side of his head as the whistle blows and the titans are called back onto the court. all he can hear is the way the crowd roars to life again. they chant for defense and they chant his name. everything blurs together - from the squeaking sneakers on the hardwood floor, the taste of cherry gatorade on his tongue, the ringing in his ears.

jungkook stands at the side, palming the basketball while his teammates prepare for the inbound.

the average possession in a professional basketball game lasts 14.3 seconds. funnily enough, it takes this exact amount of time for jungkook to become an nba champion.

five seconds to find the open man. three seconds to get the ball back. four and a half seconds for a screen and an opportunity to throw the rock again for a shot. then, two point three seconds for the ball to go right through the net.

it goes by in an instant, as the play ends and jungkook makes the game winning assist to heeseung, who shoots an absolute dagger from the corner.

swish.

the buzzer sounds off and for just a nanosecond, jungkook freezes.

he sees a flurry of memories in that moment. first, jungkook sees his teenage self, slumped over sharing ice cream with you when he gets cut from the varsity team. he sees the first time he ever stepped foot onto a college basketball court and all the anxieties that ran through his veins. the look on his mom’s face when he was able to retire her and he told her that she’ll never have to work a day in her life again.

jungkook sees it all - then he sees you.

the moment you met. your first kiss and the first time you ever told each other that you love each other and meant it. he sees you at the hospital, hand clasped in his, as the doctor tells you it’s time to push and through the pain, you curse him out for ever getting you pregnant.

he blinks and there’s confetti everywhere. his team has swarmed him in a crazy embrace that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

but, all jungkook really sees is you.

he muscles his way through the mob that has packed the basketball court, finding you through the lunacy of the scene. there’s reporters everywhere and cameras in his face, but he ignores it all.

“go!” layla urges with the biggest grin on her face, nudging you.

you’re already crying. at some point, layla takes your daughter from your arms so that you can rush across the court for your husband. past all the players and staff, you sprint faster than you have in your entire life, jumping right into jungkook’s arms as soon as your eyes lock.

he hoists you right off the floor and you wrap your legs around him, spinning you around with a laugh.

“you did it, koo!” you exclaim into his jersey, where you’ve buried your face to hide your tears.

jungkook is also crying, holding the one person who has been with him throughout it all. he only lets go when he sees layla approach with his baby girl and you’re back on your feet, so that jungkook can hold her.

he smiles through his tears. “come here, baby,” jungkook coos, taking her.

the three month old is already spoiled with a customized version of her daddy’s signature sneakers and dons his jersey, as well as noise cancelling headphones over her ears. she’s giggling and wide awake - obviously not aware of anything going on, but the raining confetti brings excitement out of her and she’s clapping her hands as her dad kisses her head. she has his big eyes, twinkling and bright.

jungkook holds his daughter close with one arm, as he pulls you into his other side and kisses you - long and hard, not caring about the amount of media surrounding him.

he mumbles one thing against your lips: “this is for you.”

and he doubles down on it. when it’s time for the trophy presentation and jungkook hoists not just the larry o’brien championship gold, but also the most valuable player trophy, he makes it known.

you’re standing off to the side, wedged in between his parents and holding your daughter as jungkook speaks. he’s exhausted, you can tell, but it’s lost in the pure joy in his eyes. this is everything he’s been working towards for as long as you’ve known him and your heart stills.

“i wouldn’t be here without my wife, who has been by my side since we were in high school,” jungkook speaks into the mic, the mvp trophy balanced on his hip. “everything i do is for her and for our baby girl, who just turned three months old.”

the crowd cheers and you’re vaguely aware of the camera pointed in your face, but you don’t care. he looks at you from all the way at center court, like he can find your eyes among hundreds in the matter of seconds.

he always seems to find you, no matter what.

for years, you’ve loved the month of june for other reasons. when winter passes and the flowers begin to bloom, june brings you jeon jungkook and the feeling of summer against your cheeks. with your beach wedding around the corner, it now brings you a new chapter of promises - even with the ones broken in the past, the wounds of such pain have long healed. everything about june is golden, from the relentless sun to the glint of jungkook’s trophy and to locket around your baby daughter’s neck. the loving gaze in jungkook’s eyes shines like gold and you tuck away another memory of this month into your heart, looking forward to years with more to come.

You moved out after a week.

It wasn’t dramatic. No slammed doors, or awkward goodbye at the threshold. Just a normal morning, your suitcase by the door with his hand lingering on the handle a second longer than necessary before letting it go.

Living with him had been.. strange. Not bad. Just strange in that way something becomes when it gets past the version of a person you thought you knew. You’d spent so long disliking Jungkook, or convincing yourself you did, that seeing him walk around his own apartment barefoot and half awake and pouty, making coffee for both of you without asking how you like it because he already knew, well, that was strange.

He’d been patient, softer than you expected. He never made you feel like you were in the way, even when you clearly were, with your things on his chair, your shampoo next to his in the shower, your presence folding into his routine like it had always belonged there.

You hadn’t known he could be that sweet.

And maybe that’s what unsettled you the most.

You found a place eventually. It’s far from campus, inconvenient enough that your mornings now start earlier and end later, but the bus ride long and quiet and gives you much time to think. Alas, it’s yours, small, slightly outdated, and a little lonely. Still, it feels safer that way.

Distance helps.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you start taking different hallways between classes. When you stay in the library longer than necessary, when you spot him across the courtyard and pretend you’re suddenly so very interested in your phone.

You’re not avoiding him in any obvious way. If anyone asked, you’d deny it. But your body betrays you though, the way your shoulders tense when you hear his laugh somewhere behind you, the way your pulse spikes if you think he might call out your name.

Because what you feel now isn’t so simple. Not anymore at least. Or maybe it never was.

It’s there when you wake up and there again when you’re trying to fall asleep. It’s there in the memory of everything he has ever done and said.

You don’t trust it. You don’t trust yourself with it. You don't trust him. So you put space between you and the possibility of it becoming something real. You’re careful, meticulously so.

The problem is that Jungkook notices everything.

He doesn’t confront you. Instead, he starts always appearing in the margins of your day, sitting a few rows behind you in lectures he never used to attend, waiting by the vending machines outside your building like he just happened to be there at the same time you were. It would almost feel coincidental if he didn’t look so aware when your eyes accidentally meet.

One afternoon, you’re halfway down the steps outside the humanities building when you hear him call out to you. He jogs the last few steps to catch up, slightly out of breath, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

"You’ve been hard to catch." he says, and there’s a faint smile there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes.. look tired. He looks tired.

"I’ve been around."

"Have you?" You hate that question. Hate that he asks it like he already knows the answer.

The bus pulls up across the street, and you’re grateful for the distraction. "I need to go, Jungkook." you say, adjusting the strap on your shoulder.

He glances at the bus, then back at you. "That’s the earlier one."

"So?"

"You don't take that one." He says them without accusation, almost curious, but it feels like he’s peeling something back layer by layer.

You force a shrug. "Schedules change."

"Right."

He steps back then, giving you room to pass, but not before his hand brushes yours. Your body reacts instantly, heat flashing through you in a way that makes you angry at yourself.

Another day, you find yourself in the a corner of the campus café, tucked behind a stack of books you’re only somewhat reading. The place smells like toasted bread and strong coffee, the buzzing of low conversations all around you. You tell yourself it’s to get work done, but really, it’s to avoid leaving and stepping outside, where he might just appear again.

You stir your coffee absently, watching steam curl in lazy patterns, pretending you’re absorbed in the textbook in front of you.

"You’re hard to find." a voice says.

Your head snaps up. Of course. There he is, leaning against the table, hands wrapped around a cup of black coffee, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

"I’m.. busy." you shrug.

He steps closer. "Busy?" he repeats, tilting his head. "Or avoiding me?"

You force a brittle laugh. "Maybe a little of both."

"Yeah?" He moves a fraction closer, resting one elbow on the table beside your books. "I don’t know if I like that answer."

Your stomach flips. "Well, you’ll just have to get used to disappointment."

He smirks faintly, but it doesn’t hide the hurt in his gaze. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you." he says softly.

Your fingers tighten around your pen. You don’t look at him. You can’t. You want to, you want to feel the nearness of him without losing your composure.

"You should at least finish your coffee." he continues. "Don’t let it get cold just because you’re avoiding me."

You manage a small nod. "Thanks."

And just like that, the tiny bubble you’ve been floating in, your careful little world of avoidance, feels like it’s slowly cracking.

On a friday evening, you’re walking back to your apartment, umbrella barely doing its job against the rain that’s picked up. Your bag swings against your hip, a little heavier than usual, filled with books you probably won’t read tonight. You try to focus on the rhythm of your steps, the wet pavement glistening under the streetlights, anything to ignore the knot of thoughts curling in your chest.

"Hey."

You stop, heart stuttering. Right. He’s there again, just a few steps behind you. The street is mostly empty, the crowd has dispersed hours ago.

"Listen, I—" you start, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

"No, I just.." He hesitates, takes a slow step closer. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

You glance up at him, want to say something mean, something to keep the distance you’ve been meticulously guarding, but the words die in your throat. "You don’t have to.. follow me.." you manage finally.

He chuckles softly. "I’m not following." he says. "I’m.. walking the same way. Coincidence."

You bite your lip, pretending to look down at your shoes. Coincidence or not, the proximity makes your stomach churn in a maddening way.

"Anyway." you say, trying to keep your tone light "I should get inside. It’s late."

He doesn’t move. His eyes catch yours, he's insistent. "You’ve been avoiding me." he says.

You shift your weight on your legs, cheeks warming, your hands now gripping the umbrella tighter. "I’m.. figuring things out."

He steps closer again. "We can stop pretending, you know." he murmurs. "Stop pretending that everything is normal. That what we feel, what I feel.. you can’t hide it forever."

You want to step back, but your feet feel rooted in the concrete. The drizzle falls in soft sheets around you, and for a moment, the street, the rain, the city, none of it exists except for the pretty sparkles in his eyes.

You swallow, forcing yourself to look away. "I— Don't know what you're talking about."

"Please stop. Look, I know I have been a jerk and me helping you up until now won't fix it all but, fuck— please, let me make it up to you, I can't—" He takes in a deep breath like he's about to start crying. "I can't stop thinking about you."

You blink, heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. "I.. I don’t.." you start, voice trembling even though you’re trying to keep it steady. Your hands grip the umbrella so hard it feels like it might snap. "I can’t—this is.. everything’s too much right now."

He steps closer again."Bug.." he says softly, almost like a plea. "I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t. I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, and it’s not fair to either of us."

Your stomach twists, a mixture of fear, desire, and something you don’t really have the words for. "You—" you start, trying to think of something mean to say, but your voice falters.

He tilts his head slightly, giving you a small crooked smile that somehow makes your chest hurt more. "I’m not asking for anything crazy. I just.. I need you to know. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t like you."

The rain drips off your hair, onto your shoulders, onto your hands, and yet, somehow, it feels like the world has shrunk just to the two of you.

"Please let me do this. Give me a chance and I swear— I swear if I fuck up I'll leave you alone. Just.."

And your heart betrays you, answering before your mind can. You step closer, closing the last sliver of space, and the world falls silent, rain and city lights blurring into this one thing you've been wanting to do for one whole year.

Your hands find his shoulders, your body tilts into his, and the rain becomes applause around you as the kiss deepens. He sighs against your lips, in a mixture of relief and disbelief, and you cling to him just as desperately.

Jungkook pulls back, hands cupping your cold cheeks. "So is that a yes? Can I be your boyfriend?" He smiles a little shaky, still searching in your eyes. "You don’t have to say it out loud if you’re not ready.." he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek, wiping a stray drop of rain. "I just.. needed to know."

Your lips twitch into a nervous smile. "I think— Yeah. Yeah, I want that."

Relief floods his expression, and he pulls you close again, forehead resting against yours. "Thank you. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that." he admits.

You laugh softly, the tension of the past weeks melting just a little. "You’ve been so frustrating." you tease, hiding your blush behind a hand.

"Frustrating?" he echoes, eyes glinting, lips curving into a mischievous grin. "I’ve been patient. Very patient."

You shove him gently, laughing again despite yourself. "Yeah, yeah, very patient."

He leans down, resting his chin atop your head. "I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to do. I just.. I don’t want to waste any more time." You squeeze him, heart full, rain soaking through both of you, but you don’t care. Not now, not ever.

"Let's go inside." You speak up. "You wanna stay over tonight?"

He chuckles softly, warmth brushing against your ear as he whispers, "If you want me to, I wouldn’t mind."

You shrug, trying to act casual, though your fingers are still entwined with his. "I mean— I guess we could. Just.. for tonight."

His grin spreads wider, a little triumphant, but gentle. "Just tonight, huh? Right."

You roll your eyes. "Let’s get out of the rain before we catch pneumonia." you say, tugging gently at his hand.

The days after feel unreal.

It’s strange. Funny.

You’ve spent so long fantasizing about this, about him. Late nights staring at the ceiling, replaying conversations, imagining how his hands would feel on you, how it would feel to finally be chosen. And now that you are it almost feels like you’re watching someone else’s life.

He’s different.

Or maybe he’s just finally honest. He waits for you outside your classes, brings you coffee without asking what you want because he already knows. He looks at you like he’s still scared you might disappear, like he can’t believe you said yes either.

And everything is good. Too good.

He kisses your temple. "You okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. I’m just.."

"Happy?" he finishes.

You smile. "Yeah."

You keep waiting for something to go wrong. For him to slip back into the version of himself you knew before. The mean one. The inconsistent one. The one who made you feel like you were always standing just outside the door of something you weren’t allowed into.

But he doesn’t.

He texts you first, calls you just to hear your voice, shows up when he says he will. When you’re walking together, he doesn’t walk ahead, he stays beside you, fingers brushing yours until they lace together naturally, like that’s always where they were meant to be. It is subtle, but it feels monumental for you. You catch yourself staring at him sometimes, almost confused. This is the same boy you spent so much time aching over. The same one you built entire daydreams around. And now he’s real. Your boyfriend.

You talk about small things, stupid things. What you’re cooking later, a show you both pretend not to like but still binge. He watches you when you speak, holds you when you cry. And you start relaxing, start believing maybe this is what it was always supposed to be.

──────────────

The days after you go public with him feel good, and calm in a way you’re not used to. You’re not anxious anymore.

Maybe the universe felt your were getting to comfortable. Too happy.

When an anonymous account messages you, you don’t expect anything serious. Probably a troll, someone bored.

There’s a video attached. You assume it’s spam, but you press play anyway.

The room is familiar, his old bedroom. The one he had before he moved, one you’d only seen in his lives when he had less than 100 viewers.

It was him and.. Your ex-best friend ?

It’s clearly from over a year ago. You can tell by her hair, by the furniture and by his voice. He had it deeper when he used to smoke.

God.

Technically, he didn’t do anything wrong. He wasn’t yours yet. But that doesn’t stop the way your heart genuinely hurts.

Because she knew. She knew you liked him, she knew you were in love with him, ahe was there when you cried about him, when you overanalyzed every interaction, when she told you to give him that note.

And she slept with him anyway.

She never told you.

Was she ever really your friend, or did she hate you from the beginning? Now you’re finding out from a fake account like some kind of punchline. Another message comes in.

"No secrets now, right?"

It’s not even about the timing, it’s more about the silence. About the fact that you built your courage to confess while she had already crossed that line. About the fact that she let you pour your heart out to him a year ago without ever mentioning that something had happened between them.

Maybe it was meaningless to him. But it wasn’t meaningless to you. You sit there staring at your phone, trying to sort out what you’re actually feeling. Jealousy? Yes. Hurt? Definitely. But deeper than that is humiliation.

You don’t know if you’re mad at him. You don’t know if you’re mad at her. You just know that something that felt solid a second ago now feels like fucking rot.

You can already hear him saying it meant nothing.

But if it meant nothing, why does it feel like everything to you right now?

He knows something’s wrong the second you stop answering.

You don’t text back. Don’t open his last message, don’t react to the stupid meme he sends an hour later just to get your attention.

By evening, he’s standing outside your apartment door with a small paper bag from that dessert place you love, the one where they make strawberry cream buns you always pretend are too sweet but eat five of anyway.

You almost don’t open the door, but he keeps knocking. Should you even hear him out?

"Please.." he says through it. "Just— I know you’re in there."

When you finally unlock it, your face gives you away instantly. His expression drops. "Hey. Hey, babe, what happened?"

You don’t answer. You just step back and let him in.

He sets the bag down on your counter slowly. "You didn’t answer me all day. I thought—" He stops, scanning your face. "Why have you been crying?"

You laugh, but it sounds wrong. "You’re really good at acting, you know that?"

His brows pull together. "What?"

"Whatever."

"Hey. Talk to me."

Something in you snaps so you shove your phone into his hands. "What is this?"

He frowns, confused, and looks down. You watch his face as the video plays. Confusion, then recognition, then something like shock.

"What the fuck—" He looks up at you. "Where did you get this?"

"So it’s real!" you choke out.

"Yes, it’s real, but— I don’t know when this was filmed. I swear to God I didn’t know she recorded this. I would never—"

"So you were cheating on Sydney with my best friend?" you shoot back, tears already spilling over.

"What? No. No. God, no. We weren’t together then. Me and her weren't together, ok? This was just— it was before anything. Before you gave me the note. Before all of that."

You shake your head, crying harder now. "You slept with her."

"Yes." he says, running a hand through his hair. "Yes. One night. I was drunk out of my mind. It meant nothing. I didn’t even know you two were friends. She never said anything."

"You didn’t tell me after you found out she was either."

He freezes.

"I poured my heart out to you a year ago." you say, your voice breaking. "Do you know how humiliating that feels now? To find out you’d already been with her? And neither of you said a word?"

"I didn’t think it mattered.." he says, and then immediately winces. "No, that sounds wrong. I mean— it didn’t mean anything to me. It was stupid. I was stupid."

You stare at him. "Is that why you rejected my note back then?"

His head snaps up. "No! No. That had nothing to do with it."

"Then why?" you demand. "Why were you so mean to me? Why did you act like I was embarrassing you? Why did you push me away for a year?"

Your voice cracks completely. "Do you know what that year was like for me? Watching you live your life. Watching you with other girls. Torturing myself. Imagining it was me. Touching myself thinking about you while you were out there fucking half the campus!"

He looks just stunned.

"Why?" you whisper. "Why were you so shitty to me, Jungkook?"

Something shifts in him then, the defensiveness drops and the frustration turns inward. He laughs once, but there is nothing amused about it.

"Because I loved you, okay?" You blink. "I’ve loved you since first year." he says, voice shaking now. "Before you tutored me. Before I got popular. Before any of that. And I didn’t know what to do—" He swallows. You stare at him like he’s speaking another language.

"I was broke, on probation. Barely passing. You were the smartest person in every room. I was the guy barely hanging on. I liked you so much it made me feel stupid. Small."

He steps closer to you.

"When you started tutoring me, I thought it was charity. I thought you pitied me. And I hated that I needed you. I hated that I liked needing you."

Your tears slow, but they don’t stop.

"So what?" you say. "So you decided to hurt me first?"

"I decided to push you away before you could see how messed up I was." he admits. "Before you realized I wasn’t good enough. I figured if I acted like I didn’t care, you’d stop looking at me like I mattered."

He rubs his face. "And when you gave me that note, I panicked. Because suddenly it was real. And I thought, if I take this and I mess it up, I lose you for good. So I told myself I was protecting you."

"By humiliating me?" you whisper.

"By keeping you away from someone who thought he’d ruin you." he says quietly.

Silence fills the room.

"And Sydney? My friend?" you ask.

He exhales sharply. "She was there. She was a distraction. And your friend.. I was drunk and angry and trying to prove to myself I didn’t care about you. That I could want someone else. It was stupid. It was empty. I left before she even woke up."

You study his face.

"I swear to you." he says, stepping closer but not touching you yet. "That night had nothing to do with rejecting you. I didn’t reject you because of her, or Sidney. I rejected you because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you."

You shake your head weakly. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

"I know." he says immediately. "Fuck— I know that now. I was insecure and selfish and a dick. That’s the truth."

The room feels smaller, you can barely breathe.

"I should have told you." he adds. "About her. Even if it was nothing. You deserved to know. I didn’t think it would ever come back. I didn’t think it mattered."

"It mattered to me." you say.

"I can see that." His voice softens. "I have never loved Sidney. I have never wanted her, or your friend. I have never looked at them the way I look at you. That year I kept my distance because I thought I was protecting you from me. And all I did was hurt you anyway."

He finally reaches for your hands. "If you want to walk away right now, I’ll let you." he says. "But don’t think for a second that I didn’t love you. I’ve loved you so long it scares me."

He’s bracing himself for you to leave. Instead, you grab him. You don’t think and you don’t let it cloud your head. Your hands fist in his shirt and you pull him down to you, crashing your mouth against his like you’re trying to erase every second of that lost year. The kiss is messy and desperate and wet with tears. You taste salt, you don’t even know if it’s yours or his.

He makes a broken sound against your lips. You push him back a step, then another, and then you’re kissing him again, harder, deeper, like you need to prove he’s real, you need to prove he’s yours now.

"I’m not walking away." you breathe against his mouth.

He pulls you up so suddenly you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. His hands are everywhere and you cling to him just as tightly.

He kisses you like he’s been starving.

He stumbles toward your bedroom, still holding you. You’re both crying and laughing at the same time, overwhelmed, and raw. Every kiss feels like relief and grief.

He lowers you onto the bed gently.

Your fingers tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off without breaking the kiss. His forehead rests against yours for a second, breathing hard.

"I was so stupid." he whispers.

"I know." you whisper back. But you’re smiling through tears.

He brushes your hair back from your face, hands softer now. His thumbs trace your cheeks where tears are still drying. "I love you." he says.

Jungkook kisses your mouth one more time before his lips drift lower. Your jaw, your throat. His hands move carefully.

His mouth brushes the sensitive skin beneath your ear and you shiver. He exhales softly against you, then presses another kiss there, slower this time.

You can feel his hands trembling slightly as they slide to the hem of your shirt.

He pushes it up inch by inch, watching your face the entire time. When the fabric slips over your head, he pauses and just looks at you awed.

"You’re so pretty, baby."

His fingers trace lightly down your collarbone, then lower, and his mouth follows with gentle kisses down to your chest, tongue circling one of your nipples, unhurried. Your hands slide into his hair.

His eyes lift to yours. You swallow. Your heart is beating so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

"I’ve never.. done this before." you say softly.

You don’t have to spell it out, he understands. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leans down again. His lips press to one of your breast. Lower.

His hands slide along your waist and he kisses down your stomach, achingly slow, his eyes lifting occasionally to meet yours

"I’m not going to hurt you." he murmurs, placing soft kisses above your bellybutton.

"Jungkook, I need—" you shy away, not quite believing any of this is real. suddenly you're fully naked, with him between your legs, and you try your best to keep quiet, you really do, but god, was he great at what he was doing.

You swallow back a few moans, his digits finally making their way inside of your gummy walls. What a strange feeling, you think.

"Okay?" he asks and you nod rapidly while you look him in his big puppy dog eyes.

He eats at you like he's been starving for years, his hair all messy from you pulling on it and cheeks rosy like cherry blossoms. For a moment it looks like you swapped places, with how flustered he seems.

You feel yourself tighten around his digits, that familiar heat crawling up your legs, but he pulls away and you instinctively whine.

"Want you to come on my dick." Jungkook says, like it's the most casual thing ever. You nod, nipping at your lower lip while he places your thighs on either side of his hips. He leans down prepping a few gentle kisses all over your hot skin, whispering sweet words like he can feel how nervous you are.

"Just tell me if anything feels wrong and I'll sto—"

"Oh, god, Jungkook, just f—uck me!" you hiccup and he can't believe his ears.

"Oh— Yes, ma'am." He laughs, shaking his head. "Dirty girl." In no time he's completely naked too, pants discarded somewhere far into the room, and you'd lie if you said you weren't a bit scared.

The rumors were, in fact, true. But maybe it won't hurt half as much if you think of something else while he slowly stretches you out. You feel like maybe you should look away, like when you're getting a shot and you don't want to see the needle because it'll hurt less. Yeah, that feels like a good analogy.

But your mind stops conjuring any semblance of thought when he finally pushes in, slowly. By the time half of his cock is inside of you, you're a mess. His hands slide lower, fingers brushing places that make you shudder uncontrollably, and the tension inside you snaps tighter. "Look at me." He orders, and you can't help but listen. With teary eyes you look up at him and it makes this moment feel even more unreal.

"You're so cute like this." Jungkook smiles, his bunny teeth never giving up the filth he hid in those words. "I didn’t even start properly and you're already fucked out."

Your chest is rising fast, your lips are parted, your eyes are wide and dark and needy. He exhales out and bottoms out, the stretch so deliciously painful.

"God, you're tight." His hand slides up your waist, over your ribs, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. "I'm sorry if it hurts. Promise it'll feel good soon." And with that he starts moving with a slow pace, your pussy practically crying around him.

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s holding himself back. Then he shifts closer, elbows now on both sides of your head. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his hips and something in him snaps. "Oh, you're naughty." He laughs and snaps his hips harshly, once. You let out a soft cry, burying your face in his tattooed shoulder.

"You wrap your legs around me like that again." he whispers. "And I’m not promising I’ll stay gentle."

Your stomach flips yet you tighten your legs just slightly in response. He exhales sharply through his nose. "You’re trouble."

Finally he starts moving again slowly, slowly, this feeling so strangely addicting. You don't think you've ever been this wet. He hold himself up with one elbow then with his free hand spreads your thighs wider apart, his hips angling a tad and you see stars.

Long moans slip past your lips, brows furrowed as you're trying to make sense of this new feeling.

"I know baby, I know.." He tuts, hips snapping down harsher with each thrust. He watches your face carefully, the way your brows pinch together, the way your lips part around those breathless sounds you can’t seem to control.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder, nails pressing into inked skin as another wave rolls through you. "Oh— Jungkook..."

You force your eyes open. They’re glossy, unfocused for a second before settling on him.

"That’s it. There's my girl." His moves come down with more force, bullying your poor pussy, and you can feel his tip almost kissing your cervix. Each movement makes your body react faster, your breathing already uneven, your hips instinctively trying to meet him.

"Mhm."

Your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer as the familiar feeling starts to twist into something addictive, you tighten around him. "Fuck— Don't do that, I don't wanna come yet." Jungkook laughs and looks away, a boyish smile now on his lips.

You whine, as you finally hear the lewd sounds your pussy made, squelching and wet. You felt so full.

Jungkook fucks into you harder and harder, the bed creaking whilst you let him take over you. He grabs your hips pushing himself even deeper into your cunt, groaning when you arch your back against the mattress, yout breasts perking up. "Fuck, baby, you're so pretty." He whines, and you can only moan back and cry as you feel your orgasm approaching. Desperately, you clench around his cock again, almost sending Jungkook into a frenzy.

"Gonna come?" he's stern and mocking with his words. "Hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." you don't know if you're crying because you feel too good or because of how long you've waited for this.

Jungkook almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? Isn’t that what you're begging for?" your pussy drips and wraps around him perfectly, you don't want it to end. And when you're almost there.. he stops. You whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug of your hair. "Ass up." you comply. In a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into your pillow. You try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh, like an auction, only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that.." Jungkook tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She's crying for me, isn't she?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. He's quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fading away. You fall face first into the mattres under you as Jungkook pushes down on your lower back until it hurts.

Your moans and that rhythmic plaplaplap fill the room, with the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Jungkook is strong and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, and you're wondering where that gentle boy from a few minutes ago went.

"T-taking it so well, baby, so well.." your skin burns where he touched it, whole brain fuzzy and empty. "Pleasepleaseplease!" as the whole bed shakes and sways to his movements.

Your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole body dominated over yours. "That's it, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time got your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made.

Eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping against his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. You let your whole body go in his grip, mouth slack as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. You were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. Your stomach flips and churns as that unmistakable feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying, from what, you didn't quite know. Maybe because you've never thought being fucked felt this good or maybe because it'll be over so soon.

The room was stuffy. "O-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when Jungkook’s speed picks up. "Shitㅡ I gotta come, baby. Can I do it in you? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a magic ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "What a slut." he laughs through breathy moans.

You're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. You're sure the neighbors are having a blast listening to you getting fucked into oblivion. "That's it, baby, c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you.

Finally, you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Jungkook’s lips. Steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "Fuuck... baby, look at that." he smiles crooked, watching with wide eyes as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs and onto the mattress.

You lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider. He chuckles "Wow, you're nasty. It's true what people say."

You frown, lips forming a pout. "What do you mean?"

"It's the quiet ones you need to watch out for."

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆ @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap

“you fucking ruined it,” you exclaim, staring at the screen as his character dies for the third time in the same level. you’ve been sitting here for the last thirty minutes. well, he’s been playing.. you’ve just been hovering next to him on the couch, pointing at the screen like you own the console.

you wanted to play.but he insisted on playing alone because you’re a “book nerd” and “wouldn’t survive five minutes.”

which earned him a smack to the back of his head.

“i told you, you have to wait until the monster appears,” you huff, crossing your arms.he slumps back dramatically into the couch.

“okay, expert. whatever.”

“yeah, whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

jungkook throws his head back, groaning. “fucking hoseok bro, where is h—”

ding!

you glance at his phone on the small table beside the couch. “i think you got a text.”

“oh, you think so?” he mocks.

you glare at him.

hoseok invited you over for a study session. he said it would “just be the two of you.”

which is hilarious.

because it’s not.

you showed up and hoseok was nowhere to be found. jungkook opened the door instead, looking mildly surprised.

“oh,” he said when he saw you. “you’re early.”

“i’m on time,” you had replied, peeking past him. “where’s hoseok?”

he stepped aside to let you in. “not here.”

and he told you that the other frat guys are out 'doing what they usually do.' weird things you assumed.

“and you?” you asked,

he shut the door behind you. “i’m not in the mood for their fuckery tonight.”

you raised a brow. “wow. character development.”

“shut up,” he muttered, walking toward the living room. “sometimes i enjoy peace.”

“in a frat house?”

“i know, i know. it's a rare event.”

you followed him in, still half expecting hoseok to pop out from somewhere and yell surprise or something stupid like that.

he didn’t.

and now you’re just… waiting.

it’s weird being here again.

last time you were here, your intentions were very different. you were trying to get into hoseok’s pants. bluntly put. you didn’t mean harm of course. you just thought maybe if you pushed yourself enough, something would spark.

it didn’t.

and somewhere along the way, you realized he’s better as a friend. one of those good ones you don’t want to complicate.

a lot happened in three months.

you went from “boring nerd” to “the nerd who messes with popular guys.”

which is obviously a lie.

but it made you feel seen.

and you liked that part.

not the hate messages, nope. just the part where people noticed you. like alexia! she thinks you're cooler now.

“oh… okay,” jungkook says suddenly, setting his phone down.

you snap out of your thoughts. “was it him? is he coming?”

“nah,” jungkook replies. “he’s getting wasted with the others. said he needs it to relax. probably won’t be back till morning.”

you blink.

“oh and i told him you were here. he said he’s sorry he forgot and told me to tell you to go home safe.”

“he.. forgot?” you ask quietly.

“that’s what he said. if you don’t believe me, you can check my phone.”

“no, it’s fine,” you mumble. “i mean… i should get going then.”

you stand, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. but before you can take a step, jungkook speaks.

“we can play another round if you want.”

you pause.

he lifts the controller, then taps the empty spot beside him on the couch. he places the second controller there.

“together.”

you look at him.

“you wouldn’t even let me play a few minutes ago!”

he scrunches his nose. “i just didn’t wanna lose to you.”

you blink. “you think you’d lose to me?”

“duh,” he shrugs. “with all the instructions you’ve been throwing at me? and you’ve never even played this before. i’d most probably lose.”

a laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

he smiles a little at that.

you walk back over, snatching the controller. “watch me prove you right.”

he shifts closer, nudging your knee with his. “don’t cry when i win.”

“don’t cry when i win,” you shoot back.

and just like that, you sit down again. not waiting for anyone anymore.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“fuuuck, i am tired,” jungkook groans, tossing the controller onto the couch before heading toward the kitchen.

you follow him without thinking.

“for a fuckboy, you have surprisingly low stamina,” you tease.

“i am tired! i was studying the whole day—”

you raise a brow slowly.

he catches it immediately. “i know, yeah, me? studying? woah. impossible,” he mocks himself, then shrugs. “but seriously. i study.”

he opens the fridge and grabs a can of beer. “sometimes,” he adds, closing the door with his hip.

you smile.

“you don’t have to explain yourself,” you say, leaning against the counter as he pops the can open and takes a sip.

“i know,” he replies. “but it’s you i’m talking to, so—”

“what does that mean?” you ask.

he tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “aren’t we friends?”

“yeah?”

he gives you a small smile. “then i gotta prove i’m not as bad as you think i am.”

you open your mouth. “i don’t—”

“you do.”

you pause.

you actually think about it.

and then you sigh. “i do.”

that makes him laugh under his breath. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“see?” he says, pointing the can at you. “at least you’re honest.”

you roll your eyes. “do you have soda?”

he takes another slow sip of his beer. “we have, like, every flavor known to mankind. take your pick.”

you walk to the fridge, turning your back to him as you open it.

he wasn’t lying.

rows of soda cans. different brands. different colors. stacked like it’s a convenience store.

“do you guys not eat actual food?” you mumble, scanning them. “or do you just survive on soda or alcohol?”

“mostly beer,” he replies casually from behind you.

you can hear him taking another slow sip of his beer, leaning against the counter.

and it’s suddenly quiet now.

too quiet.

the fridge hums. you pretend to be very invested in choosing a flavor, even though you’ve already been staring at the same shelf for a solid ten seconds.

and then you feel it.

that awareness.

your shoulders stiffen slightly. and that’s when it finally clicks.

he’s fucking checking you out!

you’re wearing simple jeans and a cropped top. nothing special. just something comfortable for studying.

but still.

you can feel it.

his eyes.

they settle on your lower back first. then lower. lingering longer than necessary.

you turn around abruptly.

his gaze drags up your body slowly before meeting your eyes.

he doesn’t even look embarrassed. just a lazy smirk sitting on his face.

this cocky fucker.

“stop looking at my ass, weirdo,” you snap and grab a pink soda from the fridge before shutting it a little harder than needed.

he raises a brow. “wasn’t.”

“you so were.”

“i was appreciating the fit.”

“it’s jeans and a top.”

“exactly.”

you glare at him.

he pushes himself off the counter, taking another sip. “relax. if i wanted to be obvious, you’d know.”

“oh, so that wasn’t obvious?”

“that?” he tilts his head. “that was subtle.”

you scoff. “you’re such a fuck boy.”

“oh trust me, darling,” he says lightly, eyes still locked on you, “i’m on my best behaviour right now.”

you feel the cold can biting your palm as you crack it open. “really? cuz this seems like your worst.”

he licks his bottom lip slowly, then eyes you up and down as he sets his beer down on the counter with a soft clink, the sound somehow louder than it should be in the quiet kitchen. then he takes two steps forward, until he’s right infront of you.

you blink as he literally towers over you, broad shoulders blocking the light from the overhead fixture.

holy shit, why does he look taller than usual?

“my worst,” he murmurs, voice dropping so low, “would be pinning you right here against this fridge, spreading those pretty thighs, and eating you out until you forget why you're even here in the first place.”

your breath catches and the soda can nearly slips from your fingers. he doesn’t touch you, though. he just leans in closer, close enough that you can smell the beer on his breath. he's so close there's barely two inch space between you two.

“or maybe my worst would be bending you over this counter, yanking those jeans and panties down just enough, and fucking you so deep you feel me for days. and trust me darling, i'd fuck you slow at first... then hard enough the whole house hears how wet you get when you pretend you hate me.”

your thighs clench on reflex.

you gulp.

and he notices of course. the corner of his mouth curls. cuz he's a cocky fucker!!! fuck this guy.

“but i’m being good tonight,” he continues, finally letting one hand drift up. fingertips graze the outside of your arm — light, barely there, goosebumps erupting anyway. “so good i’m not even touching you yet. even though i bet if i slipped my hand between your legs right now, you’d be soaked.”

you swallow again. try to keep your voice steady. “you’re so full of shit.”

you should push him away.

what are you doing, ___?

“am i?” he tilts his head, studying you like prey. “say the word and i’ll prove it, darling. one word. ‘please.’ or ‘yes.’ it's your choice.”

you’re breathing shakily.

you’re so enjoying this even though you know you shouldn’t.

you’ve always noticed that he’s an incredibly hot man. of course. you’re not that stupid.

you noticed the way his shoulders fill out his shirt, the lazy confidence in how he moves, that stupid jawline you’ve caught yourself staring at more times than you’ll ever admit. but you didnt want to just… give in??

he’s a fuckboy for pete’s sake.

the kind who probably has a rotating playlist of girls’ names in his phone. the kind who calls you “darling” and makes it sound personal even when it’s not.

but oh.

whatever he just said — those same lines he probably tells other women — they’re definitely working on you. your pulse is hammering between your thighs, your nipples are tight against the fabric of your bra, and there’s a slick heat building that you’re trying very hard to ignore.

god, you're so fucking horny.

you open your mouth, just a little.

and he tilts his head again.

slow.

waiting.

his eyes are darker now — like he already knows what you’re going to say.

like he’s sure you’ll say yes.

the confidence in that look makes your stomach twist.

he thinks he has you. he thinks all it takes is a few low words and a close step and you’ll fold.

your pulse pounds in your ears. and you’re embarrassed — because those same low words actually did work on you.

for half a second, the word almost slips out. something reckless. something that would change everything between you. completely.

he sees the hesitation.

the way your lips part.

the way your breathing shifts.

he’s so sure.

and that’s exactly why you don’t.

“back off, jungkook.” you say, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

he smiles a little. almost disappointed. but obeys. he steps back in a slow pace, hands up in surrender, giving you the space you asked for. you hear the fridge humming behind you again now that his body isn’t blocking everything.

you finally breathe — properly, deeply — like you’ve been underwater.

“what the fuck,” you blurt, voice slightly shaky, “don’t ever do that again. i thought— i thought we were past that stuff and we’re just gonna be friends!” the words tumble out too fast, defensive, like if you say them quick enough they’ll stick in his head.

he nods once. “i am sorry, i was just joking.”

you sulk a little.

a joke.

of course. that’s all he ever does.

then you frown, sharper this time.

“well i don’t like your fucking jokes.”

he nods again. “i get it.”

but he doesn’t move away. doesn’t leave the kitchen. just stands there, leaning one hip against the counter now, arms loosely crossed, watching you with that same quiet intensity. like he’s giving you the out but not really believing you want it.

silence stretches.

the space between you feels colder now.

you definitely feel like you’re the one in control right now.

but somehow,

it doesn’t feel like winning.

at all.

. . . ,

jungkook hates the way that felt.

like he lost.

not in a loud way.. just quiet and subtle. like something shifted and he wasn’t the one in control of it anymore.

he’s used to control.

he’s used to girls laughing at his jokes, rolling their eyes but leaning in anyway. used to pushing buttons just to see reactions. hoseok calls him an annoying motherfucker all the time because of that.

and he likes it.

he likes getting under people’s skin. likes watching them react. likes knowing he can.

with you, it started the same.

you clearly hated him.

or at least that’s what he thought.

every sigh. every eye roll. every “fuck off.”

he figured you were just tolerating him because you had to. because he was around.

and honestly? it was fun. he enjoyed it.

he wanted to see how long it would take.

how long before you cracked. how long before you stopped acting annoyed and started looking at him the way other girls did.

’fuckboy charms.’ that’s what everyone calls it.

he thought it’d be easy. he thought you'd be easy.

but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a game.

lately, when you look at him like that — like he’s just some predictable idiot — it doesn’t feel fun.

it feels… bad.

and he doesn’t even know why.

maybe it’s because you’ve actually been talking. like normal people. sitting next to each other. arguing over dumb stuff. texting late at night about nothing.

friends.

it’s crazy.

because if anyone has brought chaos and stress into your life, it’s him.

he still hates that whole rumor incident.

the rumors..

the picture..

the way your name got dragged into something that wasn’t even your fault.

he remembers sitting in that stupid campus office, across from those campus report idiots, jaw tight while they talked about “appropriate conduct” and “online harassment.”

he had to tell them to mind their own business in the politest way possible.

(a/n: he yelled at them <3)

he had to make sure it didn’t escalate.

had to make sure your name wasn’t officially attached to anything weird.

he never told you how hard he pushed for that.

never told you he almost got into a fight with one of the richest guys in the campus journalism club because they wanted to keep the story up “for engagement.”

never told you he shut it down before it could get worse.

what makes it worse is that none of it was accidental.

he can’t even pretend it was.

the rumors didn’t just appear out of nowhere. he fed them. he encouraged them. he stood too close to you on purpose. leaned in when people were watching. laughed a little too loud when you said something. flirted with you. and he saw the looks. he knew exactly what he was doing.

at first, it was just entertainment.

campus was boring. the frat house was repetitive. girls came and went. nothing stuck. so when you started reacting to him — rolling your eyes, arguing back, refusing to swoon — it felt different. it was interesting.

he told himself it was harmless.

just a dumb excuse to get closer to you.

if people thought there was something going on, fine. that worked in his favor anyway. it created tension. gave him a reason to be around you without it looking random.

the “plan,” if it could even be called that, didn’t make sense. no real strategy. there was no end goal beyond ego. beyond curiosity. beyond wanting to see if you’d eventually give in.

and when you somehow bought into it, he thought ; ‘you know what? whatever works.’

whatever makes it easier.

whatever keeps you close.

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it would eventually get him into your bed.

because that’s how it usually worked.

except this time it didn’t.

this time the rumors grew teeth. pictures circulated. people started talking louder. your name got dragged into conversations you didn’t even know were happening.

and suddenly it wasn’t funny.

it wasn’t entertainment anymore.

it was about your.. reputation.

and for the first time, he realized he’d started something he couldn’t fully control.

that’s the part that sits heavy in his chest.

because yeah, he tried to fix it — with the campus office.

and he also did the valentina thing.

but that wasn’t random. it was messy. stupid. impulsive. he knows.

but he just wanted the attention off you.

he figured if he looked like the asshole on purpose — an asshole who fucks around with girls — people would stop digging.

and maybe you would’ve gotten mad if you knew he was picking fights behind the scenes.

maybe you wouldn’t.

but what would that change?

you’d probably still look at him the same way.

like he’s trouble. like he’s temporary. like he’s someone you survive, not someone you choose.

and that’s what really gets to him right now.

not that you said back off.

not that you didn’t give in.

it’s that you think that’s all he is.

a joke.

he's still leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you avoid his eyes.

and this time, jungkook doesn’t want to win.

he just wants you to see him.

he wants your validation.

and that annoys him more than anything.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

you hear jungkook sigh.

it’s quiet, almost under his breath.but you hear it. and for some reason, it makes your chest feel tight.

you kind of blew up.

okay, he started it. he pushed. he said what he said. he deserved the snap.

still.

seeing him go quiet like that — throws you off guard.

he looks almost sulky.

and annoyingly, it’s cute.

which is insane.

because whatever he just said five minutes ago was not cute.

it was bold. reckless. (kinda hot...)

your stomach flips at the memory.

focus.

stop falling for his tricks.

you inhale slowly, forcing your brain to reboot. “let’s play a few more rounds,” you say, voice steadier now.

he blinks at you. like he didn’t expect that.

“the game?” he asks.

you give him a look. “duh. come on.”

you walk past him toward the couch, soda in hand, pretending everything is normal. pretending your heart isn’t still beating a little too fast.

you sit down, tuck one leg under you and grab the controller.

“are you coming or what?” you call out.

there’s a small pause behind you.

then you hear him move.

he picks up his beer again, but doesn’t drink from it. just sets it on the coffee table and drops onto the couch beside you — not too close. but not far either.

there's a careful distance between you two.

“don’t cry when i win,” he mutters.

“you literally lost three times already.”

“i was distracted.”

you scoff. “sure you were.”

the game starts again. bright colors flashing across the screen. buttonsmashing.

and slowly, the tension shifts.

not gone, of course. its just… tucked away.

your shoulders brush once when you both lean forward at the same time.

neither of you comments on it.

he laughs when you mess up a move. you shove him lightly with your elbow.

it feels almost normal again.

almost.

but every now and then, when you glance at him from the corner of your eye, he’s already looking at you.

and this time,

there’s no smirk.

just something softer.

and honestly , that... might be worse.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“okay, i… i think i should go now. it’s getting late,” you say, glancing at the clock on the wall as you push yourself up from the couch.

the air feels calmer now, not charged like before. just slightly uncomfortable, like something unsaid is sitting between you.

“thank you for the ice cream,” you add, brushing nonexistent crumbs off your jeans.

jungkook looks up at you from where he’s sitting. “it’s okay. it wasn’t even mine.”

you freeze. “what?”

he shrugs. “it’s hoseok’s.”

you stare at him. “what the fuck? why would you let me eat it then?”

“relax,” he says quickly, sitting up straighter. “it’s hoseok’s. he wouldn’t care. especially since he literally ditched you tonight.”

the words hang there.

he notices it instantly — the way your posture shifts. the way your smile fades just a little.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he adds.

you inhale slowly. “no, it’s okay. he did kind of ditch me. but it doesn’t really matter. it was just a study session.”

you say it lightly.

too lightly.

“right,” he says. you both stand there for a moment, neither moving.

the tv screen flickers behind you. someone laughs faintly in the distance outside the house. life continuing like normal.

“anyway,” you say, grabbing your bad. “thanks for keeping me entertained, i guess.”

he huffs a small laugh. “anytime.”

there’s a beat of silence again.

“i’ll walk you out,” he says.

“you don’t have to.”

“let me, ___.”

for some reason, you don’t argue.

he opens the front door. cool night air rushes in, carrying the sound of crickets and distant cars. you step onto the porch. the string lights above flicker softly.

“text me when you get home,” he says.

you glance at him. “why?”

“because it’s late,” he replies, like it’s obvious.

you hesitate, then nod. “okay...”

after a moment of silence, you speak up again.

“goodnight, jungkook.”

“night,”

you walk down the porch steps, gravel crunching under your shoes as you head toward the sidewalk.

you don’t turn back.

but you hear behind you, the door clicking shut.

and as you walk, you start thinking.

not in a romantic or dramatic way.

you know you don’t like him like that. you’re very sure about that. you don’t sit around imagining dates or soft moments or whatever things people do when they catch feelings. you’re not thinking about his smile or how he walked you out or any of that.

you’re thinking about how close he was.

how low his voice got.

how your body reacted before your brain could catch up.

and that’s what’s bothering you.

because this isn’t emotional.

it’s physical.

and it’s really frustrating.

is it really that bad to just sleep with him?

damn. did you just think that?

well, you’ve been acting like it would mean something huge — like it would define you. like it would make you weak or predictable or exactly what people expect if you slept with him.

but at the end of the day, you’re just… attracted to him. physically.

he’s hot. objectively and unfairly.

that cocky confidence that makes him lean in like he already knows the effect he has.

you’re not blind.

and tonight proved that your body definitely isn’t immune either. but attraction isn’t the same as liking someone. you don’t suddenly and completely trust him. you don’t suddenly see him as boyfriend material. you’re not rewriting his entire personality in your head.

he’s still a cocky fuckboy.

the only difference is that lately, he hasn’t been pushing you. he jokes, yeah. but when you tell him to stop, he stops. and he even apologises??

and that’s new.

and maybe that’s why you’re rethinking it.

not because you’re falling for him.

but because you’re wondering if it really has to be that serious.

maybe it could just be… fun.

no feelings.

no expectations.

just two people who clearly want each other.

you exhale sharply at the thought. but then your brain immediately pushes back.

does he want you?

physically? is he actually attracted to you?

or was that just another performance?

he literally said he was joking.

was that his way of testing you? seeing if you’d fold first? are you about to fall straight into some ego trap where he laughs later and tells his friends how easy you were to fuck with?

your stomach twists.

are you actually stupid?

you always move like you know what you’re doing. you’re the rational one. the careful one. the one who thinks things through.

so what exactly are you doing right now?

you slow down.

then you stop walking entirely.

the streetlight above you hums faintly. your breath fogs in the cold air.

all of this — the spiral, the overthinking, the sudden heat under your skin — because of that stupid stunt he pulled in the kitchen.

because he leaned in.

because he looked at you like he knew what you wanted.

because he those... things!!

you take a deep breath.

and another.

and you tell yourself ;

he’s not your best friend.

he’s not some fragile situation you have to protect.

he’s a fuckboy.

and you’re single.

you’re allowed to want someone.

you're allowed to fuck someone.

you’re allowed to do something reckless for once without turning it into a personality crisis.

your heart is beating harder now, but it’s not fear. it’s adrenaline. you stare back at the frat house down the block, and you turn around.

. . .

fuck it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

jungkook stands there again, door open. he looks mildly confused at first — until he fully registers that it’s you standing on the porch.

his brows lift slightly.

“did you forget something?” he asks.

you swallow.

this was much easier in your head.

“yeah,” you say, forcing your voice not to shake.

he waits.

tilts his head slightly.

“what?” he asks.

instead of answering, you step closer, dropping your bag. the porch light catches in his eyes. he doesn’t move. doesn’t step back. just watches you. and you notice his gaze dropping to your lips for half a second.

it’s subtle.

but you see it.

“this,” you say quietly.

and before your brain can interrupt you again, you close the distance. your hand grips the front of his t-shirt and you yank him down just enough to crash your mouth against his.

jungkook legit stumbles half a step back like you just tased him — eyes wide for a solid half-second before his brain catches up.

then boom.

he’s on you like he’s been waiting for this exact moment since the dawn of time.

one hand slams to the back of your neck ; fingers tangling in your hair like he’s trying to anchor you to his face. the other grabs your waist so hard you’re pretty sure you’ll have fingerprints tomorrow. he kisses you back like a man possessed: messy, aggressive, tongue diving straight in with zero chill. it’s all teeth and heat and the faint taste of beer still lingering on him.

you make this stupid little “mmph” sound — half moan, half what-the-fuck — and he growls into your mouth like that noise personally offended him.

he steps fully out onto the porch now, onto you. the cool night air hits you both but does nothing to cool the furnace between you. he spins you around fast — your lower back slams against the porch railing (not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp), and he pins you there with his whole body. hips grinding forward shamelessly so you can feel exactly how fast he got hard.

when he finally rips his mouth away, you’re both panting like you ran a sprint. his forehead drops to yours, hair falling into his eyes, lips red and slightly swollen.

“what the actual fuck,” he rasps, voice all gravel. “you just— you came back and—”

“shut up,” you snap, still clutching his shirt like it’s a lifeline. “don’t make it weird.”

“me?” he breathes out, half laughing. “you’re the one who walked away and then came back just to shove your tongue down my throat.”

“correction,” you fire back, still breathless, cheeks burning, “you’re the one who shoved it down mine.”

he scoffs — this quiet, shocked laugh that shakes his chest and shakes his head like he can’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. the kind that says he’s equally surprised and turned on.

his hand is still clamped on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll leave again. yours is still fisted in the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer even though you’re trying to act like you’re in control.

“what are you doing, ___?” he asks, and his voice drops — not mocking anymore, just low and rough, like he actually wants to know. he’s breathing heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours.

you open your mouth.

nothing comes out.

the adrenaline crashes into doubt like a car wreck.

is this stupid?

are you about to become another late-night story he tells the guys while they laugh and pass around beers?

are you proving every single rumor right — the nerd who finally caved for the hot fuckboy?

will you wake up tomorrow hating yourself, hating him, hating the way your body’s screaming yes while your brain’s screaming no?

your thoughts spin so fast you almost feel dizzy.

“hey.”

you blink.

he’s looking at you. the cocky smirk is gone. his eyes are narrowed, focused, like he’s trying to read every flicker on your face. his hand lifts slowly — giving you every chance to flinch away.

but you don’t.

his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, soft, almost careful. and he leans in closer. his forehead pressing to yours again, noses brushing, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“stop thinking so fucking much,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “you’re doing it again; the overthinking. i can see it.”

your heart slams against your ribs.

“just tell me yes or no.”

you swallow.

“yes or no, darling?”

the pet name hits different this time — less cocky, more raw.

you breathe in. then breathe out.

“i…” you start, voice cracking just a little.

he doesn’t move. just watches. just waits for you.

“i wanna fuck,” you say.

the words drop like a grenade.

you can’t believe they came out of your mouth.

but they did.

cuz you are crazy.

he exhales one rough “fuck” against your lips. then he kisses you.

it's hard and desperate, like something inside him finally snapped. like he was waiting for this.

his mouth crashes back onto yours, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck while the other yanks your hips flush against him so you can feel exactly how much your words wrecked him.

you moan into it — shameless, needy — and he groans right back, the sound vibrating between you.

when he pulls away this time it’s only an inch, just enough to speak against your mouth.

“this is crazy,” he breathes. “been thinking about this for way too long.”

you tilt your head slightly. “you said you were joking earlier.”

he laughs once. “i lied.”

oh.

“you wanna fuck, right?” he rasps. “you really wanna?”

you don’t even hesitate.

“i wanna fuck, jungkook.”

he laughs again — almost victorious.

then he’s kissing you again, walking you backward through the doorway, kicking it shut so hard the frame rattles.

and whatever doubt was left?

it’s completely gone.

“my room?” he asks between kisses,

you don’t even hesitate. “anywhere,” you breathe against his mouth, already chasing his lips again, kissing him harder like you can’t even stand halfsecond apart.

jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes wide, lips parted, this stupid, delighted grin spreading across his face.

he’s never seen you like this.

never.

this is not the snarky, eye-rolling, “fuck off jungkook” version of you. not the one who calls him out mid sentence or smacks the back of his head when he’s being extra.

this version? oh you're needy.

your hands are everywhere, hips grinding against him without shame, little whimpers slipping out every time his teeth graze your bottom lip.

it’s fucking hot.

and he loves it.

“anywhere?” he repeats, voice rough and amused, like he’s testing if you’re serious.

you nod frantically, fingers already tugging at his waistband. “yes. shut up and pick one before i change my mind and leave you hard and whining.”

he laughs loud, breathless, a little unhinged — and it vibrates against your neck where he’s already kissing again.

“fuck, i love this side of you,” he mutters, half to himself. “didn’t know you had it in you, darling.”

“if you keep talking, you’ll never find out what else i have in me,” you snap, but it comes out more moan than threat because his hand just slid under your top, palming your breast.

he groans at that.

“shit, okay. anywhere it is.”

in one quick move he spins you both. your back hits the hallway wall with a soft thud and he’s already lifting you like it’s nothing, hands gripping under your thighs so you can wrap your legs around his waist on pure instinct.

he stumbles half a step — almost slips — because you’re both clinging so fucking hard to each other it’s ridiculous: your arms locked around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders and his fingers on your hips.

you’re laughing into each other’s mouths now — breathless, messy, chaotic giggles that get cut off every time your lips crash back together. you’re both so ridiculously turned on that everything feels stupid-hot-urgent all at once.

he has to pull back for a second just to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours, both of you smiling like idiots even though you’re panting.

“fuck,” he curses,

“very smooth,” you tease against his mouth.

“shut up,” he grins. “you’re the one who said anywhere.”

“okay then, let’s do it everywhere.”

jungkook echoes it back like he’s not sure he heard right : “everywhere?”

you smirk.

“everywhere.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── the wall ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“o-oh fuck, jungkook, yes!” you moan, fingers knotted tight in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan into you.

his head’s buried between your thighs, your legs clamped around his neck like a vice. your hips are lifted off the wall, back arched as he kneels there, your clothes are long gone, crumpled somewhere down the hall next to his discarded clothes.

he’s been tongue-fucking you for minutes that feel like forever: slow drags, filthy circles, then fast flicks that make your vision blur. the frat house is dead quiet, doors locked, everyone else gone, just the wet sounds of his mouth and your broken gasps echoing off the walls.

“mm, you taste so fucking sweet,” he mutters against you, voice muffled and wrecked. he laps flat over your clit, then sucks the swollen bud between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt before he releases it with a lewd pop. “could eat this pretty pussy all goddamn day.”

and with no warning, your orgasm slams into you. hard. your whole body locks up, thighs shaking around his head, a choked “jungkook—” ripping out of your throat as you come undone on his tongue.

he doesn’t stop though. he swallows every drop, tongue still working slow lazy strokes through your pulsing folds until you’re squirming, whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

finally and slowly, he rises, dragging his mouth up your body in one long, wet line. his hands hook under your thighs and lift you like you weigh nothing. your legs wrap around his waist again as he pins you back to the wall, hips slotting between yours so you can feel how painfully hard he is.

he’s breathing heavy, chin shiny with your juices, that cocky fucking grin already curling his lips as he watches you gasp for air.

“you want me for real, don’t you.”

you blink at him through the haze. “are you kidding me? right now?”

you just came so hard your legs are still trembling, and he’s asking you this shit? but the post-orgasm glow makes everything softer, funnier. annoyance melts into a breathless little laugh that bubbles out of you.

“you came so much, so—”

you cut him off, crashing your mouth to his. it’s messy and sloppy. your tongue sliding against his so you can taste yourself, and to be honest.. just to shut him up.

he moans into the kiss, hands flexing on your thighs like he’s fighting not to grind up into you yet.

when he finally pulls back an inch, both of you panting into the same air, then he rasps,

“where to next, darling?”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── the kitchen floor ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“t-that tickles,” you giggle, squirming a little when jungkook’s fingers start softly rubbing circles along your waist while his tongue lazily laps at your right nipple.

“my tongue?” he asks, voice muffled against your skin as he flicks his eyes up to meet yours, then shifts over to your left nipple, kissing it slow and open-mouthed before sucking lightly.

you’re both sprawled out on the cool kitchen tiles— his body hovering over yours, hands roaming up and down your sides like he can’t decide where to touch first.

“your hands,” you gasp softly, the warmth of his mouth making your breath hitch.

“mmhm,” he hums low in his throat, satisfied. his palms slide higher, cupping both your breasts, squeezing them gently at first, then firmer. you arch your back instinctively when he pushes them together, burying his face right between them, licking slow stripes, nipping at the soft skin with just enough teeth to make you shiver.

the words tumble out before you can overthink them.

“can i suck your dick?”

jungkook freezes. pulls back just enough to stare down at you, eyes wide, brows shooting up in genuine surprise.

he clearly wasn’t expecting that.

“you wanna?” he asks, voice a little rough, a little stunned, like his brain is still catching up.

you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at how thrown he looks.

“why do you look so surprised? never got your dick sucked before?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows just to see his reaction better.

he blinks once. then rolls his eyes— dramatic, exaggerated, the way you usually do to him and his lips curve into that familiar smirk.

it’s hilarious how the tables have flipped; normally you’re the one giving him the eye-rolls.

“jus makin sure,” he mutters, trying to play it cool even though the flush creeping up his neck gives him away. his hands are still on your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples absentmindedly like he can’t stop touching you.

you chuckle and reach down between you, wrapping your fingers around his length. he’s rock-hard, hot and thick in your hand, pulsing eagerly as you give him one slow, teasing stroke.

jungkook hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward on instinct, chasing your touch.

“relax, fuckboy. i won’t bite.”

“fuck,” he breathes, shifting to sit up. “you’re full of surprises tonight.”

you sit up too, fully now, leaning toward him with slow, deliberate intent. “good ones, i hope,” you murmur, fingers trailing lightly down his abs as you close the distance.

“the best ones,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked, eyes glued to you. he can’t look away. especially not now, with you completely naked in front of him like this.

fuck, he thinks you look like a goddamn goddess: skin flushed, hair messy, eyes locked on his with that mix of tease and hunger, lips already brushing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his stomach, trailing lower.

his abs tense under your mouth. he swallows hard.

“not here,” he says suddenly, voice rougher than before.

you pause, lips hovering just above his skin, and look up at him through your lashes.

“then where?”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── the couch ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“y-you're doing so good, f-fuck,” he groans, fingers twisting tight in your hair as you choke and drool around his cock.

you’re on your knees between his spread thighs, hands gripping the tense muscle of his legs while he sits naked on the couch, head tipped back, chest heaving.

he bucks his hips up, just a shallow thrust, pushing deeper into your throat, and the low, wrecked moan that rips out of him says everything: he fucking loves this.

“mmfph—” you make a muffled, wet sound, eyes watering as saliva drips down your chin.

he looks down at you, taking in the sight: your lips stretched wide around him, cheeks flushed, tears clinging to your lashes. his free hand reaches out, thumb gently wiping away a tear that slips free, rubbing soft, soothing circles on your cheek. the tenderness clashes hard with the way he’s still buried in your mouth, but it makes your stomach flip anyway.

“that’s it, darling,” he whispers, voice barely audible but rough as gravel. “you’re being such a good girl… sucking my cock like that, looking up at me with those eyes. you look so fucking pretty.”

you pull back just enough to drag in a shaky breath, strings of spit connecting your lips to his tip, then dive right back down, head bobbing faster, tongue pressing flat along the underside, taking him as deep as your throat will let you.

each time you swallow around him he lets out a guttural groan.

“oh fuck— m close,” he grunts, his grip in your hair loosening just a fraction.

you pull off with a wet pop, chest heaving.

“can i—” he starts, voice strained, but you’re already opening your mouth wide, tongue out flat, eyes locked on his.

he curses under his breath.

you're so fucking hot. he thinks.

and wraps his hand around the base, stroking himself fast, erratic.

then he comes.

hot, thick ropes spill across your tongue, landing messy and perfect. you keep your mouth open the whole time, letting him watch every pulse, every drop, before you swallow it all down slow, then lean in to lick him clean — soft kitten licks along his sensitive length until he’s twitching and oversensitive.

you pull away finally, lips swollen, chin shiny, and flash him a proud, smug little smile.

he chuckles breathlessly , shaking his head like he can’t quite process what just happened.

“oh yeah, i… holy shit,” he laughs to himself, dragging a hand down his face.

you tilt your head, still kneeling between his legs. “what?”

“i wanna fuck you so bad, you have no idea.”

you bite your lip before saying;

“let’s go then.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── the bedroom ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“did you fuck anyone here before?” you ask, looking up at jungkook from between your legs. your thighs are wrapped snug around his waist, back sinking into the soft mess of his bed sheets.

“no,” he says simply, reaching over to the nightstand drawer for a condom. “i don’t bring girls here.”

“why not?” you raise an eyebrow, curious.

“because i’m never alone in this house, you know, the guys and all.” he explains, tearing the packet open with his teeth in one smooth motion.

“but we’re alone right now,” you point out, eyes tracking his hands, “and you have condoms in your drawer.”

“i was supposed to go out tonight, yeah, but like i said, i was tired and i felt like staying in.” he rolls the condom down his length with practiced ease. “and honestly? so glad i did. and uh, i just keep them here.. no specific reason.”

you smack his shoulder lightly, playfully. he lets out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm.

“now, darling. are you really sure about this?” he asks, hands settling on your hips, thumbs brushing gentle circles over your skin as he holds you steady.

“for the nth time, yes,” you say, a little exasperated but still breathless. “it’s gonna be a one-time thing. like any other girl you’ve fucked before.”

“hey, don’t compare yourself to them.”

“why not? am i any different?”

“yes. very.”

“how so?”

he pauses, actually thinks for a second, eyes flicking over your face. he doesn't answer your question. instead, he just smirks.

“can we focus on the fuck session right now?”

you roll your eyes.

“i really love knowing i can make your eyes roll without even putting it in,” he says, voice dropping as he grips his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly along your slick folds.

you whimper at the teasing drag, hips twitching up toward him on instinct.

“j-just fucking put it in,” you breathe, half plea, half demand.

he grins, leaning down until his mouth hovers over yours. “say please, darling.”

“if you think i’m gonna beg for it, think again,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him even as your thighs tighten around his waist.

he chuckles and shakes his head. “so bossy.”

then, without another word, he pushes in slow.

“f-fuck…” you bite your lower lip hard, eyes squeezing shut as he stretches you open, inch by inch. the fullness hits like a shock, its intense, almost too much, but laced with that slow-building heat that makes your toes curl.

he pauses halfway, watching your face carefully. “you okay, darling?” his voice is softer now, genuine concern cutting through the cockiness.

“y-yeah,” you manage, breathing shallow and quick. “just… bigger than i expected.”

his grin spreads wide.

“oh god, did i just boost your ego?” you groan.

“you sure did,” he rasps, voice a little shaky from holding back. but the grin doesn’t slip as he starts moving— slow, steady thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you.

normally you’d fire off some sassy comeback to wipe that look off his face.

but right now?

it feels way too good to form words.

you just arch up into him, nails digging into his shoulders, letting the rhythm take over.

. . . ,

you’re staring up at the ceiling of jungkook’s bedroom, you can hear the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every roll of his hips.

and between one perfect, blinding thrust — a thought slices through the haze like ice water:

this is jungkook.

the jeon jungkook.

the same jungkook you’ve spent literal months dodging like he’s a walking red flag.

how the actual fuck did you end up here?

the pleasure is stupid-good. every slide of him inside you hitting that spot makes your thighs shake and your breath stutter, but in the back of your mind, a tiny, annoying voice keeps whispering: you’re really doing this. with him. after all that.

out of everyone on campus — out of every “nice” guy. you never, ever pictured this with jungkook.

jungkook, who you’ve spent months side-eyeing. jungkook, who you’ve rolled your eyes at so many times your eye muscles probably have abs now. jungkook, who you’ve told to fuck off in every tone imaginable. jungkook, whose every smirk and “darling” made you want to punch him and kiss him in the same breath. (but mostly punch)

you’ve rejected him. many times.

like that late-night text chain where he sent a shirtless gym mirror pic with a casual “wanna come over?” - to which you replied with a middle-finger emoji and went back to studying.

or that time in the library when he “accidentally” brushed your thigh under the table and you kicked his shin hard enough to make him yelp and then pretended it never happened.

you were proud of those rejections. they felt like power. like proof you weren’t just another girl who melted for the hot fuckboy.

and yet. here you are. in his bed. letting him fuck you slow and deep like he’s got all night to prove something. letting him murmur “you feel so fucking good” against your collarbone.

and you like it.

god, you like it so much it’s embarrassing.

the way he fills you, hitting spots that make your breath hitch every single time. the way his hands grip your hips. the way he looks at you— not just cocky, not just hungry, but… focused. like right now , you’re the only thing that exists.

you like it.

you arch up into him harder, chasing the feeling, chasing the edge, trying to drown out the voice in your head that’s whispering:

what happens when the sun comes up? what happens when you have to look him in the eye tomorrow and he gives you that cocky smile, the one that says “yeah… we're done now.” which really means the friendship is quietly over? that it was all a lie? what happens if this turns out to be the worst decision you’ve ever made because you let your horny brain take the wheel and crashing straight through every boundary you set? what if he ghosts you? what if he stops texting? what if he got exactly what he wanted— your body, your moans, your surrender..? and now the chase is done, the game ends, and you’re left holding the bag of regret?

“darling,” jungkook murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek in soft, scattered kisses, peppering from the corner of your eye down to the edge of your mouth like he’s trying to map every inch of you. “stay with me.”

he doesn’t say it like a command. he says it like a plea, breath hot against your skin, hips still rolling.

you hook your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking down his back just to feel him shudder.

“don’t stop,” you whisper against his mouth, kissing him quick and messy so he can’t see whatever stupid expression is on your face right now.

he groans into the kiss, hips snapping forward harder now, chasing his own edge too.

“fuck— yeah, just like that,” he rasps, forehead dropping to yours. “you feel so fucking good, darling… don’t think, just feel me. just let go.”

you do.

you let the pleasure swallow the doubt whole.

let his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot drown everything else out.

because tomorrow?

tomorrow you’ll deal with whatever fallout comes.

tonight?

tonight you just want to come so hard you forget your own name.

. . . ,

so you did.

on his bed, you came once— hard and sudden.

“y-yes!!” you cry out, the pleasure crashing over you in blinding waves as your body trembles and clenches around him, thighs shaking where they’re locked around his hips.

jungkook’s breath stutters, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “fuck— yeah, that’s it, darling, come all over me,” he groans, hips jerking up to meet every pulse of your orgasm until you’re gasping, oversensitive and boneless.

but you both didn't stop there.

you came again.

“oh my go— i am— fuck!” jungkook moaned, head falling back against the pillow as you took control, riding him hard. your hands braced on his chest, nails digging into the ink there while your hips bounced, grinding down in tight circles that made him curse under his breath every time you bottomed out.

his hands roamed, gripping your waist, sliding up to squeeze your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you’re whimpered again. the wet sounds of you taking him filled the room, obscene and perfect.

you leaned forward, kissing him messy and desperate, tasting salt and heat, and he met you thrust for thrust until the second orgasm rips through you, making your vision white out for a heartbeat as you clench down so hard he hisses.

“shit— oh yes, that felt fuckin amazing.” he rasped, half-laughing as his hands clamped on your hips to keep you moving through it.

and then, again...

“you like that, hm? you like getting your pussy fucked from behind?” his voice was a low growl, as he gripped your ass hard, spreading you open before slamming back in. it was deep, relentless, the angle hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

skin slaps against skin were loud and rhythmic.

“jungkook—fuck— i can’t—” you gasped, but your body betrayed you, pushing back to meet every thrust, chasing that third peak like it was the only thing left in the world.

he leaned over you, chest to your back, one hand sliding around to find your clit ; rubbing fast, firm circles that made your whole body lock up.

“yes you can,” he murmured hot against your ear, voice shaking with how close he was too. “come for me one more time, darling. let me feel you soak my cock again.”

the command tipped you over.

you came. harder than before, a full-body convulsion that had you crying out his name like a prayer, walls fluttering and pulsing around him so tight, pleasure so intense it borders on pain, but you don’t want him to stop, didn't want it to end, yet.

jungkook follows right after hips stuttering, a choked “___—” tearing from his throat as he comes, grinding through the aftershocks until you’re both trembling, spent, and collapsed in a sweaty heap on the sheets.

. . . ,

“holy shit.”

jungkook groans as he collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to remember how breathing works. sweat clings to his skin, tattoos glistening. then his voice comes out wrecked and lazy: “i was right , i fucking knew you were a freak.”

for a few long minutes, the room is just ragged breathing and the faint hum of the ac. your heart’s still slamming against your ribs, thighs sticky, body humming with leftover sparks.

then you prop yourself up on one elbow, still completely naked, hair a tangled mess, and start tracing lazy patterns across his chest with your fingertips.

“one more round?” you ask, voice soft but playful, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

he cracks one eye open. then chuckles.

“yeah, right.”

you tilt your head, brow arching in that challenging way you always do when you’re about to win an argument.

his other eye opens. “oh, you’re serious?”

you shrug one shoulder, casual as hell. “i can take some more, i guess.”

he stares at you like you just grew a second head. “how are you not tired?”

you give him a small, smug grin. “good stamina.”

he lets out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “fuck… you’re insane.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, like he's fascinated, says that he’s into it. very into it.

you pout.

it's a full-on, bottom-lip-out kind of pout and you bat your lashes just enough to be ridiculous. “pleaseee, jungkook, one more time!!”

his brows shoot up.

he’s never seen you like this. whiny. needy. cute.

the same girl who would kill him for breathing too loud is now curled against his side, voice all soft and pleading, eyes big and hopeful.

and yeah… it’s definitely doing something to him. his heart does a weird little flip which he immediately blames on the post-nut exhaustion.

“how about this,” he says, grin sliding slow across his face as he props himself up on one elbow to face you. “we take a shower. and maybe we can go for another round there, hm?”

“shower sex?” you ask, perking up for a second.

he nods, already imagining it.

you shake your head immediately. “no, it’s not really… safe. slippery tiles, bad angles, concussion risk. pass.”

he throws his head back and laughs ; it's tired but still.. delighted. “you’re thinking about concussions right now?”

you shrug again. “safety safety.”

he sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow. “well then, no more sex for tonight.” he reaches over, tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “maybe some other night.”

you scoff. “oh okay, i see what you’re doing.”

“what?” he asks, his tone laced with fake innocence.

you flop back onto the pillow, stretching your arms above your head. you feel your thighs ache in the best-worst way.

“there’s no other time.”

he turns his head to look at you, grin turning teasing. “aw damn. i really loved it, though. we should do this again.”

you side eye him. “you wish.”

he chuckles and before you can protest, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against his side. your head ends up tucked under his chin, his heartbeat thumping steady against your cheek.

“i do, darling.”

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

notes:

#1 i have used the word “cocky” approximately 987682 times in this chapter (and a few other words). please forgive the repetition. my vocabulary sucks 🤓

#2 anywayyy i tried to bring back those old wattpad fic vibes with this one. it’s a silly fic. so it’s messy. dramatic. chaotic. but mostly silly :p

#3 there’s actually sm i want to talk about in this chapter but i genuinely don’t even know where to start </3 lmk ur thots !!!

You don’t remember walking home, you just remember the cold, your mascara streaked down your cheeks and endless tears overflowing your vision.

Your dress is wrinkled and your heels are in your hand by the time you unlock your door. You don’t even turn the lights on. You just peel the dress off, tug on an oversized shirt, wipe your face with the sleeve, and collapse onto your bed.

Your phone buzzes and you almost ignore it, but you don’t. Thankfully?

Jungkook: where are you?

Your heart stops. You stare at it for some time, thinking maybe it's just your drunken haze making things up, before another message comes through.

Jungkook: you home?

You still don’t answer. Should you? For all you known he's been in on it from the beginning.

Jungkook: is your roommate there? m coming over.

Your stomach drops. How the fuck does he know where you live?

You sit up, heart pounding, brain still foggy from alcohol and humiliation. You don’t respond, because you don’t have the energy.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at your door that at first you mistake for an hallucination.

Another knock. "It's me." Jungkook’s voice comes softly from behind the door.

You slowly open it. He's standing there in the hallway, hair still wet from the rain, holding two beers in one hand like he grabbed them on the way out. He looks different, but you're ready for him to start laughing at you. All though he doesn't seem amused.

He looks at your face, the ruined makeup, the red in your eyes, your flushed cheeks. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate for a bit, then you step aside. He walks in quietly and sets the beers on your desk. He doesn’t comment on your messy room, doesn’t look around, just looks at you.

"You okay?" he asks.

A laugh comes out broken. "Yeah. Great."

He doesn’t push or tease, he just sits on the edge of your bed. "I heard some of it." he says carefully. "Not all.. But enough."

You swallow.

"I didn’t know about the account." he adds. "I swear."

You look at him. For once, he doesn’t look like he’s playing a mind game on you. He hands you one of the beers.

"Drink." he says softly. "You look like you’re gonna pass out."

You sit next to him and you talk. Not about everything, but enough to calm your nerves and the stupid ache in your heart. About the account. About you feeling dumb. About thinking someone was watching, you thinking that you mattered to someone, somehow.

You don’t realize how fast time is flying or how exhausted you are until you’re lying back against your pillow, drifting into sleep mid sentence.

You wake slowly, surfacing from sleep in fragments. The first thing you register is the subtle move of the mattress, a change in weight that wakes you just barely into consciousness. For one second, panic flickers, then you remember, your eyes open halfway. He is still there?

──────────────

The room is soft and gray with early morning light, quiet and still.

Flash.

The sharp white burst burns across your vision and you flinch. "What the hell—?"

"Oh, I'm gonna barf." Your roommate is standing a few feet away, phone in her hand, front camera still up. She’s grinning ear to ear. "My God, you two look so domestic."

Jungkook is on his feet before you’re fully aware. "Delete that." He doesn’t raise his voice.

She laughs. "Relax."

"I said delete it."

You push yourself up onto your elbows, hair messy, shirt sliding off one shoulder, bare legs tangled in the sheets. You feel exposed, but too groggy to care. "We didn’t even do anything." you mumble. "Let her send it. Who cares?"

"I care." Jungkook snaps. The sharpness in his voice makes you go still.

Oh. Right. Of course.

You look down at the blanket gathered in your lap, forcing a small laugh. "It’s fine. I know you don’t want people thinking—"

"No." He cuts you off quickly. You look up.

He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated, not at you, at the situation. "Sidney will care." he says, more calm now. "I don’t want them using this shit against you."

Your roommate tilts her head, watching both of you like she’s at a live show. "Oops." she says lightly and taps the screen. Sent.

Your stomach drops so fast it feels physical. Jungkook swears under his breath as your phone buzzes on the nightstand almost immediately.

"Get dressed." he says.

You blink. "What?"

"Get dressed. You’re not staying here."

Your voice stutters. "I live here."

"Not today."

He reaches for the hoodie he tossed over your desk chair the night before, throws it toward you and it lands in your lap.

Your roommate rolls her eyes. "Oh my God. Is this a rescue mission?"

"You are so lucky I don't hit girls." Jungkook snaps towards her and you can see her smile falter slightly.

The hallway outside your building is too bright, the morning light hurts your eyes and everything feels exposed.

You walk beside him, arms folded tight, hoodie sleeves covering your hands. Neither of you speak until you’re in his car.

The door shuts and you sit in silence for some time.

"It makes sense now." You begin.

He glances at you.

"She always knew..." you continue. "My friend, I mean— Exactly when to send things. When to say something, when to bring it up." Your throat tightens with the threat of tears spilling once again. " My roommate was in on it too. She had to be."

Jungkook’s jaw flexes. "I’m sorry." he says.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "For what?"

"For not noticing sooner."

"You couldn’t have know."

"I should’ve."

You look at him. "You don’t even like me. I'm pretty sure you find me repulsive ever since last year."

His hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. "You don’t know that."

The car goes quiet again as you stare out the window.

His place is quieter than you expected.

No loud roommates, no chaos. Just clean floors, neutral walls, a faint scent of detergent and something distinctly him. It looks different than in his lives.

He tosses his keys onto the counter. "You can take my room." he says.

"What about you?"

"I’ll be fine."

You hover awkwardly near the kitchen.

"You’re not a burden." he says flatly. "You can stay as long as you want."

You nod because you don’t trust your voice right this moment.

"I have to go live for a bit."

Your stomach drops. "Oh."

He hesitates. "You’ll be okay?"

"Yeah."

He studies you for a second like he doesn’t fully believe that, or maybe because he doesn't really want to live you alone again. He then disappears into the other room and you hear the faint sound of his voice a few minutes later. The public version of him, the one everyone likes. In a way, everyone you know is a liar, even him. Especially him.

You curl up tighter in a blanket. You try not to think, but the thoughts come anyway.

The account, Sidney overseeing it, people laughing, Jungkook in your room, in your bed, so close. So close.

You press your palm against your chest but it doesn’t help. Your body feels strange. Overstimulated. Emotional, raw, everything that happened last night and this morning sits all so heavy under your skin.

You whisper under your breath. "Not here. Please not here." You don’t want to feel anything else today, you don’t want your body to betray you too, but it does.

The feeling of him near you, the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you.

It all builds in your tummy until you feel like you’re going to explode. You press your thighs together, ashamed. This is so humiliating.

You’re in his house, he’s in the next room and your body doesn’t care about timing or dignity or pride. You slide your hand down under the blanket, biting your lip hard enough to draw some blood.

It’s not even about pleasure. It’s about grounding yourself, perhaps. Trying to feel something you control.

Your breathing gets uneven as your pussy drips more and more onto your fingers. Tears spill before you know realize they’re coming.

It’s too much. Everything is too much.

Your thighs start shaking, your shoulders too, and you try to stay quiet. You really try, but a broken sound escapes you and then another. In a few seconds you're a mess, coming undone on your own fingers while hysterically crying.

The door in the next room opens, his footsteps are fast. "What’s going on?" Jungkook appears in the doorway. "Are you okay?" His eyes scan you immediately. "Did they message you? Did something happen?"

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, face hot with humiliation and tears. "N—no."

"Then what—" He steps closer, concern replaces confusion. "Hey.." he says softer. "Talk to me."

You’re crying harder now, and you don’t even know why exactly. It’s not just one thing, it’s everything. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you choke out.

His expression shifts instantly. "There’s nothing wrong with you."

"Yes—" You shake your head. "I feel crazy."

"You’re not."

"I thought someone liked me. I thought you—" Your voice breaks. He kneels in front of the couch. "You thought I what?" he asks quietly.

You can’t even finish the sentence. He exhales slowly. "I came over." he says. "I stayed. I brought you here. I’m not doing that because I think you’re a loser, am I? And you’re not crazy." he repeats. "You’re overwhelmed."

Your crying softens into shaky breathing. He reaches up slowly, carefully, like he’s asking without words, and brushes his thumb under your eye to wipe a tear. "Nothing’s wrong with you." he says again.

"You’re just saying that.."

He doesn’t argue with you, he just moves slowly and sits beside you on the couch then pulls you into his arms, one around your shoulders, the other pressing gently at your back.

You freeze for a second, then you collapse into it. Your forehead presses into his chest. Your breathing is uneven at first, but then you take a long inhale, and another.

"Fuck—" He exhales against your hair. "I hate seeing you sad." he murmurs as his hand moves up and down your back. "I hate seeing you cry."

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. "I hate that I was a jerk for so long." he continues quietly. "I thought it was funny. Or easy, or whatever."

You don’t lift your head from his chest and he doesn’t loosen the hold he has around you. "I know saying that doesn’t fix anything. I know it doesn’t undo it. But I don’t want you thinking that’s what I actually thought of you."

He rests his chin lightly on top of your head. "It’s okay if you feel different." he says. "If you feel like a stranger. That’s fine. But don’t let other people decide what that means. Don’t let them tell you who you are."

You close your eyes. For the first time in days, your body stops bracing. He just holds you.

──────────────

The next morning at school feels unreal, like you’re walking into a place that doesn’t belong to you anymore. Not that it ever did, but all of that work you put into feeling more confident clearly amounts to nothing.

"You good?" Jungkook asks.

"Yeah."

He studies your face for a second, then nods. "I’m gonna go find the guys. I’ll be around."

You nod then he leaves.

You barely make it halfway down the hall before you see them. Sidney is leaning against a locker, arms crossed, your ex-best friend beside her, your roommate standing slightly behind them, as if this is some kind of coordinated formation. They are not even pretending they were not waiting for you.

Sidney pushes off the locker when she sees you. "Well, if it isn’t the transformation of the year!" she says loudly. "From pest to skank. That’s impressive progress!"

You keep walking, but she steps directly into your path, forcing you to stop. "How was it?" she asks, tilting her head as if she is genuinely curious. "Did he tell you he came inside me first, or did you figure that out on your own?"

Your stomach tightens, but your voice remains steady. "We didn’t do anything."

Your ex-best friend laughs. "You expect anyone to believe that? You’ve been obsessed with him for how long? You could barely look at him without practically drooling."

Sidney adds. "I’d love to know how you suddenly developed self control."

"We talked." you reply. "That's what we did. We talked."

Your roommate snorts under her breath. "Oh, please." she says. "You really want us to believe you went over there to have a deep emotional conversation?"

"Yes." you answer more sharply than you intended. "That’s exactly what happened."

Sidney rolls her eyes. "Right. And I’m sure he just held your hand and told you you’re special."

"He helped me." you say, feeling your anger begin to outweigh the humiliation. "He listened. Which is more than I can say for some of you." you continue while looking into your ex-best friends eyes.

There is a murmur from a few people nearby. The hallway is not as private as they probably assumed it would be. Your ex-best friend steps closer. "You were always pathetic when it came to him. Don’t act like you suddenly grew a spine overnight, babe."

You feel the lack of sleep pressing against your temples. The exhaustion, the leftover ache from yesterday, the humiliation, the relief, all of it churns together into something volatile. "You’re really testing my patience." you say quietly. "I didn’t sleep much, and I’m not in the mood."

Sidney laughs in your face. "Oh, I am so scared!"

You do not announce your decision, your hand moves before you have the chance to reconsider. The sound of the slap is loud enough to carry down the hallway unmistakable. Sidney’s head turns with the impact, and when she looks back at you, her expression is not mocking or amused. It is stunned, disbelieving, as if she genuinely did not think you were capable of responding.

The hallway has gone quiet. Conversations have stalled. Several people are openly staring. You do not raise your voice. "Don’t talk about me like that again."

Sidney’s fingers press slowly against the reddening mark on her cheek. For once, she does not have an immediate comeback.

For a moment, it almost looks as if she might cry.

Not because she is hurt, but because she is embarrassed. Her gaze flicks past you, taking in the faces lining the hallway, the phones half-lifted, the silence that feels heavier than shouting ever could. The attention is no longer flattering, it is clinical.

Your ex-best friend steps forward first. "What is wrong with you?" she demands, hesitating.

You do not look at her.

Sidney lowers her hand slowly. The red imprint on her cheek is clear. "You just assaulted me, you bitch." she says, her voice thinner than before. "Are you insane?"

You meet her eyes evenly. "No. I am done."

A ripple moves through the crowd.

Your ex-best friend lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "This is exactly why nobody takes you seriously. You lose control and then you play victim."

You fully turn towards her. The restraint you had been holding onto thins dangerously. "You do not get to talk about control." you say. "Not after the months you spent standing behind her while she ran her mouth. Making me think I had a friend."

Her expression falters.

Sidney straightens, trying to recover what little dignity she has left. "Oh please." she scoffs, though it lacks her often bite. "You finally snap and now you think you are intimidating? Give me a break."

"You mistake my quiet for weakness. That was your first mistake. You thought I would just keep listening, keep ignoring it. Keep letting you belittle me, that I would never fight back."

Sidney’s jaw tightens. "You are overreacting." she says, but it comes out strained. "No one was belittling you."

A few people in the hallway exchange looks. You tilt your head slightly. "You really want to pretend?"

Her shoulders square. "Say it. Go on."

"You talk like I am beneath you." you reply evenly. "Like I am something you tolerate. Like my existence offends you."

Sidney lets out a snort. "If you feel inferior, that is not my fault."

There it is. The tone she always uses, designed to sound untouchable.

"I never felt inferior. At first, at least." you say calmly. "But I just got tired of watching you try to make me feel that way. So I gave in."

The crowd is no longer pretending not to listen.

Sidney’s eyes flicker around the hallway again. "You think you are some victim?" she presses. "You have been playing innocent this entire time."

"Innocent of what?" you ask quietly.

Her mouth opens but nothing comes out.

"The only reason you had was the threat that your ex might like a loser like me, right?"

A sharp breath escapes someone behind you.

Sidney’s eyes flash. "He was my boyfriend!"

"Exactly." you reply. "Was."

Her jaw tightens. "Do not twist this, you bitch."

"I am not twisting anything." You take a small step closer. "You heard about a Valentine’s note I gave him a year ago. A stupid, harmless note.. And you acted like I had committed a crime."

"It was not harmless." she snaps. "You were trying to—"

"Trying to what?" you cut in. "Confess that I liked him? Yes. I did. I never hid that." Whispers ripple through the hallway. "I gave him a note." you continue. "I did not flirt with him while you were standing there, I did not sneak around. I did not lie."

Her face reddens. "You are acting like I stole something from you. But he was never your property."

Sidney laughs, but it sounds forced. "You are unbelievable. You went after someone who was taken."

"I liked someone." you correct. "And I respected his answer. I moved on." you say. "You did not."

Her lips part.

"You kept bringing it up. Kept making comments. Kept trying to make me look desperate for something that happened once."

"It was humiliating." she hisses.

"For who?" you ask calmly. "For you? Or because you were scared he might realize someone else cared about him without playing games?"

Her expression hardens. "You think you are better than me? You're still drooling over him, when he also talked shit about you."

"Yeah, well, at least he had the balls to apologize and see where he was wrong. But now with my new view on things—" you smile crooked, heart beating fast. "I'm thinking he was somewhat influenced."

"You wanna fuck him? Go ahead! I don't give a flying shit about him or you for that matter!" She rages.

Brittany steps forward, crossing her arms, her expression cool but sharp. "God, Sidney, what is it with you and always wanting to have the last word?"

Sidney whirls toward her, face twisted, lips pulled back. "You don’t get to talk, Brittany! You’re just as bad as she is!"

"No." Brittany says. She glances at you briefly before returning her attention to Sidney. "I’m done with pretending, and you should be too. You don’t get to act like this anymore, and dragging her into it isn’t going to make you look good."

Sidney scoffs, but the bravado is cracked. "And what? You think you’re better? You think I give a shit about what you think?"

"You’ve been hurting everyone around you." Brittany says. "I know I was part of it, okay? I know I helped. And I’m not here to defend myself. I’m here to make sure she knows she’s not the only one you’ve been tearing apart."

You watch them, heart hammering. Part of you wants to step back, hide, melt into the floor, but another part, the part that’s been waiting for months, is fully present.

Sidney’s lips curl into a sneer, but it’s smaller now. "Oh, so now you care about her? You trying to give her head, too? How sweet. Too little, too late, Brittany."

Brittany shakes her head. "No. I care because I’m tired of your shit. You were selfish then, and you’re selfish now. You’ve been manipulating and lying, and I’m not standing for it anymore."

Sidney’s hands ball into fists at her sides. "Fine!" she spits. "You think you’re all high and mighty? You think this— this little lecture changes anything?"

You step slightly forward. Brittany glances at you with a quick nod of acknowledgment.

"What do you want me to say? That now everyone thinks I’m the freak?" she hisses. "You’re just a—"

"My god." You cut her off. "Stop talking. Just leave me alone Sidney, okay? I am willing to let it all go if you just leave me alone."

You finally see the first cracks of fear, embarrassment, recognition of her own failure to control this moment. For once, she is the one silenced.

"Fuck you." She pushes into you hard, her body pressing against yours for just a second before you pivot slightly.

You look her square in the eyes. "You’re done. I don’t owe you anything."

Sidney stumbles back, blinking, her mouth opening and closing like she’s searching for words that won’t come. She glares, flustered.

"What the hell?" Jungkook steps forward then. His voice is calm but you can tell how frustrated he is. "Sidney, enough."

Sidney turns toward him, eyes wild. "Oh, now you’re here? What, are you gonna lecture me too?"

He doesn’t move closer. "I’m not here to argue with you. Leave her alone."

Sidney’s jaw tightens. "Or what?"

"Or you’ll see that your games don’t work on everyone." Jungkook says evenly. The whispers swell, and for the first time, she looks genuinely exposed.

You let yourself breathe slowly, feeling the heat in your chest settle into something better. Not entirely relief, but at least you're not alone in this moment.

Sidney glares one last time, mutters something under her breath, and stalks off down the hallway, alongside your ex-best friend.

You follow Jungkook out of the building, the cold air biting at your cheeks. The streets are nearly empty, the rain from the night before left puddles glinting in the morning sunlight. You kick at one, watching ripples spread, not speaking.

He falls into step beside you, silent at first, letting you set the pace. The only sound is the squelch of wet shoes on pavement and the occasional distant car.

"You didn’t have to handle that by yourself." he says finally.

"Yeah, no—" you mutter, kicking another puddle. "I actually.. needed to."

He glances at you, eyes unreadable for a moment, then nods. "I get it. You’re stubborn as hell."

You snort, despite yourself. "I learned from the best." you say, a tiny edge of humor trying to break through the tension.

He chuckles softly. "Maybe. But stubborn doesn’t mean wrong."

You glance at him. "Doesn’t it? I feel.. I don’t know. Everything’s been messed up, and then, today.. it all just—" Your voice breaks slightly. "It’s a lot."

He stops walking, waiting for you to notice. When you do, you almost stumble into him. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." you lie, shaking your head. "Just.. tired, I guess."

He studies you for a long second, then reaches out, brushing a strand of wet hair off your face, and you swear you feel your heart crawling up your throat. "You don’t have to lie to me." he says softly. "I saw what happened back there. I know who was in the wrong."

You look away, heat rising in your cheeks. "Doesn’t matter."

"It matters to me." he says quietly. "You don’t have to let them get to you."

The two of you keep walking, side by side, in silence. Finally, he speaks again. "You wanna grab coffee? Just— somewhere to sit, somewhere quiet?"

You think about saying no, think about staying angry, staying wound up, but something in the sound of his voice makes your nerves loosen. "Okay." you say finally. "Yeah. Coffee sounds— good."

The storm is over, the world still wet, but for the first time in days, it feels like you might finally catch your breath.

──────────────

You’ve been staying at Jungkook’s place for a few days now. Every morning you wake up to the quiet of his apartment, the faint smell of coffee in the air, and the sound of his snores in the living room. You’ve been feeling guilty almost the whole time, you’re intruding, you shouldn’t be here at all, especially with how your body handles.. nerves.

"I should start looking for a place." you mutter, tracing the edge of the couch with your fingers. "I can’t keep imposing."

He glances up from his laptop. "Imposing?" he asks, tilting his head. "You’ve been here only a few days. I’ve got space. It’s fine."

"It’s not fine." you whisper, staring down at your hands. "I just.. I don’t want to take advantage of you."

"You’re not taking advantage of me." he laughs softly, sliding the laptop aside. His voice is steady and warm, and so not like the man you knew almost a month ago. "I don’t mind. I like having you here."

"I still need to find somewhere." you murmur, trying not to meet his eyes. "I can’t— can’t stay forever."

He leans back against the couch. "I know," he says just that.

But your mind is still split, that's main reason you need to move. Every time he moves, every time he laughs, every time he sits too close or brushes past you in the kitchen, you feel it that same heat, a tension you thought you were over, a memory of the way your body reacts. You tell yourself you’re over it. You really do. But your heart is stupid, your stomach flips, and you feel small, caught, and guilty.

How long until he catches you? What would he think, what would say? The girl he's been trying to help, touching herself in his own house, on his bed, only at the mere thought of him.

He shifts inches closer on the couch. "Bug.." he begins, body moving closer to yours. Can he smell it on you, your arousal? His gaze flicks to your lips and you can see him lean in.

Oh no. No, no, no.

You stumble to your feet, heart hammering, and force a laugh. "Uh—tea? Coffee? I think I need—something." you mumble, gripping the edge of the counter for support. Anything to distract from the moment, to cover the heat rushing through you.

He doesn’t move back. He just watches, and smiles. "Something," he repeats, quiet, almost teasing. "You mean.. to calm your nerves?"

You bite your lip, twisting the hem of your shirt, cheeks burning. "Yeah." you whisper. "Nerves.. tea. Definitely tea."

You busily grab a mug, fumbling with the kettle, just to keep your hands occupied, to keep from noticing him.

You spin, forcing a smile, and step toward the counter. "Tea’s ready." you say, voice firmer than you feel. "Sit. I’ll pour."

He doesn’t move to sit, just tilts his head, eyes flicking to yours with something like amusement or curiosity.

You pour the tea, hands shaking, and keep your gaze down, focusing on the steaming mug like it’s a lifeline.

"Here." you finally say, sliding the mug across the counter. "Careful.. it’s hot."

Much like the in-between of your legs.

Taehyung sold the fantasy of your success as his stand-in very early on; however, he never promised anything on the lines of your safety.

The filming location was about a forty-minute drive outside of town. Your current surroundings blend with the acres of nature the further you drove away from civilization.

You could just go home — fake an illness, lie about a flat tire, or go off grid for a while … maybe rent a cabin in the woods until Taehyung eventually hunts you down. Alright, the alternatives were a bit excessive considering you continued the drive despite your unease. 

You weren’t a quitter; plus, you would never let a client down.

Eventually, you pull up to a random warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Dumb ways to die? Check. Thankfully, the sight of food trucks and multiple trailers parked on the side relieved your nerves. 

A woman stands at the front, hand hovering over her eyes to block out the sun. She spots you first, smiling as she waves you down.

“Mina?” You tilt your head, the pace of your steps increase as you near the front of the warehouse. Her email communications were nothing short of professional, outlining the day’s itinerary and liability waivers, down to your food allergies. You expected anyone but someone in a grey oil-stained crewneck and baggy jeans to greet you.

She wears her most welcoming smile and the percentages in your head of getting murdered significantly drops.

“Yes!” She shakes your hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung’s stand-in for today’s shoot.” 

You follow closely behind her, taking in all the book-filled shelves and desktop computers placed strategically to mimic a library. Quite the costly production for a simple porn video. 

“Director Kim’s excited to meet you. He should be right …” She points at a tall blonde man reading through some papers, “there.”

As you and Mina near him, he looks less and less like the sleazy old man you pictured capable of making such heinous videos like the ones you had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing … minus that one video. 

A jolt runs down your spine at the memory from last night. Another jolt runs through you as Mina introduces you to Director Kim.

“Nice to meet you, Director Kim.” You take his hand in a quick but firm shake. 

“Namjoon.” He corrects. “Likewise, Taehyung spoke greatly of you.”

With introductions out of the way, Namjoon quickly picks up where he left off in his review of the papers. He briefs the script and his vision for today’s shoot.

An orgy. Well, that explains why there were so many cars and trailers parked outside. 

“You’ve seen the Silent Library Challenge before, right?” Namjoon asks. “Well …”

Library setup … orgy … and challenge? 

“Trying to fuck in silence.” Namjoon’s voice breaks your thoughts. “Nothing revolutionary, but with the combination of the other factors … it’s gonna be legendary.” He nods proudly.

You could only return a nod, unsure if you’d sound believable if you verbally agreed.

“I’ll let Mina get you settled in before we start.” He turns and speaks into his headset, “thirty minutes till call time, team.” 

Mina leads you to a secluded area away from the set: an isolated dark tent. 

“Holler if you need anything. I’ll see you in a bit!” 

As she turns, your tense shoulders finally drop. Phew, a moment of respite — calm before the storm. You look at the entrance of the sketchy tent and brace yourself as you peel back the openings.

You’re lucky if your wedding bookings had a chair for you to sit on between filming. Here? You had your own private rest area, snack spread, shoulder massager, and … pull-out futon? Now this was a true VIP treatment. Oh, Kim Taehyung’s gonna get an earful for gatekeeping the perks of his job. 

You eye the snack basket and while you don’t think you can stomach anything at the moment, your appetite is subject to change. Backpack opened, you stuff in a couple of cookies and chips for later.

“Okay,” you bounce on the futon in your seated position, “so far, not bad.”

You spend your short break repeating affirmations, envisioning the most terrible scenarios followed by the good ones. Ultimately, you settle with: Nothing bad will happen and you’ll be out of here in no time.

Namjoon’s voice blasts through the intercom, “Five minutes.”

You got this, you tell yourself, jumping up from the futon to head on set.

Only, you don’t make it out far from your rest area because you collide into something, or rather someone, hard. 

“Oof—I’m sorry—” 

You look up. Oh, hell no. No, no, no…

It can’t be. 

They say if you’ve ever dreamed of a stranger, you’ve probably seen them in real life. The man in front of you? No stranger, not by a stretch. His face, the way he sounds … down to the moles on his chest, was forever carved in your memories. This new encounter only adds more details to those now: the way he feels and smells, citrus overtaking your senses.

He looks as good as he did in the video last night, chest on display from his loose robe.

“You good?” He asks.

The foolish part of your brain only registers his question as a praise like the ones in the video from last night.

You chirp out another quick apology and beeline to the set. Heat rushes to your face and sweat gathers at your hairline from the brief encounter. What were the odds of bumping into him? Well, the odds weren’t that low considering he featured in one of RkivedShots’ videos, but still … 

The actors and actresses around the set begin de-robing like it’s a normal Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday, but none of this was the norm — your norm, at least. 

“Alright crew, stick to your script and it’ll be a quick day. Let’s have fun, okay?” Namjoon announces into his mic. “We’ll break when we hit Act Two.”

The moment you grip the camera handle, your brain goes on autopilot, ceasing all thoughts of the man. Time to actually do what you came here for: work. 

Weddings weren’t foolproof and you’ve learned in the hour of filming with RkivedShots the sentiment ran the same.

‘I ain’t hard enough.’

‘Whoops, condom slipped.’

‘Sorry, my shit’s drier than the Sahara desert.’ 

Despite the minor hiccups, everything seemed to be going well. On your final break, Namjoon looks distressed as he calls you over. 

“Think we’re low on shots at the bookshelves. Mind focusing there a bit?”

There was a reason why you didn’t go over there as much. For one, you’re not sure how sturdy those shelves were with the number of people perched against it. Second, he was there. 

Unfortunately, a job was a job.

The camera feels heavier in your hands as you trudge to the shelves.

“Psst.”

Alright, you’ve been around naked people all day — filmed them fucking, but you weren’t ready to have a conversation with an actor on set. A slender, but built man leans against the book shelves … bush out and dick erect. You avert your eyes. Eyes up here, you repeat, at the books … at his face where a pleased smile spreads when you near. 

“Can you film from this spot?” He points at the small corner towards the end of the aisle.

“Sure thing.” The location was definitely not the most optimal angle, but you’re always eager to please your clients.

“That’s not fair, Hoseok.” A shorter man appears from behind. “What about the rest of the crew?”

Hoseok pouts. “Come on, Yoongi. Just this once? I’m finally topping, so I want my ass to look good in the frame.”

Yoongi crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“Please, my love?” Hoseok pleads and Yoongi’s stoic expression falters at the petname. He purses his lips and sighs.

“Fine.” Yoongi uncrosses his arms and looks apologetically over at you. “Sorry, my fiancè is making this difficult.”

“You love me.” Hoseok grins. “And thank you,” he turns to you again, “feel free to cut it short if it works better for you.”

“Standby!” Namjoon calls from the director’s stand.

Yoongi goes back to his original position — bent over, hands on the shelf. Hoseok comes from behind, left hand covering Yoongi’s. Hoseok plants a soft kiss on his shoulder and positions his cock at Yoongi’s entrance, waiting for the next cue.

Your eyes soften at the sight of their matching black wedding bands. Couples in the adult film industry shouldn’t surprise you; though, finally seeing one in the flesh raised questions. How did they meet? Did they start their careers at the same time? Do they get jealous if they aren’t filming with each other?

Questions continue to flood your mind until Namjoon signals for cameras to roll again.

You aren’t sure what Hoseok was talking about in terms of a “better angle” because he looked ethereal in every way you filmed him. As you filmed the couple, it becomes harder to decipher between acting or reality; certainly not with how Yoongi’s mouth hangs open as Hoseok thrusts inside of him. Heads turned, they share a heated kiss to stifle the sounds threatening to leave their lips. Very on theme for Silent Library. Works in theory — minus the balls slapping against balls asmr. 

Your earpiece signals you to move from this scene. Slowly, you back away and shift over to the next aisle.

Yoongi and Hoseok’s performance displayed passion and love, the next scene … has you biting the inside of your cheeks and clenching your thighs together.

The same man you bumped into earlier. Same man on your laptop. Same man responsible for your accelerated heartrate, overtaking all your senses and rationale.

His fingers dig into the girl’s ass as he thrusts from behind. He tosses his head back in the same fashion as the video from last night. A tingle shoots straight to your core. God. The girl is inaudible, mouth preoccupied on sucking off and gagging on another man’s cock. The man in front leans forward and on cue, your mystery man meets him halfway for a frenzied kiss.

Wow, the perfect “A” formation.

Everything about this scene screamed primal — full of unadulterated want and need. Very different from the couple before. 

The man in front breaks the kiss first, now solely focused on the girl sucking his cock. And your mysterious man from last night? Well … he's no better. He does little to hold back his low grunts and moans as he fucks himself into the woman.

Your mind checks off the question of how he’d look when he’s inside someone — completely and utterly blissed out. He fucks like he isn’t in a secluded warehouse in the middle of nowhere with twenty other pornstars. It’s just him, whatever partner(s) he’s with, and his pleasure.

And maybe that's what Namjoon wanted — to show how little restraint people have in places meant for silence and solitude.

You eventually move away from the area, now focused on the circle of men jerking off in a circle and finishing on top of a pile of paper, which you assumed was a metaphor for something. Fuck … homework?

You know what? Hell yeah.

Namjoon yells into his mic, "Cut! We got our shots. Great work!"

All the actors and actresses detach from one another, moving to their rest areas. You gather your belongings and catch the tattooed man whispering something into the girl's ear. They share a knowing look before she leads him away from the shelves.

"Not too bad, right?” Mina says, handing you a refreshment from her cooler, “I remember being super nervous on my first day."

How do you politely tell someone filming porn was something you never thought you’d dabble into? You don’t.  

You settle with a neutral response, "It's different." 

"I bet. Very different from the usual wedding scene."

"Totally." You chuckle, hand tightening around your camera. 

"Oh!” Mina snaps. “You know what? Director Kim was telling me how he wanted to film something about cheating — parents of the bride or groom. Since you’re a wedding expert, he'll probably ask you some questions."

Sure, drama unfolded at weddings, but that didn’t make you an expert. You’re unsure where the correlation existed; regardless, you nod and smile. 

"Genius, isn't he?" Mina fawns. "Anyway, we’re done for the day. Take as much time as you need before heading out." She ushers you in the direction of your rest area.

Your tired legs take you right in front of your private area of solitude and you hear it before you see it: rhythmic clapping, hushed moans, and giggles fill your ears. Must be a hallucination or side effect of being around hoards of people fucking all afternoon.

Gotta be.

You peel back the curtain and the air around you stills. For the second time today, you're rendered speechless — frozen in place. Time ceases to move … unlike the two naked people in front of you on the same futon you were graciously provided.

Fucking.

You recognize those tattoos, the way he sounds — there's no way you’d forget. How could you when he was the last thing you heard before you went to sleep in shame?

"Oh my god!" Profusely apologizing, you immediately back away and speed off in the opposite direction — not without hearing a faint, frustrated sigh followed by a high pitched giggle. 

Outside the warehouse, you frantically type on your cellphone.

You [4:32 p.m.]: Dude. Caught ppl having sex.

Three dots appear in the message thread and you gnaw on your bottom lip, angry tears threatening to fall at the brim of your eyes. 

Taehyung [4:33 p.m.]: Uh, idk what to tell you … you are on a porn set. You [4:33 p.m.]: Well You [4:33 p.m.]: Yes Taehyung [4:34 p.m.]: ?? You [4:36 p.m.]: Is it normal for them to have sex outside their filming time?

Within seconds, your phone lights up with Taehyung's contact picture.

"Can only talk for about five minutes, so I thought it'd be easier to call. What's going on, kiddo?"

You roll your eyes. Hate it when he calls you that despite being the same age.

"Caught someone having sex … in my break area."

"Oh, um, my condolences."

"So like … is that a usual thing?"

"I mean, professionally speaking, there's the saying: don't eat where you shit. Or wait, is that the other way around? Anyway," he hums in deep thought, "I guess it's not totally taboo to have sex with your co-actors, but it's frowned upon."

His answer brings you little comfort. Honestly, you aren’t sure if any answer other than erasing your memories from the last four hours could bring you comfort. 

"I see."

"Mhm … that aside, how's everything? You doing okay?"

"It’s alright."

If Taehyung wasn’t one of your best friends, maybe you’d do a better job at keeping your struggles to yourself.

“Okay, it was rough and I’m tired. How the hell do you do this?” You whine.

He laughs, "I know. Not so easy, right? That’s the challenging part about this industry. Wait till you get to the editing portion."

You groan, head craned back to relieve the tension forming at your neck. 

“Let me know if you need any help though.”

"I’ll let you know if I hit a wall. Should be straightforward." Only because your stubbornness and pride refuses any form of assistance. 

"That's my bestie," He cheers, "But alright, I gotta head back on set. Let's catch up later? Drinks on me."

The phone call with your best friend did make you feel better — almost enough to have made you forget the whole debacle in your break area. 

You press your back against the warehouse, the structure’s warmth absorbed under the sun seeps through your clothes, relaxing your muscles. You give yourself (and them) another ten minutes before you march yourself back to the tent for your belongings. They have to be done by now, right?

After the shame and embarrassment subsided, you find yourself angry. Of all the places they could’ve gone, why did they pick yours? They couldn't have held on for another discrete location? And they didn't even apologize to you. Matter of fact, you don’t think they even stopped when you caught them.

Fuck them.

You begrudgingly go back into the warehouse, eyes glaring at the black curtain separating you and potentially a scene you don't wish to walk into.

You purposely clear your throat a little louder than usual, praying your signal alarms them of your presence.

Prying apart the curtains, your head turns away in the event you misjudged the silence for their absence. You peek at the area with one eye.

Oh.

As if two people weren’t in here fucking each other’s brains out, the area looks spotless — just as you originally entered. 

Maybe it was a hallucination.

You look over at the futon. 

White stain. Yep, not a hallucination.

You quickly move around the room to gather your belongings — not without sweeping the rest of the snacks into your bag.

What? Therapy wasn’t included with the job (that you’re aware of), so the snacks will do as compensation.

Once packed up, you make one last stop to Namjoon and Mina before departing.

"Pleasure working with you — everything went smoothly if I do say so myself. I'm excited for the final product." Namjoon smiles — the kind that encourages you to work a little harder.

Taehyung’s incessant need to please this man makes sense now. 

"Likewise. I'll have something for you by the end of this weekend." You nod, shrugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder.

Mina escorts you out of the warehouse and walks you to your car. Like a mirage or distant memory, the warehouse fades away as you drive back to your world and sanctuary.

For writers, your words and stories come to life during the editing phase. The sentiment holds the same for your line of work. 

Without a doubt, your videos came to life during editing. 

At least, that's how you felt with weddings.

You didn't know what to do with the raw shots from yesterday. 

“WWKTD: What would Kim Taehyung do?” You close your eyes, desk chair swaying as you rocked back and forth.

No, there was no need to be a copycat of any sort — just gotta follow your own method of madness.

Identifying your target audience was the first step to any good production. Weddings? Easy. Porn? As difficult as trying to hit a moving target. Aside from those consuming the media, you also needed to appease your employer, Kim Namjoon. 

You set to editing. Hours and hours of cutting clips, checking the sound, and adjusting the filters on each shot nearly sends you into psychosis. It’s a lot, okay? The constant moaning, bodily fluids, and skin slapping …

Twelve rigorous hours later, six tea breaks, and multiple laps around your building, you condensed the many hours of clips into a thirty minute production.

"Finally." Your body melts into your desk chair, completely depleted from the project. 

But it’s done. 

Less is more. You hope Namjoon agrees. Within two minutes of emailing the file, Mina replied with their confirmation receipt and advised you their accounting folks wired the second half of your paycheck.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor at the sight of your bank notification.

You [11:32 p.m.]: HOLY SHIT. YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU MADE THAT MUCH ON ONE JOB! Taehyung [11:36 p.m.]: Sex sells🤷 You [11:36 p.m.]: 😟

He reacts to your message with a laughing emoji.

And so, life and work continues as normally after that project. You’ve always told yourself you’d try something at least three times before calling quits — one try of RkivedShots told you enough. 

You've been on a blaze with your wedding bookings since working with RkivedShots. So much that you haven't been able to answer text messages and email inquiries in the last couple of weeks.

People typically back off after a no response. Not Mina, nope. Her unanswered email only fuels her persistence.  

Mina [4:58 p.m.]: Hey there, it’s Mina!! Just in case you didn't get my email, RkivedShots is hosting a milestone party this weekend at our company headquarter! The Silent Library Orgy made it to the top video on the website and it's still going strong. You were a huge part of the production's success, so we'd love it if you come and celebrate with us! You [5:01 p.m.]: Glad to hear the video is doing great! Been super swamped, so I will have to pass on this party. Thank you though, and I hope you're doing well. :)

That should’ve been the end of it.

Yet, you're in front of your small vanity, begrudgingly patting on a light layer of foundation as Taehyung rummages through your closet for an appropriate party outfit.

"What happened to all your clubbing outfits?" Taehyung grunts. "You know, that one disco ball looking dress you always wore in undergrad?"

"Donated." You roll your eyes. “And I only wore that dress once for a Halloween party as a disco ball.”

Ignoring you, Taehyung continues his mission of berating your fashion choices. "Why do you only have black tops and bottoms? This is the worst."

Black was a nice and neutral color — perfect for someone to blend into the background for events like weddings. You were unnoticeable to many. The focus should always be on your clients, not you.

"Then maybe we shouldn't go to the party … I'm totally okay with a night in."

Taehyung pokes his head out from your small walk-in closet with a glare. "Dude. You don't get how big of a deal this is!"

"Explain then. Because I could be catching up on my shows … it's the first weekend in weeks I'm finally free." You complain.

"You can always find time to catch up on shows. This is a big deal for RkivedShots to hit the top video for the third week in a row."

"Fine, but no more than two hours."

"Two hours? You're spoiling me." Taehyung grins at your dull expression. "But alright, we show face then bounce."

"Golden."

And so was the party as you and Taehyung waltz through the elevator doors of RkivedShots headquarters. You hate to admit it … but maybe Taehyung had a point when he said you looked like you were going in for an interview with your fancy blouse and beige slacks. Everyone was dressed to the nines minus the naked people laying down with appetizers served on their bodies. Now that was a sight to witness. Purple and pink hues of lights flash around the room, but nothing stood out more than the black and golden banner, “Top Streamed Adult Film.”

"Is it too late to change call time?" You mutter under your breath.

Taehyung laughs and with a hand behind the small of your back, he guides you to the open bar.

"What can I get you both?" The bartender asks, topless with only a black bowtie around his neck.

"Tequila, please." Taehyung requests.

"Do you guys do midori sour?" You inquire. Bars rarely make this drink these days, but it never stopped you from testing your luck. You’ll default to your usual rum and coke if it’s a no go.

"Finally. A break from the usual whiskey and beer." The bartender winks. "And yes, one midori sour and tequila coming right up."

As the bartender makes your drinks, Taehyung nudges you and whispers, "Oh my god, Director Kim is walking over here. Act cool."

Funny how he's the one sporting an awkward boxy smile, hands deep in his back pockets to minimize his fidgeting. 

Poor boy.

Behind Namjoon, you spot Mina. No longer in her crewneck and baggy jeans, she resembles a fairy in her flowy lilac dress. 

Mina rushes past Namjoon the moment she recognizes you and gives you a small side hug. "So glad you came through! Did you guys order drinks yet?" She begins waving down the bartender, but stops midway when you giggle and nod.

From the side, Namjoon and Taehyung are deep in their own greeting. Hand slapped onto Taehyung’s shoulder, Namjoon’s laughter catches a few stares from surrounding attendees who smile knowingly at the source. Eventually, Namjoon looks over in your direction and smiles.

"Ah, just who I wanted to see." His dimples welcome you before he does.

"Director Kim—" You begin.

"Ah-ah, just Namjoon. Director Kim makes me feel like my old man."

"Oh, okay, Namjoon," you smile, "thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you." He repeats, "Truly, the pleasure's all mine. We wouldn't be here without your help."

"Your scripts and plots speak for themselves." You reassure.

Namjoon shakes his head. "The way you captured each scene and the hue of the video." He recounts. "It's different."

"Good, I hope."

"Exceptional. I do have another future project … I was wondering if you'd be up for it."

"Um—"

"Wedding season’s keeping her busy. I barely got her out tonight." Taehyung chimes in, saving you from having to awkwardly decline. You secretly thank him with a subtle glance.

Namjoon and Taehyung fall back in their conversation again, throwing out ideas and visions for future projects. Thankfully, Mina makes a great party companion even while greeting other attendees, she always comes back to you. Finds your line of work so fascinating because of its everlasting demand and new trends.

Suddenly, you lurch forward from an unknown force.

“Oh god, so sorry!” The man from behind apologizes.

“It’s okay—oh, Hoseok?” 

There’s no Hoseok without Yoongi and they both look immaculate donned in dark grey. Their looks wouldn’t be complete without a set of matching cuff links only visible to the naked eye. You've been to enough weddings to know how special they hold to the grooms. 

It's a statement piece. His and his.

"Well, who do we have here?" Hoseok smiles brightly. "If it isn't The Camerawoman that saved my ass. Literally. I've never looked better, so thank you."

"Sorry, he's had one too many to drink." Yoongi apologizes. “Your video was awesome, by the way. Just the right traction RkivedShots needed.”

“She’s awesome, isn’t she? Jack of all trades.” Mina praises. “Oh my god, wait! Don’t you and Hoseok need a wedding videographer?”

"We do." Yoongi nods.

You fumble around your purse and hand him your business card. "No pressure at all, but feel free to check my portfolio and calendar to see if it aligns with your schedule. Congrats to you two — I'm sure the wedding is going to be amazing."

Yoongi offers you his most sincere smile and tucks the card in his back pocket. He shares a fond stare with Hoseok. You later learned they met on set about three years ago … something about the video being about the Lorax and Onceler. 

"Looks like they're going to play a drinking game over there. Come join?" Hoseok nods in the direction where there were about ten other people seated around a small table. 

As you near the table, the blood draws from your face. It's the same man from before. The one you bumped into. The one in your break room. The one your body and heart recognize with ease.

He's as gorgeous as everyone else in the room. The pounding in your ears amplifies at the sound of his laughter. He unintentionally garners all the attention, be it from his appearances or whatever words leave his lips.

You tip-toe away from Mina, finding Taehyung on the other side of the gathering. He jumps at your poke, "That's him."

"Huh, what? Who?" He looks around.

"Don't make it obvious." You whisper-yell. "One of the two I caught having sex. Black coat, lip piercings."

Taehyung slowly lifts his head to scan for the person matching your description. His eyes widen for a millisecond before he drops his head to your ear.

"No fucking way … Jeon Jungkook?" 

Well, you didn’t know his name. But now that you think about it, the shoe fits … 'JK 🐰.'

"Do you know him?" You ask.

"Hm, not particularly. Always been a nice fellow to shoot with. Never had any issues with him in the past."

Guess you were just the unlucky one.

The girl next to Jungkook takes a sip of her drink before clapping her hands.

"Alright. Let's play two truths, one lie. I don't want to hear some lame shit like you had a dog named Q-tip."

"Hey, what's wrong with that name?" One of the other dudes around the table retorts.

"Snooze fest. I'll start us off though. If you guess wrong, you take a shot."

She taps on her chin for a couple of seconds and grins. "Went to the ER for a bottle stuck up my ass, my sister was in 'Two Girls, One Cup,' and last one … lost my virginity at a car wash fundraiser to eradicate smallpox."

The people around the table begin their discourse. No one has made the move to speak out for fear of getting it wrong.

"Bottle seems so general." Taehyung murmurs to you.

Meanwhile, you're still stuck on the fact that one of their family members had potential ties to the 'Two Girls, One Cup' franchise. By the way, hugest mistake on your part for even looking up the video when you were in college.

"I'm voting for the ER story." Mina raises her glass and some of the other players raise theirs too.

Some voted on the cup, very little decided against the car wash as the lie. And very little meaning, just one person. Jungkook, namely.

"You sure you want to go with that option, Jungkook?" Hoseok grins.

"Mhm." He leans against the backrest of the chair, returning a smirk.

Confident. Or perhaps overly cocky, just as you ruled from the night you watched the video. Almost made you want to change your vote to spite him.

"Everyone ready for the reveal?" The girl does a little drumroll on her thighs. "The lie was … losing my virginity at a car wash fundraiser to eradicate smallpox."

A bunch of people groaned and sighed in disappointment while others rolled their eyes before taking a shot of their drink.

"Damn, how'd you know, Jungkook?" Taehyung inquires.

Jungkook glances over in his direction — well, yours too. His eyes flickered between you and Taehying before he answered.

"Unless Hana was born before the 1970s, I'm pretty sure smallpox's eradicated."

"Bingo! It was for polio, actually." Hana confirms.

You take another sip of your drink. Not because you guessed wrong. Technically, you weren’t even playing. Just gave you something as a distraction to lessen the weight of his stares.

He finally averts his gaze at Hana’s single clap. "Your turn since you guessed right, Kook."

"Hmm." Lips pursed, his piercings flip. The small act sends shockwaves to your core at the reminder of how they also did that when he … okay, time-out, you need to reel it back in.

"Had my first kiss at nineteen—"

"Boring!" Yoongi chants.

“Yawning!” Hoseok adds.

Everyone laughs but you. You were a late bloomer. Hell, you took extra time learning to crawl and walk as a baby. Came nearly last in all your Physical Education running exams. Puberty hit you later in comparison to all the other kids in middle school too. Last or late … didn’t matter. And just like crawling, puberty, and everything in between, you were also late in the game for your first kiss.

That is, until the age of twenty-two on New Year's Eve. There wasn’t anything profound about your first kiss other than the fact you were fed up about never experiencing it. One locked gaze with the boy next to you, a quick nod, and even faster peck, it was over.

All that was left was the faint aftertaste of whatever cheap drink he favored that evening and the prickle on your skin from his chin stubble. 

Were you ashamed about kissing a random stranger? Not as much as you were disappointed. At least this was one thing you could check off your list.

Lackluster first kiss? Done.

"Fine." Jungkook rolls his eyes. "I love prostate orgasms, shit myself during a half marathon, and I don't fancy virgins."

Oh.

What was the virgin equivalence to a Scarlet Letter branding? Yeah. This was one of those moments.

You zone out, noise and chatter from all the other attendees fading in the background until Taehyung brushes his arm against yours and mouths, “You good?”

“Yep.” You lie.

"Aw, whatcha got against virgins?" Mina scrunches her nose playfully.

He shrugs, "Is that your guess?"

She taps on her chin, "I know you're extra whiny when you take it up the ass … so the first one is out."

Jungkook laughs, like, actually laughs. He doesn't deny it – a simple confirmation of his preferences. Owns the fact without shame or embarrassment. 

With Mina's knowledge, everyone was down to the other two options. Virgin hater or blowing ass while running? This or that.

Ultimately, the group was split down the middle.

"Gotta be the virgin." Another girl nods. “How could you not like them? So innocent and clueless.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you have a corruption kink, Nabi.” Another girl calls out.

“Touché. So am I right, Jungkook? You don’t really hate virgins, right?” Nabi bats her eyes.

"Take a sip," Jungkook simply says. "Would be caught dead before I run in a marathon."

Okay, confirmed: Jungkook hates virgins. You suppose that’s understandable considering there was no fun in being with someone inexperienced when he has access to all this and more.

It hurts. Not because you lost out on a highly improbable chance with him—it’s just always been like this. If no one has chosen you in the past, why would anyone choose to be with someone as you are now? You had to be the problem, right?

The game continues around the group. There's a pattern to their truths and lies — both the added and unnecessary details. You’re not sure if it’s because of all the explicit facts, but up to a certain point in the game … it got boring. 

Too much butt discourse for your liking truthfully.

Taehyung eventually goes and does his round. Less graphic and devoid of butt related lore in comparison. There’s nothing you don’t know about your best friend, so you’re curious what kind of antics he’ll pull. Naturally, you read his lie the moment the statement left his lips.

“Really? You sexted someone for eight hours? That’s a full workshift.” You tease in a hushed voice.

“Don’t say a word.” He grumbles.

You giggle and take a sip from your drink only to notice it’s filled with nothing but ice and a little preserved cherry. Perfect timing to discreetly slip away, especially since Taehyung’s turn is nearing the end.

“Another midori sour for the pretty lady?” The same bartender asks. You’re no stranger to lip service having been a waitress yourself in your college years. The art of finessing for a couple bucks takes a certain level of mastery and tact. The bartender was nice and remembered something about you — that’s an easy tip right there. You end up stuffing some cash into their phallic-shaped jar — not for flattery, but you knew this was their only way to take home a little more in their pockets tonight being an open bar and all.

He slides you another drink on a napkin and looks to the side for the next customer.

The barstool next to you scrapes against the floor, citrus filling your nostrils.

His hands catch your attention first. You know them — know the tattoos littered on his fingers and top of his hand. How they look wrapped around his coc—cup, yes, that. He scoots his empty glass to the bartender, “Highball, please?”

He takes out his wallet and stuffs a couple bills into the jar as the bartender makes his drink. 

Like some dumb spell, you stay, get lost in his scent — realize he’s, well, real. The same person you secretly watched and touched yourself to, same person you filmed, same person staring at you all night. And you only know this because, you too, have secretly stared all night long. 

Your thoughts scatter from the drink-filled glass sliding across the counter.

"It's rude to disappear in the middle of a game." He remarks, lips linger at the rim of the glass. He takes a small sip, lips pressed into a thin line to cherish any remnants of the liquor. "You do that a lot?"

You nearly forget to answer, too mesmerized by the way he grips and swirls his glass with his fingers. "What?"

"You know, run away — disappear, poof." Eyes sparkling as he studies his drink. "Like a fairy."

A terrible comparison, really, but it earns a light snort from you. Just like that, he’s reduced to nothing but a good looking man striking up a conversation with the oddest topics. You’ll entertain him thanks to the sugary confidence from your midori sour.

"You look for fairies often?" You muse.

"I do." He turns to you now, lids heavy. "Could never quite catch them. You know, ‘cause they’re always fleeing from the scene." He says pointedly.

Definitely a dig. Though, you’re anything but offended, not when the banter came from him.

"Your video did numbers." He cuts his bit short and changes the topic. "You plan to sign with RkivedShots?"

You shake your head. Plus, Namjoon never offered you a job.

"Shame." Jungkook shrugs and finishes the rest of his drink. He exhales the alcohol fumes through his nostrils.

"Sorry you walked in on that the other day by the way."

Doesn’t take you long to connect what he was apologizing for. You just never expected it to come out so … dismissive. What’s an apology without intention? Obligation. He wasn’t truly sorry. At least, that’s what you’ve gathered from his bored expression with the most interesting thing being the round ice in his cup. 

“No biggie.” You answer, as equally nonchalant.

"Jungkook." He extends his hand out.

It’s so pretty and inviting — nails perfectly manicured and clean. And when your own gets engulfed in his warmth, your mind wanders back to the video and how he truly feels to the touch. 

"Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I've got to go though. Have a good evening."

"Running away again?" He laughs softly through his nose.

"Exiting gracefully.” You rephrase. “Met my two-hour quota."

It’s not fair the way Jungkook looks up from where he’s seated. The mask he’s worn all evening falters momentarily, exposing his want for your company.

Again, his eyes spoke — just a little longer.

"Do I not get to know your name?" He asks.

He could ask anyone, but shows his persistence and integrity of obtaining this knowledge from the primary source: you.

"It'll give you too much power." You reply. Fairy Logic 101: never give your name out. You hope he gets the reference, but then again, none of this mattered since this will be the last time you see him anyway.

With a laugh and slow shake of his head, he confirms his understanding of the niche allusion. "Alright, see you around then, Pixie."

Had any other man called you that nickname, you’d return the biggest scowl. Jungkook was lucky he was Jungkook.

As predicted, you don't see Jungkook again after that night. Then again, you know what they say: chances of re-meeting pornstars are low, but never zero. Alright, no one has ever said that, but you do reconnect with a couple from the party three months later inquiring for your wedding services.

Yoongi and Hoseok were probably the easiest, if not funnest, couple you’ve worked with. They still wanted to keep the sweet and loving aspect of a traditional wedding video while incorporating an interview portion similar to The Office.

Weeks pass till your calendar pings you: Hoseok & Yoongi’s Wedding (All Day). 

Your first stop was at Yoongi’s suite. You knock. No answer. After another round of hesitant knocks, you twist the knob. You don’t see him at first, but the sounds of distant footsteps catch your attention. Yoongi paces back and forth near the open balcony, suit jacket hanging on the door handle of the bathroom. Hair a little longer and dress shirt fitting snug on his body, he looks different — in a good way. Unlike his usual collected demeanor, he chews on his thumb, mumbling phrases you could only assume were his vows.

Classic wedding jitters.

The moment he notices your presence, he exhales and straightens his posture.

“Hey, you made it.” He breathes.

He does everything besides completing the interview portion of the wedding video: offers you snacks, asks about your drive to the venue, and even pulls a stool for you to sit down as you adjust your equipment.

“Whoa-whoa, don’t worry about me,” You chuckle. “Today’s about you.” 

He settles back into his chair again, less fidgety than before but the nerves are still present.

A soft knock on the door interrupts Yoongi mid-interview. 

“Yoongi, Hoseok wanted to give you—”

Jungkook stands at the doorway, dumbfounded, as he holds a plastic box containing a white boutonniere. A shit-eating grin grows on his handsome face at the realization of your attendance. 

"Pixie!" He beams.

You cringe at the nickname. Totally your fault for not giving him your real name, but it’s too late now.

"Pixie?" Yoongi asks with a lifted brow. He looks over at you and you busy yourself with the camera, feigning ignorance to Jungkook’s greeting.

Seeing your lack of acknowledgement, Jungkook ignores Yoongi’s questioning stare to spare you from further embarrassment. "Here." He hands over the tiny box to Yoongi.

"How are you feeling?" Jungkook asks, leaning against the drawer. He crosses his arms, biceps becoming more defined in his fitted navy blue suit.

You slowly let out a shaky breath at the sight.

"Nervous.” Yoongi exhales. “What if Hoseok was right about the cake?"

"You really think people would prefer carrot over red velvet? The cake you picked out is perfect, Yoongi." He reassures.

"Yeah… yeah." Yoongi nods. "Sorry, I'm just anxious."

Jungkook crouches down to meet Yoongi's eye level. "At the end of the day, it's just you and Hoseok. Just like it's always been and will be, well, just with an audience today. Wedding’s going to be awesome." He looks at the camera … or perhaps, at you. "Agree?"

You move the camera up and down. Yoongi snickers and looks fondly at the boutonniere on his lap.

He gives Yoongi one final firm squeeze on the shoulder. "I'll see you out there." The room feels hotter despite the open balcony. It has less to do with the warm weather and everything to do with Jungkook’s lingering glance in your direction before he finally leaves the suite.

Yoongi’s pre-wedding interview lasts for another ten minutes before you switch over to Hoseok's suite. Surprisingly, he's a lot quieter today — not his usual extroverted self. He opts out of the interview, instead requesting to film a secret message to his and Yoongi’s future-self.

You're stationed on the side of the ceremony now. Ever so discreetly, you watch the wedding guests file in and fill the chairs, but there were no signs of the man in a navy-fitted suit. Then, a couple camera shutters go off behind you.

"Didn't know you do weddings, Pixie." Jungkook lowers his camera, satisfied with the images he captured. Few of the ceremony hall, many of your blank stares. 

"Mhm." Act cool, act cool.

"So, this your part-time gig?" He stands next to you, again, another round of camera shutters go off. One eye closed, his long wispy lashes kiss the top of his cheek.

You shake your head. “Full-time wedding videographer. You … into photography?"

"Just a thing I like to do on the side." He lowers his camera. "Nothing serious."

At minimum, the camera’s about your month's rent. Certainly no rookie camera for something he wasn’t serious about.

"Their photographer came down with the flu this morning. So I'm just filling in.” He explains. “Would much rather sit with everyone else, but you saw Yoongi."

“That’s nice of you.”

“Just what friends do.”

And perhaps that was your turning point with Jungkook. Or maybe it was when he snuck you some appetizers … or when he refilled your apple cider (non-alcoholic drinks only ‘cause you’re on the job, duh), or tried cracking a joke about how Hoseok’s racist, money leeching uncle’s toupee caught some airtime during the ceremony. Jungkook was everywhere, but he was always close by.

You leave the venue with a content warmth filling your chest, unsure if the magnified feelings came from the numerous candid shots of the lovely couple or your interactions with Jungkook. The night you begin editing for Hoseok and Yoongi’s wedding is also the night you discover one of your memory cards containing the latter half of the wedding was nowhere to be found.

After flipping your apartment upside down and numerous calls to the wedding venue, you officially declared the memory card lost.

Aside from having to deliver bad news, you hated the idea of disappointing your clients. Can already imagine Hoseok’s crestfallen smile and Yoongi’s displeased expression. 

“Think, think, think.” You pace in your home for the hundredth time, hoping for an epiphany to strike.

Just as you click into Yoongi’s contact information to initiate the dreaded call, an idea pops into your head. “Aha!”

Surely Jungkook took pictures of the latter part of the evening, right? Maybe you can ask him if he's willing to share some of his photos.

You text Yoongi asking for Jungkook’s contact information. No questions asked, Yoongi immediately forwards his friend’s phone number. Too easy … too cooperative. Perhaps Yoongi thought he was playing matchmaker with his wedding videographer and friend.

Either way, you don’t find the need to explain yourself. Plus, there was no need to create unnecessary panic or disappointment. 

You [7:44 p.m.]: Hey, is this Jungkook? Jungkook [7:48 p.m.]: Who's this?

Your teeth sink onto your bottom lip.

You [7:49 p.m.]: 🧚

Your phone begins ringing instantaneously. You take a deep breath before answering your phone.

"Hello?"

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Funny coming from someone who called you.

You contemplate hanging up, but you really don't want to jeopardize Hoseok and Yoongi's wedding video.

"Okay … so, I lost the memory card containing Yoongi and Hoseok’s reception."

He sucks in a breath. "Yikes."

"Yeah … I, uh, was wondering if you'd like to share some of the pictures from the evening. If you don't mind, I wanted to combine it with the video. You'll get full credit, of course."

He chuckles, warm and silky. The melodic sound gives full permission for those godforsaken butterflies to flutter in the depths of your stomach.

"Sure thing, Pix.” Okay, fine. The nickname’s starting to grow on you. 

He continues, “Took a whole bunch though, so maybe I can move them into a USB stick and we can meet up?"

Well, that was a lot easier than you thought. You both settle for a coffee shop in the afternoon tomorrow.

Naturally, you're first to arrive. You spent an extra thirty minutes looking through your wardrobe only to realize … what the hell were you doing? All this overplanning and anxiety for a simple meetup you would never in a million years write off as a date. You eventually settle with your old university hoodie and leggings.

Good thing you did, because Jungkook comes into the shop moments later looking like he just left the gym with his beanie and black long sleeve compression shirt. Casual, just like you. Relaxed, unlike you.

"Hi." You greet.

"Hey." A boyish grin adorns his features.

"Thanks again for this. You’re truly a lifesaver."

"You're welcome." He reaches in his pocket to fish out the black USB stick.

He holds the stick in his palm, waiting for you to reach over. At the last second, he closes his palm.

"On two conditions." He says with a smirk.

Damn. You were a fool to think this favor came without a price tag. 

"Shoot."

"Let me shadow your filming and editing process."

"Why?" Your brows furrow in confusion. In truth, you’re a bit skeptical of his motives. What could Jungkook possibly get out of shadowing weddings with you?

He answers your doubts without you needing to voice them. "Always appreciated film and photography, so I'm interested in your process."

"I'm no expert."

"You run a business and your video for RkivedShots is one of the top viewed videos on the site. I think you’ve earned your title."

His flattery does wonders to your ego, but you don't feel suited for the job. If anything, Taehyung might be a better match. 

Then again, it wouldn't hurt to get some extra help at your bookings and you weren’t opposed to free labor.

Plus, you'll get the pictures you need for Yoongi and Hoseok's wedding video. A win is a win.

"Alright, but no complaining if it's not what you expected."

He smiles, "Perfect."

Your drink orders arrive shortly. Surprisingly, you both ordered the same drink, just hot and cold versions. A sheen layer of condensation builds around your cup, water droplets dripping onto the coaster as you shake and swirl the drink to disperse the sweetness and ice. 

Jungkook’s loose hold on the USB stick reminds you haven’t been granted full access to the pictures yet.

"So, what's the second condition?" You question.

He tips the cup of coffee towards his lips and takes a cautious sip to gauge at the temperature. Content with his drink, he places the cup down on the coaster. "Your name." He simpers, eyes playful and expectant.

Oh.

You snort and tell him your name.

"You know, you could've asked anyone. I'm sure they would've told you." You quip.

"It's not the same." He shakes his head, handing over the USB stick to you. "Here." He says your name. Like a prayer. Like a command. A wish.

You were right. Names do hold powers.

Even with the knowledge of your legal government name, Jungkook prefers calling you anything but that. Variations of Pixie, Pix, and P slip out more during your conversations. Does it bother you? Not really. Grown on you in fact. Just like his daily text messages and questions. 

Surprisingly, he keeps all interactions solely about film and photography. It's you who starts feeling antsy at the lack of questions about personal life. You weren't just a wedding videographer and Jungkook wasn't just your informal disciple. Wasn’t he curious about who you were outside of your job? Because you’re certainly curious about him. Alas, he doesn't push for more and you're too prideful to initiate otherwise.

A couple weeks later, you forward your month's schedule and out of the eight weddings, he's only able to make it to three.

The first two times, he had to cancel the night before — something about his agent booking him last minute projects. You weren’t too pressed, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed.

Were you a fan of last minute cancellations? In general, no. You’re a firm believer in upholding promises and obligations. In retrospect, he didn’t owe you anything and he wasn’t getting paid for shadowing you.

So yeah, he should get his bag or bread — whatever the kids say nowadays.

You’re grateful he had the decency to tell you and appeared extremely apologetic both times. Sure, bare minimum to extend that courtesy, but you’ve encountered way too many flakes and ghosters in the past. You’ll give credit where credit is due.

The third and final booking for the month rolls by and you had half a thought he'd cancel, but his car parks right next to yours at the venue’s reserved lot.

"You made it." You breathe.

"Didn't think I'd go AWOL, did you?" He locks his car and walks over to your trunk where you started unloading your equipment

"Partially."

Jungkook gives you a pensive stare and leans over to grab one of your bags. “I’d never do that to you.”

Only because he’s unknowingly done too much to your poor heart. You hope these feelings lessen as your relationship evolves outside of this student-teacher dynamic. Maybe if he were more of a friend and less of an idea, your mind could shut down any notions of a budding crush.

“This is one of my favorite spots. You get the full view from the front and also whoever is walking down the aisle." You angle your camera.

Jungkook leans down to your level, head tilted for a better view of the screen. "This is awesome, P." He says, unaware how his low tone sends swarms of butterflies to your stomach.

As the wedding guests enter the ceremony, you overhear a gasp and a series of whispers on the side. Glancing over, you confirm a group of girls hovered in a small circle, peering over at you and Jungkook.

You note your own appearance: clothing free of stains and not a single strand of hair out of place — what could be wrong?

Your companion, of course. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looks too good to be doing something as ordinary as adjusting the lens on the camera, completely oblivious to the small fawning session on the side. Perhaps he’s aware, just chooses not to acknowledge.

Towards the middle of the reception, one of the bridesmaids comes up to you and Jungkook with water bottles.

"You both should stay after. Everything that's not finished is going into the trash tonight. We can make you a box for the road."

"Thank you,” you hand the extra bottle to Jungkook, “We’ll rain check." You answer politely. You never know how long a wedding could run and you'd rather just go back home once the event is officially over.

The bridesmaid startles at a tap on her shoulder.

"Wonhee, Sora is looking for you." A woman in a blush dress says. Behind her were a group of girls — the same girls you recognize from the ceremony earlier this evening.

The bridesmaid leaves and the woman stays in her spot, looking back and forth between both you and Jungkook.

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere …" She says.

"Have you?" Jungkook entertains. "This is my first wedding gig."

Like a school of hungry sharks, the group of girls circle around you both, waiting to sink their jaws into their prey.

"Mhm. Pretty sure it was at a wedding too. Something about 'a groom and five bridesmaids' ring a bell?"

The girls in the back snicker. Your heart drops, unsure if you’re more mortified for or with Jungkook at the abrasive question.

You clear your throat. "Ladies, we need this area cleared for—"

Paying no mind to you, she continues, "Are you free tonight? We can grab drinks later."

"I have somewhere to be after this, but I appreciate the invite." Jungkook replies.

"Doesn't have to be tonight. It could be any time."

The back and forth between Jungkook and the girls’ ringleader continues far longer than you would’ve imagined. They were ruthless and didn’t like taking no for an answer regardless of how witty or sarcastic Jungkook responded. This wasn’t your battle, but they were too much.

You’ve had it.

"Six minutes." You say. “Would you like to explain to the couple why they’re going to see six minutes of your bodice in the frame or should I?”

She scoffs, gearing for a response, but you beat her to it. “Please let us do our jobs. I’d hate to ruin their night.”

By some miracle, she returns to her group — not without glaring you down like you’ve murdered her entire bloodline … a bloodline she won’t be starting with Jungkook.

Once the group of girls were far enough, Jungkook exhales from his nose. "Thanks."

"You okay? They were really persistent."

He nods. "Nothing I'm not used to."

"Shouldn't have to be used to that." You reply.

If you had to choose between getting daggers thrown at you by the group of girls, which you’re positively sure are plotting your downfall at the moment, or the stare Jungkook gives you under these cheap flickering fairy lights … you’d prefer the former. You can’t exactly discern the meaning behind his stare. Was it curiosity? Longing? Or only a projection of what you wished for?

By the end of the evening, you counted at least a dozen stolen glances … some from the girls, many from Jungkook. And every time you catch his stares, he holds your gaze a little longer before looking back into the camera.

"That was fun." Hands stuffed in his dress pants pockets, he looks like your typical boy next door. Except, it’s Jungkook, so it’s even better.

"I'm glad. Thanks for the free labor." You joke.

Terrible joke, but Jungkook laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all evening.

"Jokes aside, though." You put your hands on your hips. "Those guests were rude. I can make a complaint to the couple if you want—"

Your back straightens at his chuckle and the sound of your name rolling off his lips. "I'm alright, really." He promises. 

Under the moonlight, your gaze lingers a little longer than intended, lashes poking your lids as you stare up at Jungkook for any indication of deceit. You thought you almost had when he blinks and hides his embarrassed smile.

"Okay." You say softly. "Still, I feel really bad for this evening … is there something I can do to make up for it?"

“Wow, I guess there are some benefits to suffering.” His smile widens.

You roll your eyes, returning his smile, “I’m serious.”

His eyes soften, "It’s not your thing to make up for. You don’t owe me anything." 

The simple sentiment lodges something in your throat. And you burn — burned all night long and you’re near the point of combustion if he says more.

"But …" He starts and your eyes flicker back to his face, hopeful for what's to come. "If you truly insist, I'd love to watch your editing process. Maybe through Zoom or—"

"I don't mind meeting up in person." You say, a little too quickly.

"You sure?" He scratches behind his head.

You nod. "Mhm, I only edit on my desktop, so if you want …"

“You tryna invite me over, Pix?” He teases.

“—or not.” You rescind just as quick.

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs. “I’d love that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Jungkook’s a busy man — that much you gathered based on all the attempts to schedule a good meeting time. In general, it’s always a struggle finding small pockets of time to hang out with your friends since graduating college, so blocking out an entire evening for Jungkook was near impossible. Two weeks later and a big red circle marked on your kitchen calendar, you’re scrubbing parts of the bathroom sink you’ve never touched since the initial move-in date in preparation for Jungkook’s visit.

"Inviting Jungkook to your place was definitely not on my bingo card." Taehyung whistles.

"Is that a bad thing?" You wipe your coffee table, noting the time. It’s a little past the agreed meeting time, but he’s coming from work so you expected a delay.

"Dunno. Is he actually serious about this whole film and photography stuff?" Taehyung asks. "Seems suspicious he didn't ask me or any of the other camera crew in the past."

"Maybe he just likes my style?" You reason, completely unprepared to open that can of worms. Will die if you continue this thread of thought.

"You should ask him."

"Uh, no. That's weird."

"Any weirder than a pornstar you barely know coming over to your place to learn about video editing? If you’re asking me, I think he’s into you."

"Hey, he's not just some pornstar." You frown. "And I didn’t ask you for this reason. Don’t wanna overanalyze shit whenever I meet someone new."

"Fair. Just me being hopeful. You're always so closed off when it comes to men."

"You're a man."

"I'm your friend. Plus, you were cold when you met me."

He's right. Building relationships with men in general was hard. It's not your fault they're notoriously shallow and terrible. Trust only came in the form of a mutual’s vouch. For the first time, the trust with Jungkook bypassed that.

"Okay, you have a point, but—"

The doorbell rings. Shit.

"Think that’s him. Talk later?"

"Waitwaitwait, keep me on the phone. I wanna ask about his intentions—"

"Bye!" You quickly say before dropping the call.

You jog to your door, all while fixing your hair and the wrinkles on your shirt. You check the body length mirror one last time and curse at the tiny skin flakes on your semi-chapped lips. Quickly wetting and biting your lips, they’re filled with life and color once more before you crack open your door. 

Jungkook looks devastatingly beautiful: hair in soft waves, nose blushed from the brisk evening weather, and eyes twinkled the same as when you first saw him that one fateful night. The you from two months ago would’ve never thought he’d be in the threshold of your home.

"Hey." You greet.

"Hi."

"Welcome to my humble abode." You recoil internally. Is this what you usually say to visitors? Well, you've certainly never said the phrase to your friends.

Jungkook is a friend … right?

"Thanks." He chuckles as he hands you a hefty brown paper bag. "Bought some persimmons from a fruit stand near the filming site today. Maybe we can have some while we work."

"Oh, I love persimmons." You place the bag on your kitchen island and take a couple out. As you wash and prep the persimmons, Jungkook takes in his surroundings. It’s certainly humble, but very you. A two seater couch, single coaster on your coffee table, and no additional winter house slippers next to yours at the door were telltale signs of a single bachelorette. Only thing you’re missing was a pet. Wait, nevermind, you have a red beta fish in your living room.

Yep, you lived alone.

Wasting no time, you place the plate on your workstation and reboot your desktop computer. Two persimmons in, you both quickly transition over to editing techniques and watching him practice with the clips filmed from the recent wedding.

"You're a natural." You praise.

Clicking away on the computer mouse, the corners of his eyes crinkle at the compliment. Your own eyes mirror his when he voices a reply. "Got a good teacher."

The number of sliced persimmons slowly disappear as the night progresses and you're unsure if the sticky sweet feeling in your chest was from the fruit’s aftertaste or Jungkook's eyes whenever they light up after another accomplishment.

"So," Jungkook begins, still facing the computer screen. It's a clip of the bride's parents crying as they walk her down the aisle. "What made you want to do videography?"

You lean on your chair, back achy from the time spent sitting down. You hadn’t expected the impromptu interview question, but you knew this answer by heart.

"Experiencing the moment is different than remembering it.” You answer. “You know the core memories from Inside Out?”

He nods.

“I get to curate a core memory for them to keep forever. How cool is that?”

“That’s good, Pix.” He says softly, more to himself than you.

You stare at the smiling couple on the screen, “It is, isn’t it?”

He nods again. Soaks in your words. Secretly wishes this was a memory he could replay over and over again in his head.

Editing doesn’t go for any longer after that. He cranks open his own laptop to show you some of the editing techniques you’ve taught him in the last month which migrated to pictures he’s taken in the past.

"These are so good, Jungkook. Honestly, exhibit worthy."

"Yeah, well," he sighs, "Ship's sailed for me already. This is just a hobby."

A heck of an expensive hobby — one that has him going to weddings and a stranger’s house in his spare time to learn more.

“Never too late if it’s something you love.” You murmur.

Realizing your unsolicited advice slipped out, you quickly clear your throat. "Can I ask you something—and uh, feel free to say no at any point …"

"Try me."

There’s no easy or graceful way to ask this question, so you’ll ask the same way he did:

"What made you want to do adult films?"

Aside from the rapid beating of your heart, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

Then, he laughs.

"Aw, Pixie, I had a bet going with a buddy of mine to see how long it'd take for you to ask me that question."

You frown, heart calming down from his response. Wait … he talks about you? Well, you’ve talked about him to Taehyung. You just never thought you could be any more than a resource to Jungkook.

"Were you winning?" You ask.

"If only you held out for another week." He grins when your jaw drops. 

“To answer your question,” He hums, "What made me want to do adult films? Uh, well, wasn’t anything groundbreaking. Just your typical struggling fine arts student who got approached by a stranger on the street and the rest was history. Money was great and I never looked back."

This is where you should accept his answer and move on — where you’re meant to ignore the nagging feeling there was more behind what he shared. 

Not your style.

“So, it was just for money?”

Anyone would be offended, but Jungkook owns it. Nods and tips his head back on your couch.

“Don’t have a deep answer like you, P. I could say some shit like filming porn is liberating and I’m dismantling the patriarchy, but I’m not Namjoon.”

Your laughter spurs on his next words:

“I like money and I really like the sex. Win-win.”

Your body warms at his honest confession and forwardness.

"Wasn't it scary?"

“Nah. Awkward the first five minutes if there’s a script. Everything eventually blurs. Kinda like filming yourself. Embarrassing at first but then it’s just you and your body."

"Right. Yes." You agree stiffly.

"What? You’ve never?" He snickers.

You pull at the loose thread on your throw pillow, lips pressed into a thin line as you shake your head no.

He chooses not to dwell on this, redirecting to the one topic he knows you have no problem talking off his ears. Another hour passes before Jungkook announces it’s late and he should leave. You offer him to take back some of the persimmons. Can’t finish on your own, you reason. For the same reasons, Jungkook says he can’t take them either.

“Then you gotta come back to help me finish them.” You say as he puts on his shoes at the doorway.

“‘Course.” He sports a relaxed smile as you both bid each other goodnight.

You watch him turn and stop midway, eyes curious as he faces you again.

"Try it."

"Huh?"

"You've filmed other people all your life. Film yourself for once."

“Like … a vlog?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You can if you want. But come on, P, think outside the box.”

Suddenly, the cogs in your brain click. Oh. He’s asking you to film yourself doing other things.

"What would I even get out of that?"

"That’s for you to find out."

Top five most absurd pieces of advice.

Even more absurd as his advice replays in your head three nights later. Was this another “self-growth” moment? You’ll never know unless you try, right? Only one way to find out.

‘Film yourself for once.’

Always filming, never filmed. This was for you and only you.

Camera on selfie mode, closing the application feels more intuitive than pressing the red spherical button.

Can’t think too hard as you set your phone on the nightstand.

Can’t think too much minutes later when your legs are spread full eagle, hand in between your thighs, and mind only on the thought of chasing your high.

‘That’s for you to find out.’

The only thing you found out that night was how you looked with a name lodged in your throat as you cum.

Jungkook didn't care for weddings. Aside from the restrictive dress pants, weddings were expensive as hell. The only thing capable of bringing him joy at a wedding was a good 2000s hip-hop song during the reception. 

These days? He gets a kick out of watching you get all glassy-eyed at the flower girl and ring bearer or your little feet taps during Cha-Cha Slide. 

Weddings are a bit more bearable now; he doesn't have to fork out lump sums of cash as a gift. Still hate those god awful dress pants, but they’re manageable. Only because he's with you.

Contrary to belief, there was no ulterior motive when he asked to shadow you. He's always been into film and photography — that part of his youth he holds near and dear to his heart.

He likes your style and even better he likes you — as a friend, of course.

Somehow you captured the public’s attention even with an Achille’s Heel such as Namjoon's scripts. Look, he's grateful for Namjoon, both as a friend and employer, but he won't lie … his ideas were out of this world. Thus, he rarely takes up projects at RkivedShots. After that grapefruit fiasco (no, he won't elaborate further), he vowed to only accept jobs with reasonable plots … well, as reasonable as porn can be. 

First impressions weren’t his strongest suit. It didn't help you caught him fucking his costar post-filming hours. Heat of the moment things, alright? It's not typical for pornstars — not something he does, but it felt right at the moment to finish what was started. 

He really did mean to apologize to you at the milestone party. Did you receive a proper apology from him? Well, judging from your reaction … no. 

Can't blame him. 

From holding the undisputed title as his family’s unspoken shame to being publicly perceived as some sex-crazed god, there hasn’t been a day where Jungkook lived a judgement-free life. So no, he wasn’t bothered when you didn’t take well to his half-assed apology. He’s tired of fighting against the false narratives built around his choices. 

At the end of the day, you’re both adults. Not like you didn't just film an entire orgy before walking in on him.

Yes, the first two meetings were unfavorable, but his friends’ wedding might’ve been his last chance to rectify your perception of him and he’s forever thankful. 

He likes your filming style and work ethics — likes your company even more and everything he’s learned from and of you. 

Discovered you’re a sucker for finger foods but you’re too shy to get any, and he has no problem building you a snack plate while you work. Knows your optimal editing hours are between 8 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. so he rarely reaches out around that time nor expects a response despite your contact name being the most sought out notification on his phone. Notices how you always run your fingers across your lips when you're deep in editing.

The same lips Jungkook has thought about since the night at the party. You've always spoken so eloquently — quick too. Always so playful and witty, yet careful with your words. It’s why you didn’t hesitate helping him at the first wedding. 

He visited your place another five times after that initial visit — strictly for editing tips. On some nights, he’d bring takeout; on others, you’d already have a plate saved for him. Nights like these were easy — gave him something to look forward to after work. 

"Hm, that clip definitely needs to make the cut." Jungkook references the video playing on the television. You paired your laptop to the television for easy viewing.

"The groom's mom is scowling though."

"Exactly. Bride's gonna watch this video years from now and thank you for that foreshadowing."

You laugh. A hearty one, genuine and unabashed.

And a horrible thought comes in as he wonders if he's deserving of a kiss as a reward for pleasing you; regrettably, he counted a total number of three separate occasions of having these impure thoughts and desires since meeting you. 

"It's a wedding video, not a soap opera, Jungkook." Nonetheless, you move it to the 'Maybe' folder.

Your phone pings.

"Yay! Delivery guy’s just around the block with my new lens." You cheer. 

You purse on your lips before locking your phone. The folders of your current project gets minimized. By default, your computer shuffles random pictures and videos from your cloud drive. 

"I'm gonna go downstairs to retrieve it. Mail thieves." You sigh, pushing yourself up from the ground. 

"Want me to come with? I don't mind—"

"No. No. It'll be quick." You're halfway to the door already, outside sandals on with your fuzzy socks. “I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook gestures an okay sign and you’re out the door. 

It's not uncomfortable being in your home alone, but Jungkook feels your absence. Likes things better when you're around. It's less boring — less quiet. And even if there was silence between you both, it's a comfortable one.

He distracts himself on his phone, looking between his calendar and the pictures playing on the television — small glimpses of your life. 

A couple minutes roll by and he receives a text message from you saying you're talking to the mail room folks. Something about a package mix-up, but you'll be back in a couple of minutes.

A sigh catches Jungkook's attention. He startles, looks around the vicinity for the source and lands back on the television screen.

It's you.

Frame shaky from the angle you hold your camera, your hair halos prettily around your pillow. You set your camera on the nightstand, now laying down with your eyes closed. 

Jungkook tips his head with a curious smile, wondering what antics you could possibly be up to.

Meditation session?

"This is so humiliating."

His smile gets wiped off in the next twenty seconds. Jaw going slack momentarily, then clenched before he swallows at the sight of your lifted t-shirt and a hand down your black shorts.

His back straightens in his seated position. Knows he should look away or maybe look for a remote control.

But he leans forward, breath caught in his throat as the first small moan leaves your lips.

You listened to him.

If he had a conscience to begin with, perhaps it’d tell him: Turn off the television. Turn it off. Now.

How could he? Eyes glued to the screen, his cock grows stiff in his pants with no regard to his internal protests. He’s seen the same expression on many past partners and costars — should be unaffected by now. And yet, he sits there like a starry-eyed pubescent teenager who’s come across their parents’ secret porn stash. 

You’re not some actress playing off a script though. Wholeheartedly and authentically you when your back lifts off the mattress, cheek squished into your shoulder as your tongue swipes over your lips in concentration.

His hand palms his groin. Fuck, he’s hard and it’s all because of you. And he shouldn’t react like this … not for a friend. His smart, witty friend. The same friend he has nothing but the utmost respect for; yet, he’s here watching you in the most disrespectful way. Wants to tell you to move your shirt up, to touch yourself faster — god, if you let him, he could get you to where you need and as many times as you’d like.

He’s in your fucking home, surrounded by everything you love (including Gum the beta fish), and none of the acts he wishes to do with you mimics anything remotely close to love should he have the powers to reach into the television screen.

Ding.

You [6:51 p.m.]: Coming.

"Shitshitshit." Jungkook looks around nervously, eyes finally landing on the small black remote control. He lunges over the coffee table and hits the power button at a scene he wished he could’ve seen through. Should’ve been the end of the blunder until he realizes the video continued playing on your laptop.

"Fuck!" Hands scrabbling on your mousepad, he successfully closes the application alongside every other window for safe measures.

He paces around your living room thinking about every possible unsexy thing to calm himself down. Puppies, rude senior citizens, and capitalism. Yup, that’ll do it.

Your doorknob rattles, keys jingling before they're placed in the bowl where your other on-the-go items reside.

"Package got placed in my neighbor's box as I expected," you huff, "but we got everything sorted out." You lift the box to your face with a triumphed smile which drops faintly at Jungkook’s bewildered expression.

"Everything good?" You ask. "Looks like you've just seen a ghost."

"Yup." He nods with a thumbs up. "All good here."

"Suspicious." Your eyes narrow, but you join him on your couch. "Oh, did the television turn off on its own?" You reach for the remote control.

"Yeah, it did." He clears his throat.

"Huh. Weird." You shrug. "Laptop looks like it crashed too."

He gulps as you reopen your folders from before.

Jungkook thanks the universe for your unsuspecting nature as you’re both back to the usual business of sorting through clips again. Helps he’s on a mission to forget what he saw earlier, for both yours and his sake. Hot topic of the hour? You’ve never seen 27 Dresses.

"But you're in the wedding industry. It’s a classic." He huffs.

"That's like saying every lawyer should’ve seen Legally Blonde—”

“They definitely should.” He interrupts.

“—Or you’ve seen every top rated adult film because you're also in, uh, that industry."

"I probably have, you don't know."

You don't. Really. Don't know what he fancies in that department aside from what he shared at the party. He doesn't know what you like either — but he knows how you sound like, what you look like when you …

Puppies.

Old people.

Capitalism.

Again, Jungkook usually likes the silence between you two. Not this one. Dislikes it even more at your troubled expression.

“What’s on your mind, P?”

You don’t grant him an answer — not yet, at least. Every second of silence becomes nearly unbearable. He’s about to ask again, but you sigh and place your laptop onto your coffee table.

"How do you do it?" You ask quietly.

"Hm?" For a moment, he forgets about his previous inner battles.

"Your work … how do you just not feel more after being intimate with someone?"

He won't deny his pleasure and desires took over his rationale in the past, but he’s never fallen for a costar. Nature of the job. Thinks of it as a one time hookup … while getting paid. A job was a job as it was getting his dick wet. He settles with a simple answer:

"Pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate."

You frown.

"Seems difficult and impractical."

Difficult is Jungkook distracting himself all evening — impractical is not returning any form of eye contact as an act of avoidance. 

What Jungkook does next is stupid. Reckless, even. The worst you can do is say no. Well, no, actually, the worst you can do is kick him out of your home and never speak to him again. He can't help it … will lose his mind if he doesn't get this out.

"I can prove it to you. Kiss me."

Silence, then:

"No."

Ouch.

"Why not?" Could only rule his profession as the reason. Why else would you bring up his job? 

Silverlining in all this is you’re not looking at him with pure disgust and the door has not hit him from behind. Yet.

Your expression remains neutral, eyes locked on the clips organized into its designated folders. "Wouldn't want to torture you with an awful time.” You brush off. “You know, ‘not fancying inexperienced people and all.’"

"Huh? What does that have anything to do with kissing?" 

“You said that, not me. I’m just respecting your preferences.”

Jungkook takes a moment, lets your words sink in a little before the dots finally connect. "Wait. You're a virgin?" 

Another pregnant pause. "Can I plead the fifth?" You groan.

"No way." He didn't mean for it to come out the way it did.

"Anyway," you attempt to take reign of the conversation, "it's fine, everyone has their preferences—"

"Pix—hold on, what I said at the party wasn't a dig or anything—"

"Wasn’t it?” You cut in. “Shamed when you have too much sex, shamed if you’ve never had it.” Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

"It's not that I don't like virgins." He mumbles.

"You don't have to explain yourself, Jungkook."

"I want to." Jungkook replies sternly. "I just … don’t want to be put in the position to lead and teach. Or I’m some marker for what intimacy is supposed to be."

And he unfortunately has been. Doesn’t feel the need to get into the details — just hopes you understand. 

“I think I get it.” You nod.

“Good.” He breathes, relieved. Decides the conversation has gone too serious for his liking. “You had me thinking you wouldn’t kiss me ‘cause I’m some repulsive pornstar.” He jokes.

Oops, too much.

Your eyes snap up, head shaking profusely, “What? No! That’s not true at all ...”

You play with the loose thread on your throw pillow again — one wrong pull and everything might unravel. Your secrets. Desires. Feelings.

"Humor me this, Pixie. You've at least kissed people, right?"

"Of course I have." 

"Did you like it?”

He catches a flash of your unease as you try to remember the details of the experience. “Eh. It was alright.”

“What do you mean?” He presses. “It’s great. Kissing’s awesome — should feel good.”

“Mm, sure, I guess.” You reply, passive and distant.

“So you’ve never been kissed properly.” He concludes. 

“Psh, what do you know?”

“I’m literally a pornstar, Pix.” He deadpans.

There’s a pause, a brief glance, then a huff before you both burst out laughing.

"You're impossible." You say in between giggles.

"And I’ve told no lies." He snorts.

The laughter dies down, this time, to a comfortable silence.

You shuffle, placing the throw pillow behind you as you sit on your heels. The couch was always meant for two, but the space feels even tinier now with you facing him.

"Fine, kiss me. Show me how it’s supposed to be done."

"Pixie.” He chuckles. “Was joking about the whole kiss thing. Wasn’t serious." His heart would disagree.

Your face falls, “Oh. Okay.” 

Fucking idiot, Jungkook chatises himself.

"Unless,” He clears his throat, “it's something you want to do?" He probes.

He eyes the feline-like curve in your back. Could feel the heat radiating off your body thanks to the small couch.

"Is this something you want?" You ask. "With someone like me?"

With someone like you? What kind of ridiculous question ... 

"Only if you do." He answers.

Instinctively, his fingers pushes your hair behind your ear, warm and soft under his touch. Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly and nod.

Jungkook leans in, nose tapping against yours before he angles his head. “Last chance to back out, P.”

Not a verbal go-ahead or decline, but with a quick shake to your head and a nervous giggle, it was more than enough confirmation for Jungkook to close the small gap. Refusing to let his mind ponder too deeply behind the meaning of your hand on his knee, he goes for it — a small, hesitant kiss.

He pulls away first, because he’s not allowed to stay. Not allowed for more.

But one kiss was not enough.

He goes in for another before your eyes could fully open. So greedy and selfish, albeit he’s trying to prove a point whether to you or himself: he can separate feelings and pleasure.

How true is that when his heart tugs at your whimper? Your inexperience only confirmed through your stiff lips, soon relaxing at the tilt of his head, his lips brushing against yours to tell you: it’s okay.

Jungkook hadn’t brought persimmons since the first visit, but that’s all he can taste on your lips right now: pure sweetness. 

He pulls away once more before he lets himself get too lost in you and really get in trouble. So dangerous as you wet your lips to savor the experience—to savor him. 

“See?” Jungkook speaks first, soft and attentive. “Kissing’s good, right?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Good.”

While he wants to poke fun at your one liner caveman-esque responses, all he finds himself thinking about is kissing you silly till you’re both rendered speechless. Wonders if he’d move the hand cupping your cheek down to your neck, would he feel your pulse match his accelerated pace?

Speaking of feelings …

"And do you feel anything?" He fights a losing battle, heavy lids eyeing your lips again.

"I-I don't know." You answer honestly, careful as you lean in for the possibility of more. “You?”

Your lips graze his ever so faintly, leaving a trail of fire behind its wake.

He swallows the truth. Settles for a lie. 

After all, he has to set an example.

“Nothing."

a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny & @lovieku TY for your help per usual!! 💖

what’d ya’ll think? did anyone clock the nickname and the lil fairies in the story banner? anyway, next part will come a lil slower. BUT i operate quicker on praises and feedback, so take what you will with that. i’ll be honest… i only have two sentences written atm. you know what they say tho — good things take time.

gentle reminder: no taglist, muah.

Taehyung sold the fantasy of your success as his stand-in very early on; however, he never promised anything on the lines of your safety.

The filming location was about a forty-minute drive outside of town. Your current surroundings blend with the acres of nature the further you drove away from civilization.

You could just go home — fake an illness, lie about a flat tire, or go off grid for a while … maybe rent a cabin in the woods until Taehyung eventually hunts you down. Alright, the alternatives were a bit excessive considering you continued the drive despite your unease. 

You weren’t a quitter; plus, you would never let a client down.

Eventually, you pull up to a random warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Dumb ways to die? Check. Thankfully, the sight of food trucks and multiple trailers parked on the side relieved your nerves. 

A woman stands at the front, hand hovering over her eyes to block out the sun. She spots you first, smiling as she waves you down.

“Mina?” You tilt your head, the pace of your steps increase as you near the front of the warehouse. Her email communications were nothing short of professional, outlining the day’s itinerary and liability waivers, down to your food allergies. You expected anyone but someone in a grey oil-stained crewneck and baggy jeans to greet you.

She wears her most welcoming smile and the percentages in your head of getting murdered significantly drops.

“Yes!” She shakes your hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung’s stand-in for today’s shoot.” 

You follow closely behind her, taking in all the book-filled shelves and desktop computers placed strategically to mimic a library. Quite the costly production for a simple porn video. 

“Director Kim’s excited to meet you. He should be right …” She points at a tall blonde man reading through some papers, “there.”

As you and Mina near him, he looks less and less like the sleazy old man you pictured capable of making such heinous videos like the ones you had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing … minus that one video. 

A jolt runs down your spine at the memory from last night. Another jolt runs through you as Mina introduces you to Director Kim.

“Nice to meet you, Director Kim.” You take his hand in a quick but firm shake. 

“Namjoon.” He corrects. “Likewise, Taehyung spoke greatly of you.”

With introductions out of the way, Namjoon quickly picks up where he left off in his review of the papers. He briefs the script and his vision for today’s shoot.

An orgy. Well, that explains why there were so many cars and trailers parked outside. 

“You’ve seen the Silent Library Challenge before, right?” Namjoon asks. “Well …”

Library setup … orgy … and challenge? 

“Trying to fuck in silence.” Namjoon’s voice breaks your thoughts. “Nothing revolutionary, but with the combination of the other factors … it’s gonna be legendary.” He nods proudly.

You could only return a nod, unsure if you’d sound believable if you verbally agreed.

“I’ll let Mina get you settled in before we start.” He turns and speaks into his headset, “thirty minutes till call time, team.” 

Mina leads you to a secluded area away from the set: an isolated dark tent. 

“Holler if you need anything. I’ll see you in a bit!” 

As she turns, your tense shoulders finally drop. Phew, a moment of respite — calm before the storm. You look at the entrance of the sketchy tent and brace yourself as you peel back the openings.

You’re lucky if your wedding bookings had a chair for you to sit on between filming. Here? You had your own private rest area, snack spread, shoulder massager, and … pull-out futon? Now this was a true VIP treatment. Oh, Kim Taehyung’s gonna get an earful for gatekeeping the perks of his job. 

You eye the snack basket and while you don’t think you can stomach anything at the moment, your appetite is subject to change. Backpack opened, you stuff in a couple of cookies and chips for later.

“Okay,” you bounce on the futon in your seated position, “so far, not bad.”

You spend your short break repeating affirmations, envisioning the most terrible scenarios followed by the good ones. Ultimately, you settle with: Nothing bad will happen and you’ll be out of here in no time.

Namjoon’s voice blasts through the intercom, “Five minutes.”

You got this, you tell yourself, jumping up from the futon to head on set.

Only, you don’t make it out far from your rest area because you collide into something, or rather someone, hard. 

“Oof—I’m sorry—” 

You look up. Oh, hell no. No, no, no…

It can’t be. 

They say if you’ve ever dreamed of a stranger, you’ve probably seen them in real life. The man in front of you? No stranger, not by a stretch. His face, the way he sounds … down to the moles on his chest, was forever carved in your memories. This new encounter only adds more details to those now: the way he feels and smells, citrus overtaking your senses.

He looks as good as he did in the video last night, chest on display from his loose robe.

“You good?” He asks.

The foolish part of your brain only registers his question as a praise like the ones in the video from last night.

You chirp out another quick apology and beeline to the set. Heat rushes to your face and sweat gathers at your hairline from the brief encounter. What were the odds of bumping into him? Well, the odds weren’t that low considering he featured in one of RkivedShots’ videos, but still … 

The actors and actresses around the set begin de-robing like it’s a normal Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday, but none of this was the norm — your norm, at least. 

“Alright crew, stick to your script and it’ll be a quick day. Let’s have fun, okay?” Namjoon announces into his mic. “We’ll break when we hit Act Two.”

The moment you grip the camera handle, your brain goes on autopilot, ceasing all thoughts of the man. Time to actually do what you came here for: work. 

Weddings weren’t foolproof and you’ve learned in the hour of filming with RkivedShots the sentiment ran the same.

‘I ain’t hard enough.’

‘Whoops, condom slipped.’

‘Sorry, my shit’s drier than the Sahara desert.’ 

Despite the minor hiccups, everything seemed to be going well. On your final break, Namjoon looks distressed as he calls you over. 

“Think we’re low on shots at the bookshelves. Mind focusing there a bit?”

There was a reason why you didn’t go over there as much. For one, you’re not sure how sturdy those shelves were with the number of people perched against it. Second, he was there. 

Unfortunately, a job was a job.

The camera feels heavier in your hands as you trudge to the shelves.

“Psst.”

Alright, you’ve been around naked people all day — filmed them fucking, but you weren’t ready to have a conversation with an actor on set. A slender, but built man leans against the book shelves … bush out and dick erect. You avert your eyes. Eyes up here, you repeat, at the books … at his face where a pleased smile spreads when you near. 

“Can you film from this spot?” He points at the small corner towards the end of the aisle.

“Sure thing.” The location was definitely not the most optimal angle, but you’re always eager to please your clients.

“That’s not fair, Hoseok.” A shorter man appears from behind. “What about the rest of the crew?”

Hoseok pouts. “Come on, Yoongi. Just this once? I’m finally topping, so I want my ass to look good in the frame.”

Yoongi crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“Please, my love?” Hoseok pleads and Yoongi’s stoic expression falters at the petname. He purses his lips and sighs.

“Fine.” Yoongi uncrosses his arms and looks apologetically over at you. “Sorry, my fiancè is making this difficult.”

“You love me.” Hoseok grins. “And thank you,” he turns to you again, “feel free to cut it short if it works better for you.”

“Standby!” Namjoon calls from the director’s stand.

Yoongi goes back to his original position — bent over, hands on the shelf. Hoseok comes from behind, left hand covering Yoongi’s. Hoseok plants a soft kiss on his shoulder and positions his cock at Yoongi’s entrance, waiting for the next cue.

Your eyes soften at the sight of their matching black wedding bands. Couples in the adult film industry shouldn’t surprise you; though, finally seeing one in the flesh raised questions. How did they meet? Did they start their careers at the same time? Do they get jealous if they aren’t filming with each other?

Questions continue to flood your mind until Namjoon signals for cameras to roll again.

You aren’t sure what Hoseok was talking about in terms of a “better angle” because he looked ethereal in every way you filmed him. As you filmed the couple, it becomes harder to decipher between acting or reality; certainly not with how Yoongi’s mouth hangs open as Hoseok thrusts inside of him. Heads turned, they share a heated kiss to stifle the sounds threatening to leave their lips. Very on theme for Silent Library. Works in theory — minus the balls slapping against balls asmr. 

Your earpiece signals you to move from this scene. Slowly, you back away and shift over to the next aisle.

Yoongi and Hoseok’s performance displayed passion and love, the next scene … has you biting the inside of your cheeks and clenching your thighs together.

The same man you bumped into earlier. Same man on your laptop. Same man responsible for your accelerated heartrate, overtaking all your senses and rationale.

His fingers dig into the girl’s ass as he thrusts from behind. He tosses his head back in the same fashion as the video from last night. A tingle shoots straight to your core. God. The girl is inaudible, mouth preoccupied on sucking off and gagging on another man’s cock. The man in front leans forward and on cue, your mystery man meets him halfway for a frenzied kiss.

Wow, the perfect “A” formation.

Everything about this scene screamed primal — full of unadulterated want and need. Very different from the couple before. 

The man in front breaks the kiss first, now solely focused on the girl sucking his cock. And your mysterious man from last night? Well … he's no better. He does little to hold back his low grunts and moans as he fucks himself into the woman.

Your mind checks off the question of how he’d look when he’s inside someone — completely and utterly blissed out. He fucks like he isn’t in a secluded warehouse in the middle of nowhere with twenty other pornstars. It’s just him, whatever partner(s) he’s with, and his pleasure.

And maybe that's what Namjoon wanted — to show how little restraint people have in places meant for silence and solitude.

You eventually move away from the area, now focused on the circle of men jerking off in a circle and finishing on top of a pile of paper, which you assumed was a metaphor for something. Fuck … homework?

You know what? Hell yeah.

Namjoon yells into his mic, "Cut! We got our shots. Great work!"

All the actors and actresses detach from one another, moving to their rest areas. You gather your belongings and catch the tattooed man whispering something into the girl's ear. They share a knowing look before she leads him away from the shelves.

"Not too bad, right?” Mina says, handing you a refreshment from her cooler, “I remember being super nervous on my first day."

How do you politely tell someone filming porn was something you never thought you’d dabble into? You don’t.  

You settle with a neutral response, "It's different." 

"I bet. Very different from the usual wedding scene."

"Totally." You chuckle, hand tightening around your camera. 

"Oh!” Mina snaps. “You know what? Director Kim was telling me how he wanted to film something about cheating — parents of the bride or groom. Since you’re a wedding expert, he'll probably ask you some questions."

Sure, drama unfolded at weddings, but that didn’t make you an expert. You’re unsure where the correlation existed; regardless, you nod and smile. 

"Genius, isn't he?" Mina fawns. "Anyway, we’re done for the day. Take as much time as you need before heading out." She ushers you in the direction of your rest area.

Your tired legs take you right in front of your private area of solitude and you hear it before you see it: rhythmic clapping, hushed moans, and giggles fill your ears. Must be a hallucination or side effect of being around hoards of people fucking all afternoon.

Gotta be.

You peel back the curtain and the air around you stills. For the second time today, you're rendered speechless — frozen in place. Time ceases to move … unlike the two naked people in front of you on the same futon you were graciously provided.

Fucking.

You recognize those tattoos, the way he sounds — there's no way you’d forget. How could you when he was the last thing you heard before you went to sleep in shame?

"Oh my god!" Profusely apologizing, you immediately back away and speed off in the opposite direction — not without hearing a faint, frustrated sigh followed by a high pitched giggle. 

Outside the warehouse, you frantically type on your cellphone.

You [4:32 p.m.]: Dude. Caught ppl having sex.

Three dots appear in the message thread and you gnaw on your bottom lip, angry tears threatening to fall at the brim of your eyes. 

Taehyung [4:33 p.m.]: Uh, idk what to tell you … you are on a porn set. You [4:33 p.m.]: Well You [4:33 p.m.]: Yes Taehyung [4:34 p.m.]: ?? You [4:36 p.m.]: Is it normal for them to have sex outside their filming time?

Within seconds, your phone lights up with Taehyung's contact picture.

"Can only talk for about five minutes, so I thought it'd be easier to call. What's going on, kiddo?"

You roll your eyes. Hate it when he calls you that despite being the same age.

"Caught someone having sex … in my break area."

"Oh, um, my condolences."

"So like … is that a usual thing?"

"I mean, professionally speaking, there's the saying: don't eat where you shit. Or wait, is that the other way around? Anyway," he hums in deep thought, "I guess it's not totally taboo to have sex with your co-actors, but it's frowned upon."

His answer brings you little comfort. Honestly, you aren’t sure if any answer other than erasing your memories from the last four hours could bring you comfort. 

"I see."

"Mhm … that aside, how's everything? You doing okay?"

"It’s alright."

If Taehyung wasn’t one of your best friends, maybe you’d do a better job at keeping your struggles to yourself.

“Okay, it was rough and I’m tired. How the hell do you do this?” You whine.

He laughs, "I know. Not so easy, right? That’s the challenging part about this industry. Wait till you get to the editing portion."

You groan, head craned back to relieve the tension forming at your neck. 

“Let me know if you need any help though.”

"I’ll let you know if I hit a wall. Should be straightforward." Only because your stubbornness and pride refuses any form of assistance. 

"That's my bestie," He cheers, "But alright, I gotta head back on set. Let's catch up later? Drinks on me."

The phone call with your best friend did make you feel better — almost enough to have made you forget the whole debacle in your break area. 

You press your back against the warehouse, the structure’s warmth absorbed under the sun seeps through your clothes, relaxing your muscles. You give yourself (and them) another ten minutes before you march yourself back to the tent for your belongings. They have to be done by now, right?

After the shame and embarrassment subsided, you find yourself angry. Of all the places they could’ve gone, why did they pick yours? They couldn't have held on for another discrete location? And they didn't even apologize to you. Matter of fact, you don’t think they even stopped when you caught them.

Fuck them.

You begrudgingly go back into the warehouse, eyes glaring at the black curtain separating you and potentially a scene you don't wish to walk into.

You purposely clear your throat a little louder than usual, praying your signal alarms them of your presence.

Prying apart the curtains, your head turns away in the event you misjudged the silence for their absence. You peek at the area with one eye.

Oh.

As if two people weren’t in here fucking each other’s brains out, the area looks spotless — just as you originally entered. 

Maybe it was a hallucination.

You look over at the futon. 

White stain. Yep, not a hallucination.

You quickly move around the room to gather your belongings — not without sweeping the rest of the snacks into your bag.

What? Therapy wasn’t included with the job (that you’re aware of), so the snacks will do as compensation.

Once packed up, you make one last stop to Namjoon and Mina before departing.

"Pleasure working with you — everything went smoothly if I do say so myself. I'm excited for the final product." Namjoon smiles — the kind that encourages you to work a little harder.

Taehyung’s incessant need to please this man makes sense now. 

"Likewise. I'll have something for you by the end of this weekend." You nod, shrugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder.

Mina escorts you out of the warehouse and walks you to your car. Like a mirage or distant memory, the warehouse fades away as you drive back to your world and sanctuary.

For writers, your words and stories come to life during the editing phase. The sentiment holds the same for your line of work. 

Without a doubt, your videos came to life during editing. 

At least, that's how you felt with weddings.

You didn't know what to do with the raw shots from yesterday. 

“WWKTD: What would Kim Taehyung do?” You close your eyes, desk chair swaying as you rocked back and forth.

No, there was no need to be a copycat of any sort — just gotta follow your own method of madness.

Identifying your target audience was the first step to any good production. Weddings? Easy. Porn? As difficult as trying to hit a moving target. Aside from those consuming the media, you also needed to appease your employer, Kim Namjoon. 

You set to editing. Hours and hours of cutting clips, checking the sound, and adjusting the filters on each shot nearly sends you into psychosis. It’s a lot, okay? The constant moaning, bodily fluids, and skin slapping …

Twelve rigorous hours later, six tea breaks, and multiple laps around your building, you condensed the many hours of clips into a thirty minute production.

"Finally." Your body melts into your desk chair, completely depleted from the project. 

But it’s done. 

Less is more. You hope Namjoon agrees. Within two minutes of emailing the file, Mina replied with their confirmation receipt and advised you their accounting folks wired the second half of your paycheck.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor at the sight of your bank notification.

You [11:32 p.m.]: HOLY SHIT. YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU MADE THAT MUCH ON ONE JOB! Taehyung [11:36 p.m.]: Sex sells🤷 You [11:36 p.m.]: 😟

He reacts to your message with a laughing emoji.

And so, life and work continues as normally after that project. You’ve always told yourself you’d try something at least three times before calling quits — one try of RkivedShots told you enough. 

You've been on a blaze with your wedding bookings since working with RkivedShots. So much that you haven't been able to answer text messages and email inquiries in the last couple of weeks.

People typically back off after a no response. Not Mina, nope. Her unanswered email only fuels her persistence.  

Mina [4:58 p.m.]: Hey there, it’s Mina!! Just in case you didn't get my email, RkivedShots is hosting a milestone party this weekend at our company headquarter! The Silent Library Orgy made it to the top video on the website and it's still going strong. You were a huge part of the production's success, so we'd love it if you come and celebrate with us! You [5:01 p.m.]: Glad to hear the video is doing great! Been super swamped, so I will have to pass on this party. Thank you though, and I hope you're doing well. :)

That should’ve been the end of it.

Yet, you're in front of your small vanity, begrudgingly patting on a light layer of foundation as Taehyung rummages through your closet for an appropriate party outfit.

"What happened to all your clubbing outfits?" Taehyung grunts. "You know, that one disco ball looking dress you always wore in undergrad?"

"Donated." You roll your eyes. “And I only wore that dress once for a Halloween party as a disco ball.”

Ignoring you, Taehyung continues his mission of berating your fashion choices. "Why do you only have black tops and bottoms? This is the worst."

Black was a nice and neutral color — perfect for someone to blend into the background for events like weddings. You were unnoticeable to many. The focus should always be on your clients, not you.

"Then maybe we shouldn't go to the party … I'm totally okay with a night in."

Taehyung pokes his head out from your small walk-in closet with a glare. "Dude. You don't get how big of a deal this is!"

"Explain then. Because I could be catching up on my shows … it's the first weekend in weeks I'm finally free." You complain.

"You can always find time to catch up on shows. This is a big deal for RkivedShots to hit the top video for the third week in a row."

"Fine, but no more than two hours."

"Two hours? You're spoiling me." Taehyung grins at your dull expression. "But alright, we show face then bounce."

"Golden."

And so was the party as you and Taehyung waltz through the elevator doors of RkivedShots headquarters. You hate to admit it … but maybe Taehyung had a point when he said you looked like you were going in for an interview with your fancy blouse and beige slacks. Everyone was dressed to the nines minus the naked people laying down with appetizers served on their bodies. Now that was a sight to witness. Purple and pink hues of lights flash around the room, but nothing stood out more than the black and golden banner, “Top Streamed Adult Film.”

"Is it too late to change call time?" You mutter under your breath.

Taehyung laughs and with a hand behind the small of your back, he guides you to the open bar.

"What can I get you both?" The bartender asks, topless with only a black bowtie around his neck.

"Tequila, please." Taehyung requests.

"Do you guys do midori sour?" You inquire. Bars rarely make this drink these days, but it never stopped you from testing your luck. You’ll default to your usual rum and coke if it’s a no go.

"Finally. A break from the usual whiskey and beer." The bartender winks. "And yes, one midori sour and tequila coming right up."

As the bartender makes your drinks, Taehyung nudges you and whispers, "Oh my god, Director Kim is walking over here. Act cool."

Funny how he's the one sporting an awkward boxy smile, hands deep in his back pockets to minimize his fidgeting. 

Poor boy.

Behind Namjoon, you spot Mina. No longer in her crewneck and baggy jeans, she resembles a fairy in her flowy lilac dress. 

Mina rushes past Namjoon the moment she recognizes you and gives you a small side hug. "So glad you came through! Did you guys order drinks yet?" She begins waving down the bartender, but stops midway when you giggle and nod.

From the side, Namjoon and Taehyung are deep in their own greeting. Hand slapped onto Taehyung’s shoulder, Namjoon’s laughter catches a few stares from surrounding attendees who smile knowingly at the source. Eventually, Namjoon looks over in your direction and smiles.

"Ah, just who I wanted to see." His dimples welcome you before he does.

"Director Kim—" You begin.

"Ah-ah, just Namjoon. Director Kim makes me feel like my old man."

"Oh, okay, Namjoon," you smile, "thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you." He repeats, "Truly, the pleasure's all mine. We wouldn't be here without your help."