Hollywood

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you heard the front door of you and Jungkook’s shared apartment slam shut. The noise prompted you to jump, smearing a bit of mascara on your cheek. You cursed under your breath. 

The makeup was really no problem. If you were honest, you were a little frustrated with your boyfriend. Not for his long days, of course not… you intimately understood the reality of being an idol, but for the attitude he’d adopted during the last couple of days. 

You knew Jungkook was insanely busy and stressed out these days, and you only wanted to help him. You’d told him just that. Several times, too, but he never seemed to want to open up to you. Which, really, was fine. He had his bandmates, who he’d assured you understood him better than anyone in a recent argument where you had tried to pry answers out of him. You’d controlled your anger then, because this was Jungkook, and he’d come to you eventually, and he probably didn’t mean it like that. You just wished he’d tone down the sass.

Alas, you were here to support him through those tough times. Or whatever. Delicately, you wiped the black smudge from your skin, blending your concealer around it. By the time you were spraying your skin with setting spray, it was twenty past nine, and your friend was organizing a girl’s night out to begin at nine-thirty. You stood up, outfit on and hair done, and figured you’d go greet Jungkook before heading out. 

It felt like years since you’d gone out with your friends. You were swamped with work and traveling for the boys’ comeback and now Jungkook’s hard time. A nice, cold margarita was practically singing your name. You’d even let your boyfriend know a few weeks in advance that your friend had invited you out, and he’d been excited for you!

You checked your outfit one more time in the mirror, green halter neck top and tight black miniskirt showing off your figure. For the first time in a while, you felt sexy. You sighed, smoothed the material of your skirt beneath your ring-adorned fingers, and flashed your reflection a beaming smile. 

Excited to show off your pretty outfit to your boyfriend, who typically drooled over this shit, you switched your bedroom light off and swung the door closed as you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Baby!” You called out, sweet voice echoing off the walls of the expensive home. “I’m about to head out! Want to see my outfit?” 

Giddy, you turned the corner into the large kitchen where you were met with a mop of dark hair slouched over a glass of amber liquid. 

“Jungkook?” Concern laced your softer voice. “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”

Red-rimmed eyes flicked up to meet yours, and your heart panged. You rushed over to his side, laying a manicured hand on his arm. 

“Kook?” You crouched a bit, moving your head to try and meet his eyes again. 

He grumbled but wouldn’t look at you.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” you reassured him, rubbing his shoulder lightly, “but I’m here to listen if you want to talk.”

Another grumble. And then—

“Where’re y’going?” One tattooed finger traced the edge of his glass. 

“Lexi’s having a girl’s night out. Remember?” You kept your tone light, despite how his gravelly voice made your heart jump. And not in a good way. 

His hand stopped tracing the glass, opting to bring the cup to his lips and take a gulp. It landed back on the countertop, and he finally turned to look at you. The dimly-lit kitchen didn’t help to mask the emotion in his dark eyes. There were definitely some nasty things swirling around that mind of his, but you couldn’t tell if he was more angry or sad. 

“Seriously?” He broke eye contact after a beat, syllables slurring just slightly. Your eyes widened. 

“Jungkook, yes,” you started slowly, softly, “I told you about these plans the other week.”

“But my only day off before the comeback is tomorrow.” He turned back again, quickly, jaw clenched and Adam’s apple bobbing. That was news to you! His eyes darted between yours, and you weren’t sure what to say. You bit your lip. 

You were torn; here was your recently very avoidant boyfriend wanting to spend time with you on his day off, but your phone was buzzing on the counter, and you had plans you had agreed to. Lexi was downstairs. 

“Kook, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” You reached out to rub his arm again, but he flinched away. You sighed, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. You really didn’t want to cry. 

“Baby, tomorrow we’ll have our day. We can go grab a coffee like we always do and—”

“Forget it! Have fun with your friends. I have plans with Taehyungie tomorrow anyway.” Your boyfriend cut you off and stood to leave the room, glass in hand. You were frozen, tears threatening to drip and ruin your makeup. 

“Jungkook, don’t be like this.” You said, collecting yourself to trail after his broad-shouldered frame. 

“Like what?!” He spun around, drink sloshing all over his hand. Was he drunk? Already? You widened your eyes and halted in your spot. 

“God forbid I want to spend time with my girlfriend!” Jungkook yelled again. “As if you’d ever clear your oh-so-busy schedule for me!” Well, that stung. 

You’d expressed to him that you felt bad for ever complaining about your own work to him because his job was ten-times more strenuous than yours could ever be. To mock your quote-unquote busy schedule… You swallowed roughly, taking a step back from the angry man. 

“Look, Jungkook, maybe we should just talk about this tomorrow,” you somehow got out. 

“Oh, sure! Go ahead and put our relationship on the backburner! That’s certainly not new for you!” 

Now you were positive that at least one tear had escaped. Jungkook was drunk, and clearly something had happened at the company… he was being unnecessarily cruel. You sighed and pressed your eyes closed. Silently, your boyfriend just watched as you pulled on your heels, grabbed your purse, and tapped on your phone to let Lexi know you were on your way. 

Before you turned to leave the apartment, you met his eyes again, but you didn’t let yourself see the feelings that lingered there, too afraid to see the hurt that almost definitely hid in his dark eyes. 

“I love you, Jungkook.” You always told him that before you left. Just in case. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t say a word in response. 

You turned on your heel and let the door shut quietly behind you. 

—

The elevator ride downstairs allowed you to shake off the anger and sadness and guilt erupting inside you from Jungkook’s words. Space would be good. Either way, you didn’t want to have that conversation when he was drunk. 

Anyway, Lexi greeted you just outside the building with a bottle of wine, and you took it in stride, ready to down the fruity liquid and forget about everything that just happened. 

—

“Oh my god, yes, girl!” One of Lexi’s friends screamed over the booming bass of the club. You were spinning around, a drink in your hand, moving your hips and bending your knees and shaking your ass for all of the girls you’d come out with to see. You were drunk, and happy to be.

A loud laugh tumbled out of you as you continued to move your body to the music. The club lights flashed red and green and blue around the otherwise dark room, clouding your already diminished senses as your vision blurred and your limbs tingled. You could faintly hear Lexi laughing, too, and soon a bright phone camera light was on you. Instinctively, you deepened your dance moves, swung your hips and let your hands move over your body. 

“Yes!” Lexi giggled. “Oh, your boyfriend is gonna love this! Sexy mama!” The light flashed off and a bit of anxiety trickled up your throat, but you couldn’t remember why. 

Your friend kept giggling, clicking around on her phone as it flashed beneath her fingers, “And… sent!” 

You laughed, too, dizzy from alcohol and the wide smile on your lips. Stumbling over to Lexi, you wrapped numb arms around her waist in a sloppy hug. 

If you’d been two shots more sober, you’d have had the sense to stay aware of your surroundings. In a popular club in a big city, and on a Saturday night, no less, it wasn’t rare for eyes to linger a little too long. Normally, you were pretty well attuned to it – the icy, prickling sensation that tickled the hairs on your neck when someone was watching. 

Indeed, when Jungkook received a blurry video from your friend Lexi, he couldn’t fight the ice crawling up his throat and through his veins. Not because of you. No, never; because of the man dressed in a weird amount of clothes given the setting. 

Behind you, where you spun in your pretty green top that he loved so much, the dark-dressed man leaned against the bar. His eyes crawled over your body, where your skirt rode up to expose your black lace panties, and the slip of perfect skin under your shirt, and the way your perfect tits glistened with sweat under the club lights.

God, just at first glance his pants had tightened. As if he deserved that thought after how he’d been treating you. Shame quickly replaced his anxiety. 

Jungkook breathed a heavy sigh through his nose. He knew he was a protective boyfriend, often overly so, but how could he not be when his beautiful girlfriend looked like you. That’s why he forced himself to close the Messages tab and click his phone off. It was your night out with your friends, and he’d already ruined it by yelling and drinking and making you cry. Again. Yeah, it was better that he left you alone for the night. 

—

The late spring heat was somehow nice as you stumbled out of the club. Alone, you shivered, the hot sweat cooling on your prickling skin. The world was spinning. 

Bracing your hands on the rough brick wall surrounding the night club, vomit threatened to erupt from your throat. You were nauseous and sobbing because you hated throwing up. Well, kind of. 

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, makeup surely melted off by now, as your mind flashed with moments from your arguments with Jungkook the last few weeks. 

Every day during the past week, when he’d stomped into your shared apartment without a hello, bedroom door slamming behind him. 

Falling asleep on the living room couch on Thursday night when anxiety kept you from crawling into bed next to him, and waking up with a start when he left for work at six-am. 

The yelling earlier. 

You sobbed harder. Jungkook was your first serious boyfriend, others simply month-long flings or anxiety-inducing situationships. Was this how relationships ended? Everyone had told you dating got a whole lot harder after the honeymoon period… were you finally out of it? 

The thought settled like lead and coated your veins with unease and—

You promptly threw up, ejecting the liquid contents of your stomach. While it did help to relieve your nausea, the immediate sobriety had your thoughts whirling.

God, this was all your fault. You were selfish. Maybe that’s why he’d stopped talking to you, or why he never came to you. Maybe he’d realized you weren’t worth the effort.

You sobbed again, dry heaving, but not because of alcohol. Your throat was scratchy and sore. 

“Hey, are you okay?” A deep voice called from across the alley. 

—

Jungkook had typed out four different texts to you and sent all of none. 

hi baby, i hope you’re having fun

i love you so so so much, i’m so sorry 

y/n, i’m so sorry about earlier. let’s talk when you’re back ? 

my love, please call me. i want to make sure you’re safe 

He was halfway through a fifth when his phone rang. Why was Lexi calling him? His hands shook.

“Jungkook!” A squeaky voice slurred through the phone. On the verge of tears, Lexi continued, “I can’t find her! I swear, two seconds ago, she was right here and then she just disappeared and I don’t know what to do!”

His heart jumped into his throat. Sober, he responded, “Lexi, hold on, slow down. What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N,” her voice broke. Jungkook’s heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear anything else your friend said, mind flashing to the greasy face of that piece of shit eyeing you up in the video. 

“I’m on my way.” 

—

“You know, it’s probably not safe for a pretty thing like you to be out here alone. What did you say your name was?”

The deep voice belonged to a tall man wearing all dark clothes, which normally would’ve had you fondly thinking of Jungkook, but tonight…

You froze against the wall, hands slowing coming down from the brick. You turned to him. 

“Um, I didn’t,” you said. The man was leaning against the opposite wall, much closer than you’d originally thought. You swallowed harshly around your dry throat, a new kind of anxiety creeping into your system. He took a small step closer. 

“Fiesty,” he laughed, “I like it.” 

“Look, get lost. I have a… a boyfriend.” You choked through your sentence. Did you, though? 

“You sure about that, babe?” He chuckled again, now an arm’s length away. Your eyes darted to the street just beyond the alleyway. You felt a drop of water trail down your cheek, overwhelmed by emotions. Jungkook, and this night out, and now this… maybe this is what you deserved. For being such an awful girlfriend. An awful friend. More tears fell. 

“Aw, don’t be scared, babe,” you felt his hot, stinky breath on your cheek. Your hands were shaking, terrified to turn your head away from the street, and you squeezed your eyes shut. He reached a calloused hand onto your throat. 

“I can make it all better.”

You were nauseous, sobbing now, and frozen in your heels. Everything was blurry, and you couldn’t feel your limbs. Then, a flash of red and the whirring of a motorcycle engine. 

“Get your dirty fucking hands off of her!” You thought you recognized the yell from the street. But who knows. Tears streamed down your face, clouding your senses. 

Strong hands wrapped around your shoulders, and there was someone calling something softly. Was it your name? 

You thrashed in their grip. Incoherent mumbles trailed from your lips. Your face was wet from tears. 

“Y/N, baby!” The voice turned sharper, more frantic, and the arms around you shook just slightly. Your heart jumped. How did the man know your name?!

“Stop! Please! Don’t touch me!” You sobbed, violently flailing your limbs hoping for purchase. The arms released you, and you heaved a heavy sob as you collapsed to the ground. 

Your brain was just a flurry of words and emotions, and the world seemed to spin around you. You squinted through your swollen eyes. There was the figure in all the dark clothing, and a red Ducati parked haphazardly just behind him. No, it wasn’t who you thought… he was at home, and probably going to end things with you as soon as you got home. 

Fresh tears sprung from your eyes, slow this time. 

“Y/N,” the figure whispered softly, reaching a hand towards you. The singular lamppost illuminated the figure’s tattooed hand. 

“Jungkook?” You breathed back, terrified. 

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” his voice broke, just so, “can I hold you?”

You let out a broken chuckle. “Are you here to yell at me again? Because I really, really can’t do this right now.”

Maybe your response made you petty, but you didn’t care. Your heart heart, your palms stung, and the place where that gross man’s fingers touched your neck burned. 

Jungkook’s big brown eyes tried to meet yours, head moving all over just to find purchase. 

“Y/N,” you could hear the tears in his voice, “no, never. I am so so sorry, my love. For everything.”

You were silent, reeling. 

“I– baby, please, are you alright? Can I hold you?” Jungkook was begging now, and, at the slight nod of your head and wobble of your bottom lip, launched himself into your arms. 

His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, and every ounce of fear and shame and heartbreak you’d bottled up for hours—for weeks—burst free as you buried your face into his chest. Loud, wracking sobs shook your body, fingers fisting the back of his leather jacket as though he’d disappear if you let go.

And Jungkook wasn't any better. When you felt the first tear land in your hair, he was already sniffling under his breath. 

Soon, his face disappeared into the crook of your neck, shoulders trembling violently with his tears as shaky apologies tumbled from his lips.

“I'm sorry,” he cried, “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered back, voice broken.

“I know, my love, I know.” His brows pinched together, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “I don’t, not at all.”

“Y-You’ve barely looked at me.” You looked at him with wide, bleary eyes. “You don't talk to me anymore. You yelled at me, and then…” Your voice cracked, a sob fighting its way out of you. “You didn’t even say you love me.”

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut.

“I know.” His voice was barely audible.

“I thought… I thought we were done, Kook.”

“Oh, god, Y/N, no,” his forehead rested against yours, his breathing just as uneven as your own. “I’ve just been so so overwhelmed and I thought if I pushed you away it’d be better for you and for me and I just didn’t even know what to say and I’m just so so so—”

You cut him off with a peck to his lips, tears making your lips wet. Jungkook’s eyes were wide and sad. He swallowed hard.

“When Lexi called…” His breath hitched so violently he couldn't finish the sentence, and you felt your heart clench.

“I thought…” Another broken inhale. “I thought I was too late.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. 

“I love you, Jungkook.” 

You had been watching him for weeks before you said anything. That was the part nobody understood. They thought correction arrived the moment a mistake appeared, sharp and immediate, like a blade striking bone. They did not see the quiet work before it. The watching. The pattern. The difference between one tired take and a habit. The difference between a performer protecting himself and a performer hiding behind the fact that nobody in the room wanted to ask more of him. As assistant director, your job was not only to keep the day moving. It was not only call sheets, timing, notes, performer safety, angles, blocking, and keeping the room from slipping into chaos. Your job was to notice what the camera caught and what everyone else pretended it did not. 

Jungkook knew how to fill a frame. He knew how to make people lean closer to a monitor without realizing they had moved. He knew how to hold still in ways that felt like threat. He knew exactly how much of his mouth to show when he smiled, exactly when to look down, exactly when to look back up through his lashes like he had already ruined someone and was only waiting for them to admit it. He knew bodies. He knew angles. He knew the language of being watched. But his eyes kept leaving, and that was what bothered you. Not because it ruined the fantasy. You did not care about fantasy in the way other people did. You cared about truth, even inside the machinery of desire. Especially there. A scene could be staged, lit, blocked, sold, watched, and still carry a living pulse if the people inside it were present. If their reactions were alive. If their silence meant something. If their eyes did not go empty the moment their bodies did what everyone expected. Jungkook’s body was flawless, but his eyes were waiting for the day to end. 

“Cut,” you said. 

The word left your mouth before Namjoon could say it. One of the camera assistants looked at you. The boom operator shifted. The performer opposite Jungkook blinked, relief and irritation passing over her face so quickly you almost missed it. Namjoon, sitting just behind you, lifted his eyes from the monitor. Jungkook stopped moving. Slowly. He turned his head toward you with the controlled disbelief of a man deciding whether to laugh at someone or ruin their day. You kept your eyes on the monitor for one second longer, because the monitor never lied. People did. Bodies did. Beautiful faces did. A performer could fill a room with heat and still show nothing real in the eyes. Jungkook’s eyes had been empty. Again. 

“Problem?” he asked. 

His voice carried across the set, rough and bored and already half-amused. He stood beneath the warm studio lights in black, skin gleaming faintly under the heat, hair pushed back from his face, mouth swollen into something obscene even at rest. He looked like exactly what everyone expected him to look like. That was not enough for you. 

“You are not really here,” you said. 

The room went even quieter. 

Jungkook’s brows lifted. “Sorry?” 

“You heard me.” 

Namjoon’s hand hovered near the talkback like he was deciding whether to save you from yourself. You did not look at him. Jungkook’s stare sharpened. 

“You want to say that again?” 

“You moved correctly,” you said, still looking at the monitor. “Your body hit every mark. The angle works. The lighting works. Technically, everything is there.” 

His mouth curled. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.” 

“It was not.” 

A few people forgot how to breathe. You finally looked at him. 

“Your eyes are not in the scene.” 

Something changed in his face. Not much. Nothing dramatic. A tightening around the mouth. A flicker of annoyance behind the eyes. Not because you had insulted him, you thought, but because you had found the right place to press. 

Jungkook leaned back slightly. “My eyes?” 

“Yes.” 

“You are directing my eyes now?” 

“I am correcting the thing that makes the scene false.” 

The silence that followed was loud. Jungkook stared at you for another second, then laughed once. It was humourless and low. 

“Brave.” 

“No,” you said. “Observant.” 

Namjoon made a small sound behind you. Warning, maybe. Amusement, maybe. You were not sure. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the monitor, then back to you. 

“And what do my eyes need to do, boss?” 

The word boss landed like a threat dressed as a joke. You did not flinch. 

“Follow your body.” 

His expression went still. 

“Right now, your body is doing the work and your eyes are waiting for the scene to be over. You look bored.” 

His jaw flexed. 

“You look like you know everyone will accept it because you are pretty enough to make them forget you are not present.” 

The entire set disappeared for half a second. There was only Jungkook looking at you, and you looking back, and something sharp passing between you that neither of you had language for yet. Then he smiled. It was not nice. 

“Pretty enough?” he repeated. 

You held his stare. “Was that the only part you heard?” 

The performer beside him covered a laugh badly with a cough. Jungkook did not look away from you. 

“Run it again,” Namjoon said finally, his voice careful. “From the last mark.” 

Jungkook turned back to his position. His shoulders were loose, but the back of his neck had gone tight. You watched the monitor. This time, when the scene began, his body moved the same way. Perfectly. But his eyes were different. Angry, yes. Irritated, absolutely. Slightly murderous, probably. But present. There was a pulse behind them now, a dangerous attention that had not been there before. He looked into the scene like he was looking at something he wanted to fight. Or someone. 

You leaned forward slightly. 

“There,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself. 

Jungkook’s gaze flicked toward the monitor for the smallest second. He had heard you. That was the first mistake. 

The second mistake was that you praised him again two days later. Not warmly. Not generously. You were not foolish enough to feed a man like Jungkook praise with your hands open. You gave it sparingly, professionally, like medicine measured in drops. 

“You were present today,” you said after a difficult take. 

He had been waiting near the monitors as if he was only passing by. He did that often now. Drifted close enough to hear your notes, far enough to pretend he did not care whether you gave them. Jungkook looked at you. 

“You say that like I was previously dead.” 

“You were professionally absent.” 

“Professionally absent,” he repeated. “That sounds like an expensive insult.” 

“It is free.” 

His mouth twitched. You looked down at your notes. 

“Your eyes followed your body today. The scene worked because you let the reaction arrive before the movement.” 

“You always talk like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you are diagnosing ghosts.” 

You glanced up. “Only when I see one.” 

For once, Jungkook did not have an immediate answer. 

That was when it started. Not love. Not even desire, not exactly. Desire had been there from the beginning, inconvenient and irritating, coiled beneath every argument and correction and look across the monitor. Desire was easy. Boring, almost. The studio ran on desire the way cities ran on electricity. What started then was worse. Jungkook began asking for you. 

Not directly at first. Men like him rarely handed over evidence that cleanly. He asked Namjoon whether you were covering a scene. He complained if someone else gave him notes. He pretended your corrections annoyed him and then did them exactly. He fought harder when you were watching and listened more carefully when you were the one speaking. He became addicted to being caught. You knew because his laziness changed shape. Before, it had been beautiful and casual, the laziness of someone who knew the room would forgive him. After, when he missed something, it felt deliberate. Like a dare. Like he wanted you to notice. So you noticed. 

“Again,” you said one afternoon. 

Jungkook looked at you from the set, sweat at his temple, mouth parted around a breath that would have looked convincing to anyone who did not know better. 

“You have got to be joking.” 

“Again.” 

Namjoon glanced between you both, then lifted his hands in surrender. “Again from the top.” 

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “What was wrong this time?” 

“You anticipated the reaction.” 

“I anticipated the reaction,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words and finding them stupid. “God forbid I understand timing.” 

“You did not understand it. You jumped it.” 

“I jumped it?” 

“Yes.” 

He stepped off his mark with a laugh that did not reach his eyes. “You want to come here and do it better?” 

“No. I want you to do it better.” 

That shut him up. The room felt it. The little shift. The difference between criticism and belief. Jungkook felt it too, though he would rather have choked than admit it. He did the scene again. Better. Afterward, he came to stand near the monitors, too close to be casual, too far to be honest. 

“You enjoy this?” he asked. 

“Doing my job?” 

“Making me repeat myself.” 

“When it improves the work, yes.” 

His mouth curved. “That sounded like a yes to me.” 

“Then your hearing is selective.” 

“It has to be. You talk too much.” 

“You listen more than you pretend to.” 

His smile thinned. There it was again. That pressure point. The quiet place where all his performance thinned into something real. You should have been more careful with it. 

Jungkook was not a cruel man, not in the simple way people liked to call men cruel when they wanted to avoid understanding them. He was defensive. Proud. Vain in the places he had been taught to survive through. He had a mouth that reached for blood before it reached for truth. He was used to being wanted and unused to being known, which made knowing him feel like trespassing even when he had invited you to the door. For months, you built something strange with him through the monitor. You corrected his hands, his pauses, his false notes. He corrected your patience by testing it every chance he got. You watched him become sharper, more present, more difficult in interesting ways. He watched you watch him and hated how much it mattered. 

Then one afternoon, in front of everyone, he used the wrong weapon. 

It had been a long day. Too many takes. Too much heat. A scene that refused to settle no matter how many times you shaped it. Jungkook was already irritated, his body restless, jaw hard, eyes bright with the kind of anger that meant he felt exposed. He had given you a good take fifteen minutes ago, and then he had lost it. Slipped back into the old ease, the old surface, the old beautiful emptiness that made your teeth clench. You cut again. 

“Your reaction is late,” you said. 

“It is not late.” 

“It is.” 

“It is a scene, not a fucking court hearing.” 

“You are missing the emotional turn.” 

Jungkook laughed, sharp and ugly. “The emotional turn.” 

The crew went quiet in that way people did when they sensed entertainment becoming danger. You kept your voice calm. 

“Yes.” 

“Maybe if you stopped staring at my face like you are waiting for divine revelation, you would see the scene is fine.” 

Namjoon said his name once. Low. Jungkook ignored him. You stood by the monitors, clipboard pressed to your chest, every eye in the room suddenly aware of you as a body and not a professional. That was his gift in that moment, and he knew it. He knew exactly where to strike. 

“You want me present?” he asked, mouth curling. “Or do you just like telling yourself you are the only one in the room who can see me properly?” 

The words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were true. Because they touched the private place your job lived inside you. The place that needed to be taken seriously. The place that had worked too hard to sit at those monitors and have a man in front of everyone reduce your attention to some embarrassing personal hunger. The silence after was worse than the sentence. You could feel everyone pretending not to have heard. You could feel the performer on set looking away. The camera assistant lowering his eyes to a piece of equipment that did not need adjusting. Namjoon going very, very still behind you. The studio lights burned Jungkook’s skin gold, but he was not the exposed one anymore. You were. 

And for one second, you saw the exact moment he realized it. His mouth remained shaped around the cruelty, but his eyes changed. Regret arrived late and useless, like a man running toward a door after it had already locked. You stared at him. Then you set the clipboard down carefully. If your hands shook, nobody saw. 

“That is enough for today,” you said. 

Your voice did not shake. That was what saved you. You walked out before anyone could see what his words had done. 

Outside, the air felt too cold against your face. You found the side alley behind the studio where people went to smoke, cry, argue on the phone, or become human again between scenes. You stood with your back to the brick wall and pressed the heel of your hand against your sternum once, hard, as if your body had become something that needed holding in place. You were not angry. You wished you were. Anger would have been cleaner. Anger would have given you something useful to do with your hands. Hurt was worse because it asked for honesty. You took out a cigarette from the emergency pack you kept in your bag and lit it with fingers that were steady only because you forced them to be. The first drag hurt your throat. Good. Pain with an obvious source felt kinder than the other kind. 

The back door opened behind you. You did not turn. The door shut. Silence. Then Jungkook’s voice, lower than usual. 

“You smoke?” 

You stared at the wall opposite you. “Sometimes.” 

He stepped closer. Not too close. For once. 

“I did not know that.” 

“There are many things you do not know.” 

He said nothing. You took another drag, then lowered the cigarette. Your throat burned. You stared at the ash trembling at the tip because looking at him felt too much like giving him the privilege of seeing where he had hit. Jungkook stood beside you, close enough that you could see his black shirt from the corner of your eye, the silver of his rings, the tension in his hand. He smelled like studio heat and soap and something sharp beneath it. 

“You were out of line,” you said. 

His jaw moved. “I know.” 

You looked at him then. He looked like the words had cost him something. Good. 

“You did not just insult me,” you said. “You made my work look like a joke in front of everyone.” 

His eyes flicked down. 

“You made it seem like my direction was personal. Like my attention was something embarrassing. Like I was not doing my job.” 

“I know,” he said again, rougher. 

“You do not get to do that because you feel cornered.” 

“I said I know.” 

“No,” you said. “You heard me. That is not the same thing.” 

Jungkook looked at you then. Really looked. His mouth opened, but no apology came out. You could see it fighting somewhere behind his teeth, too unfamiliar to arrive cleanly. He had probably learned how to say sorry in the worst possible places. After being caught. After being forced. After being made to mean it for someone else’s comfort rather than his own remorse. He looked furious with himself. 

You almost looked away. 

Then his gaze dropped to the cigarette between your fingers. 

“Can I?” 

You frowned slightly. “Can you what?” 

He nodded toward the cigarette. “Have some.” 

For some reason, that almost made you laugh. Not because it was funny. Because it was ridiculous, standing there with all that hurt between you, and Jungkook still somehow asking for a piece of the thing in your hand like it might give him something to do besides fail at apologising. 

You held it out. 

His fingers brushed yours when he took it. Less than a second, but your whole body registered it like a bad decision. He drew from the cigarette, eyes not leaving yours, then looked at the faint stain your mouth had left on the filter. 

“This was an indirect kiss, you know,” he said. 

You stared at him. 

“You asked for my cigarette.” 

“I did.” 

“So technically, you kissed me first.” 

His mouth curved, softer this time. Still wrong. Still him. 

“Fine,” he said, handing it back. “Then I kissed you back.” 

You should not have wanted to laugh. You almost did. Instead, you looked away because the wall was safer than his face. 

“Do not make this charming,” you said. 

“I am not doing it on purpose.” 

“That is worse.” 

“I know.” 

You took the cigarette back and held it between your fingers without smoking. The filter was warm from his mouth now. You hated that you noticed. 

“You hurt me,” you said. 

The words changed him more than anger had. Jungkook’s face went still. 

“I know,” he said. 

This time, it sounded different. Nothing was fixed that day. But something changed. 

After that, Jungkook began apologising in the only language he trusted: action. Coffee appeared near your monitor one morning, exactly how you drank it. He said nothing about it. You said nothing either. Another day, he followed a note without arguing. The day after that, when a camera assistant spoke over you twice, Jungkook looked at him and said, “She is talking,” in a tone mild enough to be professional and sharp enough to make the man shut up immediately. You did not thank him. He did not ask you to. But you noticed. He noticed that you noticed. 

For a while, that was the language. He behaved better. You gave less. Not because you were punishing him, exactly. Because hurt made you precise. Before, your corrections had carried heat, investment, a private edge of belief. After, they became clean and professional. You gave him what the work required and nothing extra. Jungkook hated it. You could tell by the way he lingered. By the way he waited for notes that did not come. By the way he made one almost lazy choice in an otherwise perfect take, glanced toward the monitors, and looked furious when you only said, “Reset from mark three.” 

Two weeks later, after a clean scene, he came to stand near you while the crew began moving equipment. 

“That is all?” he asked. 

You looked down at your notes. “Yes.” 

“You got nothing else?” 

“No.” 

His jaw tightened. “You always have something else.” 

“I gave you the note during the scene.” 

“That was technical.” 

“It was the note.” 

He leaned closer, voice lowered because the crew was still around. “Why are you being like that?” 

You looked at him then. He looked irritated, but his eyes were not. His eyes looked almost lost. 

“Like what?” 

“Like I am a stranger you are being paid to tolerate.” 

You breathed in slowly. “I am doing my job.” 

“That is not what I asked.” 

“No,” you said quietly. “It is what I can answer here.” 

For once, he followed the line you drew. 

Later, by the monitors when most of the crew had cleared, he came back. He did not swagger this time. Did not grin. Did not put his hands in his pockets like he was pretending nothing mattered. 

“I fucked up,” he said. 

The words landed awkwardly between you. You looked at him. He swallowed. 

“I know you are not angry.” 

Your heart gave a small, painful twist. “That took you two weeks?” 

His mouth twitched, then fell. “I know you are hurt.” 

You did not answer. Jungkook looked down at the monitor. It reflected the overhead lights in black glass. 

“I know the difference now,” he said. 

That did something to you. Something you did not let show. 

“You cannot fix hurt by trying to make me fight you,” you said. 

His mouth pressed tight. 

“You cannot bait me back into caring.” 

His eyes lifted to yours. 

“I did care,” you said. “That is why it hurt.” 

The room fell very quiet around him. Jungkook nodded once. It looked like it cost him more than any apology. 

After that, his trying changed. He stopped making mistakes to get your attention. He started working like he wanted your respect more than your reaction. He still complained, of course. Jungkook without complaint would have been a medical emergency. But the complaints shifted from defence into habit. Noise around effort. After one scene, he came to the monitor and asked, low, almost awkward, “Was everything okay today?” You looked up. There was no smugness in him. No “was that good for you?” No filthy little tilt to his mouth. Just a man trying not to look like he cared. 

“Yes,” you said. “You were present today.” 

His face went still. 

“Your eyes followed your body.” 

For a second, he looked almost young. Then he ruined it by nodding at the monitor. 

“About time my eyes got their shit together.” 

You smiled before you could stop yourself. He saw it. That was the beginning of the next problem. 

Jungkook did not know what to do with warmth except turn it into heat. 

There was another thing you had never said out loud. 

Before you worked directly with him, before you sat behind the monitor with a headset and a clipboard and the authority to call cut, you had known Jungkook through a screen. Not in the way you knew him now. Not as a man who went quiet when a note hit too close, or smiled badly when praised, or hid exhaustion behind arrogance. Back then, he had been safer because he had been distant. A fantasy with a payment button. A beautiful mouth, a cruel voice, a body that knew how to be wanted. 

You had been one of his top contributors under a username he had no reason to connect to your face. 

It had not felt complicated at first. You never treated him like he owed you anything. You never filled his chat with demands or tried to buy pieces of him that were not on offer. You watched quietly, gave generously, and left before the illusion could ask anything from you. He was a fantasy, and fantasy was easiest when it stayed where it belonged: behind glass. 

Then the studio put him in front of you. 

The first time you corrected him, the fantasy cracked. The first time you saw his eyes go empty while his body kept performing, something in you stopped being a viewer and became a witness. After that, contributing felt wrong. He was no longer only the man on your screen. He was someone you worked with. Someone whose false notes bothered you. Someone you could hurt if you forgot the difference between wanting and consuming. 

So you stopped. 

Jungkook noticed. 

Of course he did. A man like him survived by noticing who wanted him and what shape that want took. He noticed the generous account that went quiet. He noticed the absence more than the money. Later, he noticed the way you watched him from behind the monitor — not hungry in the usual way, not careless, not impressed by the parts of him everyone else forgave. You watched like you were trying to find the person underneath the performance. 

He did not confront you. 

At first, because he did not know for certain. A username was not a face. A pattern was not proof. And later, when suspicion began to feel less like coincidence, he still said nothing because naming it would have made it real. It would have exposed your private wanting and his own awareness of it. It would have forced him to ask why you had stopped watching him that way, why you could look at him through a monitor now and seem more interested in the truth than the fantasy he knew how to sell. 

Jungkook did not know what to do with that. 

So when the private message came through that night, sent to the username you had abandoned, you understood exactly what he was offering. Not only a call. Not only heat. He was reaching for the safest version of himself, the one you had paid to watch before you knew enough to ask for more. 

Live. Private. If you want it. 

You stared at the message for a long time. 

It should have been simple. Once, it would have been. Once, the distance would have made it easy to press accept and let the fantasy stay a fantasy. 

But now you knew the difference between his camera voice and his real one. 

Now you knew what his eyes looked like when they left the room. 

Now you wanted the one thing he did not know how to sell. 

The screen glowed in your dark room. He looked at you like distance was an insult. 

“Comfortable?” he asked. 

“Should I be worried?” 

“Always.” 

There was that smile. That terrible little curve. The one that had made hundreds of people mistake confidence for intimacy. But then he looked at you too closely. Not at the screen. At you. And something in the room shifted. The call was seductive. Of course it was. Jungkook knew how to be wanted. He knew how to create a private room out of light and voice and attention. He knew how to make the person watching feel chosen, singled out, dragged closer through glass. He spoke like sin was a language he had learned young and perfected out of spite. But underneath it, you saw the ache. That was what hurt. He thought this was what you wanted from him. He thought the hunger in your eyes meant he needed to offer the performance harder, closer, more directly. He thought he could bridge the distance between you by becoming the fantasy before you had the chance to ask for the man. 

You watched him and felt your chest ache with want and sadness at once. Not because you did not desire him. God help you, you did. Your body reacted before your pride could negotiate. But your heart kept reaching past the performance and finding him hidden behind it, watching you watch him, waiting to see if this was enough. At some point, his voice dropped lower. 

“You are quiet.”

“I am watching.”

“That all?”

No. It was never all.

His mouth curved like he knew exactly what watching meant, but his eyes gave him away before his body did. Jungkook leaned back against the pillows, phone angled carelessly in one hand, the other sliding down his stomach with a slowness that felt practised at first. Too practised. Too camera-aware. He watched your face on the screen as his hand disappeared lower, his breath changing before he let the sound reach you. When his fingers wrapped around his hard cock, his jaw tightened, the smugness in his mouth flickering under the first rough pull. He tried to make it look easy. He tried to make it look like another performance, another private show, another thing he knew how to sell without giving anything real away. But then your name left his mouth, low and almost unwilling, and the rhythm of his hand faltered. Once. Twice. Like imagining you there had ruined the timing he usually controlled. His thumb dragged over the sensitive head with a sharp inhale, his hips lifting into his own fist before he caught himself and laughed under his breath, rough and embarrassed by how quickly you had gotten under his skin.

“See?” he murmured, voice lower now, less polished around the edges. “This is what you do. You sit there looking at me like you are not eating me alive through the screen, and I am supposed to act normal?”

"I need you to see what you do to me."

He tightened his hand around his hard cock, worked himself slower, rougher, letting you see the way his body reacted even when his mouth kept trying to turn it into arrogance. His eyes stayed on yours. That was the dangerous part. Not the movement, not the exposed heat of him, not the filth of his voice when he told you he had thought about your hands on him more than once. It was the fact that, for a second, he forgot to perform. His face shifted open with need before he could hide it, brows drawing together, breath catching hard in his throat as his hand moved faster. He looked beautiful, yes. Obscene, yes. But beneath that, he looked almost angry with himself for wanting you in a way the camera could not make clean.

“You wanted to watch me, honey?” he said, but the words shook at the end. “Then watch properly.”

You looked at him through the screen, at the beautiful face, the vulgar mouth, the eyes that kept searching yours for proof.

“You are good at this,” you said softly.

His smile flickered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

Something about the answer disappointed him. Or maybe it disappointed you. Because good at this was not what you wanted to say. You wanted to say: I see you trying to offer me the thing everyone else wants because you do not know what else you are allowed to give. You wanted to say: I want the part of you that does not know what to do when I praise your eyes. You wanted to say: stop performing for me and come here. But you did not. 

You pulled back without meaning to. Jungkook noticed. He misunderstood. The next week, he became worse. More jokes. More innuendos. More accidental glances. More filthy comments dropped under his breath when he walked past the monitors. He performed harder because he thought the performance was what had worked before. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to stop offering you the mask when all you wanted was the man. 

Then Jimin arrived. 

Jimin was beautiful in a way that looked manufactured. Smooth where Jungkook was rough. Polished where Jungkook was instinct. He had the sort of face that had learned early how much attention it could earn and never developed anything interesting enough to keep it. He lowered his voice when he spoke to you, as if roughness could be borrowed by dropping an octave. The first time he did it, Jungkook looked up from across the set. You caught the look. Jimin did too. That was the beginning of his mistake. 

Jimin asked for your notes too often. Not because he wanted the work better. Because he wanted the thing Jungkook had. Your attention. 

“What do you think?” Jimin asked after a take, coming to stand too close to the monitors. 

“You hit the marks,” you said. “The reaction is clean. Keep your left shoulder open on the turn.” 

He smiled. “That is it?” 

“That is it.” 

His eyes moved briefly to Jungkook, who stood near the edge of the set with a towel around his neck and murder in his eyes. 

“You give him more.” 

You looked at Jimin. “He needs more.” 

Jungkook laughed once from across the room. Jimin’s jaw flexed. Another day, Jimin stayed after his own scene to watch Jungkook work. He leaned beside the door, arms folded, gaze moving over Jungkook with too much calculation. Jungkook noticed immediately. He always did. Jungkook’s next take was brutal in its precision. Not louder. Not showier. Better. Present. Every movement threaded to reaction. Every pause alive. His eyes found the camera and then, through the monitor, found you. You stopped breathing for half a second. Jimin saw that too. 

After the take, Jimin approached you while Jungkook was still on set. 

“So that is what you like,” he said. 

You did not look up from the notes. “I like performers who understand the scene.” 

He lowered his voice. “Maybe you should teach me like that.” 

Jungkook’s head turned. You looked at Jimin then. 

“I am teaching you.” 

His smile sharpened. “Feels different.” 

“That is because you are not listening.” 

Jungkook made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. 

Jimin looked over. “Something funny?” 

“You,” Jungkook said. “Standing there begging for notes like a dog that learned one trick and wants a biscuit.” 

“Jungkook,” you said. 

He looked at you. You gave him one warning glance. He shut his mouth. That, more than the insult, made Jimin’s face change. 

Later, you heard Jungkook in Namjoon’s office. 

“Move him to someone else.” 

Namjoon sounded tired. “No.” 

“She does not need to deal with him.” 

“She is being trained for more responsibility. That includes performers who annoy you.” 

“He does not annoy me.” 

Namjoon laughed. Jungkook did not. 

“He is trying to get under her skin,” Jungkook said. 

“And you think storming in here proves what exactly?” 

Silence. Then Jungkook, low and furious, “He looks at her wrong.” 

“You used to look at everyone wrong.” 

“Not like that.” 

Namjoon’s voice softened by a fraction. “Then trust her to handle it.” 

Jungkook came out of the office a minute later, saw you standing by the hallway with a stack of schedules in your hand, and stopped. You lifted a brow. 

He looked away. “Do not.” 

“I did not say anything.” 

“Your face did.” 

“My face is very professional.” 

“Your face is a menace.” 

You almost smiled. He saw that too. 

Jimin’s first real mistake happened at the studio dinner. Namjoon had arranged it as a crew-bonding thing, which meant too many people in one room pretending not to be exhausted. The table was long, the lighting too warm, the conversation too loud. You sat with your back straight and your drink untouched, feeling the weight of people around you in that quiet way you hated. You were good at rooms when you had a role in them. Give you a monitor, a schedule, a crisis, a performer missing a mark, and you could stand in the centre of chaos with a steady voice and a pen in your hand. But social dinners were worse. No clear purpose. No clean edges. Too much noise and too many eyes. Too many people letting professionalism loosen around alcohol and pretending the loosening did not still have consequences. 

Jungkook sat beside you. He did not ask. He just took the seat, leaned back like he owned the air, and placed his hand on your thigh beneath the table. You went still. Not because you wanted him to move. Because you did not. His palm was warm through the edge of your stockings, fingers heavy but careful. He did not squeeze. Did not make it a show. He simply kept his hand there as if he had noticed something in your shoulders that you had been trying to hide from everyone else. Your breathing settled before your pride could object. 

Jungkook looked ahead, bored expression firmly in place, as if he was not currently holding you together under a table full of people. You turned your glass a little with your fingertips. His thumb moved once against your thigh. Barely there. A question. You did not move away. His hand stayed. Jimin sat across from you. Haeun, another performer with a sharp mouth and sharper eyeliner, was beside him, swirling wine in her glass. The conversation wandered through work, schedules, shoots, complaints, gossip. Jungkook contributed mostly insults. Haeun laughed too loudly at half of them, either because she found him funny or because she wanted you to notice she found him funny. You did not give her the satisfaction of checking. Jimin watched the hand you were not supposed to know he could not see. Then he smiled at you. It was too smooth. 

“So,” he said, “with all the scenes you watch, I have to ask. What would your favourite toy be?” 

The table shifted. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But enough. Jungkook’s hand went still on your thigh. You held Jimin’s gaze. 

“Excuse me?” 

He lifted both hands. “Relax. We are all adults here. It is just a question.” 

“She does not need to answer that,” Jungkook said. 

His voice was not loud. It did not have to be. 

Jimin’s eyes flicked to him. “I was not asking you.” 

“I did not ask if you were.” 

Haeun gave a small laugh. “It is not exactly shocking dinner conversation in this industry.” 

Jungkook looked at her. “There is a difference between work and being a rude prick over pasta.” 

Her mouth closed. 

Jimin smiled wider. “I thought we were getting to know each other as a crew.” 

“Then ask her what music she likes,” Jungkook said. “Not what she would use in private.” 

Your heart hit your ribs once. Jungkook’s hand remained on your thigh. Steady. Grounding. You placed your hand over his under the table and drew a small circle with your thumb. He went very still. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. His inhale broke halfway through, only you would have noticed. 

“If I were to use a toy,” you whispered, “it would be your hands.” 

Jungkook’s fingers tightened once on your thigh. A warning to himself, not to you. You pulled back and reached for your glass as if nothing had happened. But everything had happened. You could feel it in the way Jungkook stopped breathing properly for three full seconds. In the way his face remained bored through sheer violence of will. In the way his hand became warmer against your skin. 

Jimin saw enough. Of course he did. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

You looked at him. “Private.” 

“Oh?” His smile sharpened. “Are we not allowed to know what you two are discussing? I thought this was a crew conversation.” 

Jungkook’s head turned slowly. 

Jimin leaned back. “Come on. I am curious now. What is your favourite toy?” 

You looked at him for a long second. Then you smiled. Not kindly. 

“Do you often repeat yourself when women do not answer you the first time?” 

The table went silent. Jimin’s smile twitched. You stood before Jungkook could. Everyone looked at you. Your voice came out calm. 

“I prefer to keep my personal life separate from professional conversation.” 

Jimin opened his mouth. You did not let him have it. 

“And I also prefer not to confuse invasive questions with maturity.” 

You took your bag from the back of your chair. 

“Enjoy dinner.” 

You walked out with your spine straight. You made it to the hallway before the restaurant noise dropped behind you. Then the door opened again almost immediately. Jungkook. Of course. He did not touch you at first. That was what almost broke you. He stood close enough that you knew he was there, far enough that the choice remained yours. 

“I told him to keep your name out of his mouth,” he said. 

You closed your eyes briefly. “Did you?” 

“And told Haeun to shut up.” 

Despite everything, a laugh tried to rise in your throat. 

Jungkook stepped closer. “He crossed a line.” 

“I know.” 

“You did nothing wrong.” 

“I know.” 

He was quiet. When you opened your eyes, he was watching you like he wanted to do violence and did not trust himself to speak around it. You reached for his hand. He gave it to you immediately. His fingers closed around yours, warm and careful. For a while, neither of you said anything. The hallway was dim and empty, the restaurant noise muffled behind the door. Jungkook’s shoulders were still tense, but his hand in yours was patient. He did not demand that you talk. Did not ask you to reassure him that his anger was justified. Did not turn your discomfort into his performance. He stood there with you and let the silence belong to you. 

That was the first time you thought Jungkook might be safe. Not harmless. Never harmless. Safe. 

Jimin made the mistake of thinking Jungkook’s silence had been restraint without consequence. The set was busy that morning. Too busy. People moving equipment. Namjoon answering questions. You by the monitors, clipboard in hand, already tired despite the day barely starting. Jimin’s scene was simple. Too simple to justify how much attention he kept trying to draw. He missed a mark twice. Lowered his voice unnecessarily. Smirked in your direction after a line that was not written to land that way. You corrected him once. 

He smiled. “Anything else?” 

“No.” 

It should have been a normal shoot. It should have been another scene with too much lighting adjustment and not enough coffee, another day of Namjoon pretending he had control over performers with egos bigger than the set. Jungkook and Jimin were both present for a scenario that required rougher tension, and Jimin had spent the entire morning trying to outdo Jungkook. It was painful to watch. He made his voice too low. His movements too sharp. His dirty talk too rehearsed. Everything he did felt like a copy of a copy, all shadow and no heat. 

You corrected him twice. 

“Find your own rhythm.” 

Then again, more firmly, “You are performing intensity instead of feeling it.” 

Jungkook heard. Jungkook enjoyed it. Jungkook did not hide that he enjoyed it. Jimin did not take it well. The scene paused for a lighting reset. You were by the monitors, checking playback, when Jimin looked toward you with a smile that made your skin tighten before he even spoke. 

“Maybe your assistant director should come show me how she wants it done,” he said. “I bet she gives better notes with her mouth full.” 

The set froze. Not loudly. Not dramatically. It was worse than that. It went still in the way rooms do when everyone hears something cross a line and waits to see who will pretend it did not. Jungkook stepped away from his mark. His face changed completely. Not rage first. Control. That was somehow scarier. 

“We are done,” he said. 

Jimin laughed once. “Come on, mate. It was improv.” 

Jungkook turned his head slowly. “No. It was sexual harassment dressed up as improv because you are too stupid to know the difference.” 

Nobody moved. 

Then Namjoon stood from behind the monitors, his expression flat in a way that made the whole room feel colder. 

“Call legal.” 

Jimin’s face changed. 

That was when the joke left him. That was when he understood this was not Jungkook being dramatic, or jealous, or difficult, or possessive over something that did not belong to him. This was official. This was witnessed. This was a line being named by the room instead of swallowed by it. 

Namjoon looked at Jungkook. “Jungkook—” 

“No.” Jungkook did not raise his voice. “Handle him.” 

Jimin’s expression hardened. “You are serious?” 

Jungkook took one step toward him. “You treat work like a playground because you think being explicit means there are no lines. There are lines. There is professionalism. There are people here doing jobs. She is not a prop for you to aim your little ego at because you cannot make a scene work.” 

Your hands tightened around the clipboard. Jimin’s face reddened. Jungkook’s voice dropped. 

“And do not ever imply you are going to fuck her because she gave you a note. You are not that interesting, and she is not available for your insecurity.” 

Namjoon said Jungkook’s name again, quieter this time. Jungkook looked at him. 

“You want the scene done today? Get someone else. I am not working with him.” 

Jimin scoffed. Jungkook smiled without humour. 

“I am whatever she lets me be. You are nothing.” 

Nobody spoke. Then Jungkook turned and walked off set. Not toward you. Not dragging you into it. Not making your humiliation part of his performance. He left you standing upright, professional, protected without being handled. 

That was what broke you. Not the jealousy. Not the dirty talk. Not the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour every calm thought in your head. It was that he protected your dignity without making you smaller. 

You found him fourty minutes later in the back corridor near his dressing room, freshly showered and still angry. He had changed into black sweats and a plain shirt, his hair damp, his expression hard enough to cut glass. 

“Are you okay?” he asked before you could speak. 

“I am fine.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Not that answer.” 

You exhaled. “I am angry.” 

“Good.” 

“And embarrassed.” 

His jaw flexed. “You did nothing wrong.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” 

He watched your face. You stepped closer. 

“Thank you.” 

His expression closed. “Do not.” 

“Jungkook.” 

“I did not do it for thanks.” 

“I know.” 

The silence stretched. Then you said the thing you had been trying not to say all day. 

“I need you.” 

He went very still. You saw him understand. Not the words. The meaning beneath them. Last night had been restraint. His hand on your thigh under the dinner table. His voice in the hallway. The way he had stood close enough to protect you without turning your discomfort into his claim. Today was different because you chose it to be. 

“No,” he said first. 

Your heart dropped. Then he stepped closer, eyes dark. 

“Not if this is because of him. Not if you are angry. Not if you feel grateful. Not if you want to prove something.” 

Your throat tightened. “It is not.” 

“I need you clear on that.” 

“I am.” 

His hand flexed at his side. “You want me because you want me?” 

“Yes.” 

His eyes moved over your face like he was looking for the lie and hating that he could not find one. “Say it without thanking me.” 

“I want you, Jungkook.” 

He inhaled through his nose. “Fuck.” 

The kiss was rough enough to erase the corridor. He caught your face in both hands and kissed you like something in him had finally snapped clean in half. Not polished. Not practised. Not a kiss designed for a camera or a co-star or a fantasy package. His mouth was hot, impatient, almost clumsy with need, and that made it better than anything you had watched him do. He walked you backward into the empty set because the corridor was too exposed, because the dressing room was too far, because neither of you had any patience left. 

The set bed stood beneath the warm lights, dressed and useless. Jungkook looked at it. Then his face hardened. 

“Not that bed.” 

Your breath shook. He looked back at you. 

“Not where I fuck for everyone else.” 

That should not have made your eyes burn. He lowered his mouth to your ear. 

“The floor will do for you and me.” 

You kissed him first this time. He made a rough sound against your mouth, and then you were on the studio floor near the monitors, not graceful, not staged, not pretty enough for a scene. The floor was hard beneath your back. The lights were half-dead above you. The monitor desk sat nearby like a witness to every version of you that had pretended to be professional. 

Jungkook touched you like he had been starving badly and hiding it worse. He was crude, filthy, impatient. His mouth moved against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, muttering things that would have sounded obscene from anyone else and somehow sounded like confession from him. He called you his clever little menace, his nightmare behind the monitor, the woman who had ruined his scenes because now he knew what real attention felt like. His hands were everywhere and still careful where they needed to be, tugging fabric aside, checking your face, following the way your body opened for him. You needed him biblically. You needed him in a way that was concerning to feminism. 

When he realised you were bare enough for him and he was bare enough for you, he stopped so suddenly you almost cursed at him. 

“I do not have protection.” 

You stared up at him, breathless. “I know.” 

His jaw clenched. “I am tested. Clean. I had the panel last week. But I do not have anything here.” 

“I know.” 

His eyes went blacker. “Do not say it like that if you have not thought it through.” 

“I have thought it through.” 

“I will pull out if you want.” 

“No.” 

Jungkook’s breath left him. “No?” 

“No..” 

His forehead lowered briefly against yours. “You are going to kill me.” 

“I want you raw.” 

His hand gripped the floor beside your head. “I am giving you one last chance to change that sentence.” 

“I want you raw,” you repeated, softer, clearer. “No barrier. No camera version. No performance. You. I want to feel you.” 

Something animalistic moved through his face. Then he kissed you like he hated how much he loved hearing it, one hand catching the side of your face while the other dragged down your body with desperate purpose, over your ribs, your waist, your hip, like he needed to feel every part of you before he believed this was real. His mouth was not polished now. It was hot, impatient, a little unsteady, his teeth catching your lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue, his breath rough against your mouth when your hands slid under his shirt and found warm skin. He made a sound into the kiss that did not belong to any performance you had ever seen from him. It was too low. Too real. Too close to need. He did not rush the first push. That almost made it worse. He held himself above you, one forearm braced near your head, the other hand gripping your thigh to open you for him, jaw tight, eyes fixed on yours as he guided himself in slowly enough for both of you to feel every second of it. The first stretch made your whole body go still, and Jungkook stopped immediately, forehead dropping to yours, every muscle in his body trembling with restraint. “Talk to me,” he said, voice wrecked already. “Too much?” You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “No.” His eyes sharpened. “No is not enough.” Your legs tightened around his hips before your mouth found the words. “Keep going.” 

The words broke something in him. His mouth covered yours again as he pushed deeper, controlled but only barely, his body shaking with the effort not to take the moment too fast. He was hot, heavy, real in a way the screen had never prepared you for, and when your thighs wrapped higher around his waist to keep him close, his composure cracked into a curse against your mouth. He gave you another slow inch, then another, his hand sliding beneath your lower back to tilt you up into him, to make the angle easier, to make sure he was not only taking what you offered but meeting your body exactly where it needed him. “You feel—” He stopped, teeth clenched, his eyes shutting for half a second like he had to survive you before he could speak again. “Fuck. No camera in the world deserves this.” You laughed breathlessly, and the sound turned into a moan when he moved. Not a full rhythm yet. Just one slow drag out, one careful push back in, deep enough to make your spine lift from the floor and your hands clutch at his shirt like you were trying to keep him from ever pulling away. Jungkook lost his timing the second he heard you. His hips stuttered, and the hand on your thigh tightened as if your sound had gone through him harder than touch. “That is the sound I wanted,” he muttered, rough and almost angry with himself. “Fuck, make it again.” 

He moved again, deeper this time, and your legs locked around him properly, heels pressing into his back to pull him closer. The motion dragged a broken groan out of him. His mouth dropped to your throat, kissing, biting, then kissing again like he could not decide whether to ruin you or worship you. His hands were everywhere but careless: one beneath your back, one on your thigh, one moment gripping your hip to keep you steady, the next spreading wide over your ribs like he needed to feel you breathe under him. He found a rhythm that was not performance. It was messy, hungry, too intimate for a room built to manufacture intimacy. His mouth stayed close to yours, catching every sound before it could fill the empty set. His hard cock drove into you with growing desperation, but every time your face changed too sharply, his gaze caught it. Not stopping unless you asked. Not softening into someone else. Just seeing you. Adjusting. Learning you in real time with his body shaking above yours. “Good?” he rasped. “Yes.” “More?” “Yes.” His eyes darkened. “Baby..” Your breath broke. “Rougher.”  Jungkook went still for a fraction of a second, his face changing like the word had done something violent to him. “Do not say that unless you mean it.” “I mean it.” His mouth brushed yours, not quite a kiss, more like restraint dying between you. “How rough?” You pulled him closer with your legs, your hands sliding from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “Enough that I feel you tomorrow.” A laugh broke out of him, ruined and filthy. “Jesus Christ. You are going to kill me.” “Jungkook..” “I know.” He kissed you hard.

Then he gave you what you asked for. Not careless. Never careless. He shifted your thigh higher against his side, opened the angle until the next thrust hit deeper, and the sound that tore out of you made him lose his rhythm completely. His hips faltered once, twice, his mouth falling open against your cheek as if your pleasure had reached into his body and pulled him apart from the inside. “There,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction and disbelief. “That is where it is, is it?” You could not answer properly. Your nails dragged down his back, and he cursed like that hurt him in exactly the right way. He drove into you again, deeper, rougher, then stopped himself just enough to look at your face. “Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged. “Tell me.” “Right there.” His control cracked wider. “Fuck.” He kept that angle, one hand braced by your head, the other gripping your thigh as he pushed into you with a desperation that made the whole room feel too small. The floor was hard beneath your back, the lights too bright above you, the set bed standing useless beside you, but none of it felt staged. None of it felt like something that could be watched. His body covered yours too completely for that. His hands kept finding you, holding you, lifting you into him, making the rawness feel less like recklessness and more like dangerous trust. 

You wrapped both legs tighter around his waist, refusing to let him retreat even an inch. Jungkook noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes dropped to where you held him, then lifted back to your face with something feral and almost tender in them.

“You keeping me there?” he asked, voice low and dirty.

“You want me deeper than this?” Your answer came out as a moan when he moved again. His jaw clenched. “Deeper.” That did it.  Jungkook’s mouth crashed into yours, and the next thrust shoved the breath out of you so completely he had to catch the back of your head in his palm, cradling you even while his body went rough. He kissed the sound out of your mouth, then dragged his lips to your jaw, your throat, the sensitive place beneath your ear. “Like that?” he asked. “That deep?” “Yes.. Please..” The please ruined him. You felt it in the way his rhythm broke, in the way his hand slid under your back and pulled you up harder against him, in the way his mouth went slack against your skin for one breath before he buried a curse there. He was not smooth anymore. He was not controlled in the pretty way people paid for. He was desperate, breathing hard, trying to keep enough of himself intact to watch you while the rest of him wanted to take, take, take. “Do you have any idea what you sound like?” he muttered against your throat. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea what you do to me when you moan like that?” You turned your face toward his, mouth brushing his cheek. “Show me.” His whole body shuddered. “You are dangerous,” he said. “You like it.” “I fuckin’ love it.” 

Then he moved harder, the rhythm rougher now, less careful in shape but still careful in instinct. His hand stayed between your head and the floor when your body slid back. His palm protected your hip from the ground when he changed the angle. His mouth kept returning to yours, not because it was soft, but because he seemed to need the kiss as much as the sex, like he could not stand being inside you without being close enough to breathe the same air. “Look at the desk,” he rasped. Your eyes opened. The monitor desk blurred at the edge of your vision. “That is where you sit and ruin my life.” You laughed, broken. He thrust deeper. “I am serious,” he said, voice rough against your lips. “All calm, all notes, all that pretty little face while I am out there working. Do you know what it does to a man?” “You seem to be managing.” He gave you a look so filthy it should have been illegal. “Badly.” 

He moved you after that, because Jungkook was never going to be satisfied with only one angle of anything. He pulled out with a groan that sounded almost furious, caught your hips before you could feel the loss too sharply, and lifted you like your weight was nothing but the consequence of his own bad choices. Your legs locked around him instinctively. His hands tightened under your thighs, and he kissed you as he carried you the few steps to the monitor desk, messy and blind and breathing hard against your mouth. The symbolism of it nearly undid you before his body did. The desk where you had watched him. Corrected him. Controlled him. The desk where his eyes had found you over and over again. Now he had you perched on the edge of it, your back lowering toward the surface while he shoved papers and a headset aside with one impatient hand. Even half gone with hunger, he was careful. He checked the edge with his palm before your spine touched it. He slid his hand behind your head so you did not hit the desk too hard. He kept one hand braced near your hip and the other at the side of your face, making sure the hard wood did not hurt you even while his body looked ready to ruin you. “This desk is fucked,” he said. You were too breathless to laugh properly. “Jungkook.” “No, I mean it. Ruined.” He pushed back inside you in one slow, devastating stroke, watching your face fall open as you took him again. “Every time you sit here, you are going to remember this.” You gripped his shirt. “So will you.” His eyes flared. “I remember everything with you.” 

Then he stopped talking because the rhythm turned too deep for language. The desk shifted under you with each thrust, the monitors trembling slightly beside your shoulder, cables pulling taut somewhere beneath the surface. Jungkook braced one hand flat beside your head and used the other to hold your hip, not letting you slide too far back, not letting the edge bite into you. He fucked you harder now, rougher than he had let himself be on the floor, because you were holding him tighter and your hips meeting him like you wanted every careful piece of restraint to snap. “Still okay?” he forced out. Your answer came out as a moan. His hand tightened on your hip. “Yes. Jungkook, yes.” “Fuck, honey,” he breathed, and the praise sounded like it hurt him. “Fuck, you are so good for me like this. So good taking me like you were made to make me lose my mind.” The words went through you. So did the next thrust. You arched into him, and he caught you immediately, arm sliding behind your back to hold you up against him. For a few frantic seconds, you were not lying back anymore. You were pressed chest to chest, seated on the desk with him buried deep inside you and his mouth at your throat, both of you moving in short, desperate motions because there was not enough room and too much need. The lack of space made it worse. Better. Your legs locked around his waist again, heels digging into him, refusing to let him pull back too far. Jungkook groaned into your throat. “You keep doing that.” “What?” “Pulling me back in.” “I need you close.”

His rhythm faltered again. Completely. One moan from you, one confession, and the man who made a living out of control forgot how to move. He dropped his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his cock buried deep inside you and still as if he needed one second not to come apart too soon. “You cannot say things like that when I am inside you,” he said, voice nearly ruined. “Why?” His laugh was breathless and obscene. “Because I am trying very hard not to embarrass myself.” You kissed him, slow and filthy, then whispered against his mouth, “Then stop trying.” The sound he made was not human. 

After that, he gave up on pretending he could be composed. He fucked you like the room had disappeared, like the desk beneath you was not a work surface but a confession, like every note you had ever given him had led to this exact moment. His mouth kept finding yours, then your neck, then your shoulder. His hands kept shifting, one gripping your hip, one holding your back, one sliding to your thigh to keep you open for him. He cursed when your pussy tightened around him. He cursed when you moaned his name. He cursed when your nails dragged into his hair and pulled his mouth back to yours. “This is what you wanted?” he muttered. “Me like this? No camera. No distance. No pretty version you can pause when it gets too real?” “Yes.” “Say it again.” “I want you like this.” “Fuck.” His hips stuttered.

You pulled his face back to yours. “I want you to cum inside me.”  Jungkook went still for half a second like his body had forgotten how to survive the sentence. Then his face changed. “Do not say that because it sounds hot.” “I want it.” His throat worked. “Look at me when you choose it.” You did. His control died in pieces after that. He fucked you harder, still watching you, still careful with the edge of the desk, gone and almost furious with the pleasure of being allowed. “I am going to fill you because you asked me to,” he said against your mouth, voice ruined and filthy. “Because you wanted me this deep. Because my calm little menace behind the monitors is not so calm now, is she? Look at you. Wrapping your legs around me like you are scared I will pull away. I am not pulling away, baby. Not when you are taking me like this. Not when you are looking at me like you want every inch of my cock inside you. You want it? You want my cum that deep? Then keep your eyes on me and take it.”

Your climax hit hard enough to tear sound from your throat. Jungkook lost his rhythm the second he felt it, his hips stuttering rough and uneven, his mouth falling open against yours as if your pleasure had dragged him with it before he was ready. “That is it,” he rasped against your lips. “That is it, baby. Let me feel it. Fuck, you feel too good. You feel too good when you cum for me.”  His followed almost immediately. His mouth opened against your shoulder, body shuddering hard as he came inside you with a curse that sounded like it had been dragged from somewhere private. He held you so tightly through it that you could feel the tremor in his arms, the loss of rhythm, the final helpless push of his hips as he buried himself deep and stayed there. 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Jungkook stayed there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand still cupping the back of your head, the other spread wide over your hip like he was afraid the desk might take something from you if he stopped paying attention. His breathing was ruined. So was yours. Then Jungkook lifted his head. His eyes went to your face first. 

“You okay?” 

You nodded, too dazed to speak. His brows pulled together. 

“Say it for me.” 

“I am okay.” 

He exhaled, then looked down at the monitor desk. “Desk is still fucked.” 

You laughed weakly, and that seemed to settle something in him. He helped you down carefully, muttering about your legs like the problem was gravity and not him. When your knees trembled, he caught your waist immediately. 

“Yeah, no. You are not walking out looking like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I just fucked you on the monitor desk.” 

“You did.” 

“Exactly. That is the issue.” 

In his dressing room, he cleaned you up with a level of focus that made your chest ache. He gave you water. His hoodie. Space when your hands shook. His mouth stayed crude because he was Jungkook, but his hands were careful enough to hurt. 

“Put this on,” he said, pushing the hoodie toward you. “I am preventing a crime scene.” 

“A crime scene?” 

“You walking out with my cum between your thighs and that face.” 

Your face burned. He looked proud for half a second, then serious. 

“Still okay with it?” 

You looked at him. “With what?” 

“All of it. Raw. The desk. Me finishing inside. Do not pretend with me if that changes.” 

Your throat tightened. “I am still okay.” 

His shoulders loosened. “Good.” 

For a few minutes, the room held the quiet of something that had been split open and survived. Jungkook stood close, not touching too much, not crowding, but staying near enough that you knew he was there. He kept pretending to be busy with water, tissues, your clothes, the hoodie, anything that allowed him to care for you without standing still under the weight of it. You watched him because you could not help it. He moved like a man who had just crossed a line and was checking every inch of the ground behind him to make sure he had not hurt you on the way. 

When he finally looked at you properly, the crude mask came back crooked and late. 

“What?” he asked. 

“You are hovering.” 

“I am supervising the aftermath of your terrible choices.” 

“My choices?” 

“You asked to be fucked hard and raw on a monitor desk.” 

“You agreed.” 

“I am a weak man.” 

“You are many things.” 

He huffed, but his eyes were soft. You reached for his hand, and he gave it to you immediately, like the motion had become instinct. Your thumb moved over his knuckles once. He watched it, breathing a little easier with every circle. 

“What are we doing?” he asked eventually. 

The question sat between you, heavier than the heat had been. 

You brushed damp hair back from his forehead. “What do you want us to be?” 

Jungkook looked like he hated you for asking so gently. 

“I do not know how to say it without sounding like an idiot.” 

“That has never stopped you before.” 

His mouth twitched. Then fell. 

“I want it named,” he said. 

Your heart softened. 

“I want you to be mine in a way people understand when I stand next to you. I want to be yours in a way that does not make me sound like a fucking teenager with a playlist and a personality disorder.” 

You bit back a smile. 

He glared. “Do not.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am listening.” 

His throat moved. “I want to be your boyfriend.” 

The last word came out like he was waiting for it to be mocked. You did not mock it. You touched his face. 

“Then be my boyfriend,” you said. 

Jungkook went quiet. Too quiet. For a moment, the crude man, the performer, the menace, the man who could make a whole room bend around his mouth, simply stared at you. You let the yes settle there, let him understand he had asked for something soft and had been allowed to keep it. 

“You are more than a pretty face,” you said. “I will help you understand that.” 

Panic crossed his face in the form of a terrible smile. 

“Is my dick game so good you are muttering nonsense?” 

You looked at him. He looked back. The smile faltered. 

“You are more than a pretty face,” you repeated. 

His eyes changed. 

“I mean it.” 

He swallowed. 

“I know,” he said, so softly you almost did not hear it. 

By the end of the week, Jimin was removed from the schedule entirely. No reassignment. No polite reshuffle. He was gone from the set, and nobody said his name again unless they had to. 

A few days later, it rained all day, and the studio heating had become temperamental enough that everyone complained. Jungkook had finished a late shoot, showered in his dressing room, and told you he would take you home after he changed. You were cold, tired, and wearing his hoodie because he had thrown it at you earlier with a grunt and no explanation. You waited on his vanity because the chair had clothes on it, the sofa had towels on it, and the vanity was closest to the heater. 

Jungkook came out of the bathroom with damp hair, black joggers low on his hips, towel in his hand. Then he stopped. You looked up from your phone. 

“What?” 

His eyes moved over you. His hoodie. His vanity. Your bare legs tucked carefully to the side. Your tired face soft in the dressing room lights. The domestic wrongness of it. The fact that you looked like you belonged there, waiting for him after work as if this ugly little room had become part of your life together. His mouth parted. 

“Jungkook?” 

“I feel a sin coming on,” he said. 

Your lips parted around a smile. “Hmm?” 

“The hoodie stays on.” 

“Come again?” 

His mouth curved. “Oh, I will. Trust me.” 

Then he dropped the towel. That was the only warning. He crossed the room and kissed you so hard you had to grip the edge of the vanity. His hands went to your thighs, pushing them apart as he stepped between them, breathing already ruined. 

“My hoodie,” he muttered against your mouth. “My vanity. My girl sitting here like this and expecting me to drive safely.” 

You made a small sound. He pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“You are cold?” 

“A little.” 

“Keep it on.” 

His hand moved to the drawer where you knew he kept condoms now, because Jungkook had become practical in the least romantic way possible. But before he could open it, you caught his wrist. He looked at you. 

“Can I have you raw again?” 

For one full second, Jungkook stopped functioning. Then he shut the drawer without taking anything out. 

“Baby,” he said, and this time the word was a warning to himself. 

You touched his stomach. “I want it.” 

“You cannot sit on my vanity in my hoodie and ask me that like you want me sane.” 

“I do not need you sane.” 

His eyes went almost black. 

“No, baby. After, I am going to be perfect. Water. Cleaning you up. Driving you home. All of it.” His hands tightened on your thighs. “Right now, hold onto me.” 

The dressing room was different from the floor. The floor had been desperate and symbolic, chosen because it was not the set bed, not a scene, not something anyone else could watch. The vanity was private in a way that felt almost worse. His name on the door. His clothes in the corner. His shower steam still on the mirror. His hoodie on your body. The room smelled like soap, clean skin, and Jungkook losing the last of his common sense.

He kept the hoodie on you.

Of course he did.

The second his hands found the hem and dragged it higher, he made a sound like the sight had personally wronged him. Not because he wanted it off. Because he wanted it ruined by the fact that it was his. His hoodie bunched around your waist, soft fabric pushed up beneath his hands while his mouth found your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, kissing you too hard to be gentle and too carefully to be careless.

“My hoodie,” he muttered against your skin. “My vanity. My girl asking for me raw like she wants me to stay normal.”

You laughed, but it broke into a moan when he hooked one hand under your thigh and pulled you closer to the edge of the vanity. The mirror was cold behind you, and Jungkook noticed before you could. His palm slid behind your back immediately, fingers spreading wide between your spine and the glass, keeping the hard surface from pressing too sharply into you even while his mouth stayed filthy at your neck.

“I am not going to be normal about you tonight,” he said.

“You ever are?”

He bit your shoulder lightly through the hoodie, just enough to make you gasp. “Smart mouth.”

His other hand gripped your hip, rough and possessive, but the roughness never went blind. He kept adjusting you in small, careful movements: your thigh higher against his waist, your back angled away from the mirror, your hand guided to his shoulder when your balance shifted. He looked half feral, hair damp, eyes dark, mouth swollen from kissing you, but every instinct in him still knew where the edge of the vanity was. Where your body needed support. Where the mirror might bruise. Where his hand had to go before the rest of him lost control.

“Hold onto me,” he said, voice low.

“I am.”

“No.” His hand tightened on your thigh. “Properly. If your legs go, I catch you, but I want your hands on me.”

So you put your arms around his shoulders, fingers sliding into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and the way his eyes changed almost made you feel powerful enough to be cruel. Jungkook kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, his hands gripping you like he was trying to keep the whole room from stealing the moment. When he pushed inside you, it was not slow the way the floor had been. It was desperate, a little rougher, his body remembering what it felt like to be wanted by you and losing patience with the memory. Still, he watched your face. Still, he stopped halfway with a curse trapped behind his teeth.

“Okay?”

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes.”

His jaw flexed. “Do not give me the polite answer.”

“I want you.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I am okay,” you said, softer. “And I want you.”

That did something to him. His forehead dropped to yours for one breath, like he needed to gather the last thread of himself, and then he pushed deeper, filling the space between you with a rough sound that made your stomach twist. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels pressing into his back to keep him close, and Jungkook lost the rhythm before he even found it properly.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You keep doing that.”

“What?”

“Pulling me in like you cannot stand me leaving.” His mouth brushed yours, almost angry with tenderness. “You are going to make me useless.”

“You already said that once.”

“I am worse now.”

He moved then, and the vanity became something else. Not furniture. Not a place where he checked his face before stepping back into the version of himself everyone watched. It became yours. His hands, your thighs, the hoodie caught between you, the mirror fogged behind your shoulder, the little bottles on the surface trembling every time his hips drove into yours. He fucked you with the hoodie bunched around your waist and his mouth pressed against your throat, filthy and half out of his mind, saying things that sounded like complaints and devotion at the same time.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Sitting on my vanity in my clothes, asking for me like this. Do you know what you do to me?”

You moaned instead of answering.

His rhythm faltered.

There it was again. That break in him. That proof that your pleasure did not flatter him; it undid him. His hand slammed down beside your hip to steady himself, not you, and he laughed once, rough and breathless, like he hated that you had caught him losing control.

“No,” he said, eyes lifting to yours. “Make that sound again.”

“Jungkook.”

“Do it.” His mouth dragged over your jaw. “Let me hear what my girl sounds like when she stops pretending she is calm.”

The words went through you. So did the next thrust. Your head tipped back against the mirror, but his hand was already there, cushioning you before glass could meet bone. He was feral, but not gone from you. Never gone where it mattered. One hand behind your back. One glance at your face every time he moved deeper. One low command to hold his shoulders when your balance slipped. His care stayed hidden in the roughness like a secret he did not know how to say nicely.

“More,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened. “More what?”

“Deeper.”

Jungkook’s mouth parted. For a second, he looked ruined by the word. Then he gripped your thigh higher, opened the angle, and gave you exactly what you asked for. The next push made the vanity knock softly against the wall, and he caught your mouth with his, his cock pushing deeper with every thrust.

“Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“Like that. Please..”

The please nearly ended him again. You felt it in the way his rhythm stumbled, in the rough exhale against your mouth, in the hand that gripped your hip harder before immediately easing like he had remembered to be careful. He kissed you again, slower for half a second, almost helpless, then buried his face in your neck and started moving with a hunger that made your pussy clench around his cock with want.

“This is what you wanted?” he said against your throat. “Me in my dressing room, my hoodie on you, my hands all over you, no one watching, no one calling cut?”

“Yes.”

“You wanted me to fuck you here?”

“Yes.”

“Raw again?”

Your legs tightened around him. “Yes.”

He groaned like the answer had hurt him. “Jesus Christ. You say yes like that and expect me to survive?”

“You are doing fine.”

“I am absolutely not doing fine.” He dragged his mouth back to yours. “I am going to think about this every time I walk in here. Every time I see that mirror. Every time I put that hoodie on and remember you wearing it while taking me like you were trying to ruin my career.”

“You are dramatic.”

“I am fucking you on my vanity. I am allowed to be dramatic.”

You laughed, and the laugh broke apart when he changed the angle again, deeper and rougher, his hand sliding between you to find your clit. The mirror fogged more behind you. His breathing turned ragged. Yours was worse. He kept his eyes on your face like he could not bear to miss a second of what he was doing to you, and every time you moaned, every time your fingers tightened in his hair or your legs pulled him closer, his rhythm went uneven.

“That is it,” he rasped. “That is what I wanted. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how pretty you look like this.”

“Jungkook..”

“I know.” His voice broke around the words. “I know. I have you.”

He did. That was the dangerous part. He had you against the vanity, in his hoodie, wrapped around him like you were trying to keep him there, and still he was the one checking the mirror behind you, the edge beneath you, the placement of your hands. Still he was the one catching you every time pleasure made your body slip. Still he was the one kissing your temple between filthy words, as if the tenderness had nowhere else to go.

When you came, it hit you hard enough that your hands tightened in his hair and your legs locked around his waist. Jungkook lost his rhythm completely. His hips stuttered, mouth falling open against your shoulder, the rough confidence breaking into something almost helpless.

“That is it,” he said, voice wrecked. “Let me feel it. Fuck, let me feel what I do to you.”

He followed you over the edge almost immediately, burying his face against your neck and swearing like the pleasure had offended him. His body shuddered hard against yours, one hand still behind your back, the other gripping your thigh, holding you close as he finished inside you with a final broken sound he could not turn into a joke.

Afterward, he did not move right away. He stayed pressed to you, breathing hard into your neck, the hoodie still bunched between you, his hand still protecting your spine from the mirror. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and looked at your face first.

“Okay?”

You nodded, still trying to remember how language worked.

His eyes narrowed. “Words, menace.”

“I am okay.”

“Still okay with raw?”

“Yes.”

“Still okay with me finishing inside?”

Your face warmed. “Yes.”

His expression softened in a way he would probably deny under oath. “Good.”

Afterward, he was exactly what he had promised. Perfect, in the worst Jungkook way. He cleaned you up. Gave you water. Made you sit until your legs settled. Fixed the hoodie over your thighs and glared at the door as if anyone might dare enter his dressing room and see you soft.

“You are going home fed, warm, and full of me,” he said. “That is the plan now.”

You looked at him, dazed and warm and still sitting on his vanity like your body had forgotten how to belong to gravity. Jungkook looked back at you. His face shifted then, hunger giving way to panic, panic giving way to something almost tender. 

“What?” you asked. 

He looked away first. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “We need to go on a date.” 

That was how Jungkook asked you properly. Not with flowers. Not with poetry. With rain against the window, his hoodie on your body, and his panic badly disguised as a practical decision. 

The date was arranged for the next evening. Jungkook arrived dressed like a threat who had been forced into elegance under protest. Dark suit. Black shirt. Rings. Earrings. Tattoos disappearing beneath expensive fabric. Hair styled but still touchable, which felt unfair to everyone with a pulse. When he saw you, he stopped dead on the pavement. You were in black too, legs in sheer tights, coat soft over your shoulders, silver bag catching the light. You watched his mouth part slightly. 

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he said. “Are you the dinner itself?” 

You choked on a laugh. “Thank you, I guess?” 

He looked offended. “That was a compliment.” 

“That was a medical emergency.” 

“You look good enough to make a man religious.” 

“You?” 

“I said a man. I am a separate problem.” 

The restaurant was quiet and expensive enough to make Jungkook look suspicious of the cutlery. He pulled your chair out with the stiff concentration of someone trying very hard not to mess up a normal thing. All through dinner, he looked at you with a question he refused to say out loud. Am I doing it right? You answered by staying. By laughing when his commentary got too strange. By touching his hand when he started doubting himself. By rubbing circles with your thumb across his knuckles the way he once had on your thigh under that terrible studio dinner table. His gaze dropped to your thumb. Then softened. 

“You do that on purpose,” he said. 

“Yes.” 

“Manipulative.” 

“Grounding.” 

“Same thing if you are good at it.” 

You smiled. “You do not need to keep asking if I like it.” 

“I have not asked in at least seven minutes.” 

“Jungkook.” 

He looked up. 

“If something is wrong, I will tell you. You do not need to search my face every few minutes like I am about to hand you a performance review.” 

“You love performance reviews.” 

“I love communication.” 

“Filthy word.” 

“If this is going to work,” you said, “we need it.” 

His expression sobered. You kept your thumb moving over his hand. 

“I do not need you to be the perfect boyfriend.” 

He looked away first. 

“I need you to be there.” 

For a while, Jungkook said nothing. Then he cleared his throat and ruined the feeling badly enough to save himself. 

“I can be there. I am very hard to miss.” 

You laughed. He looked relieved. The rest of dinner became easier. He told you about food he loved, food he hated, the gym equipment in his place, the fact that he exercised at home because public gyms made people too confident with their eyes. He talked about music, about vinyl, about the way certain songs sounded better in the rain. He admitted he owned more books than people expected and glared when you looked too pleased. But he asked about you too. Not all at once. Not smoothly. Jungkook asked questions like he was trying to break into a house without leaving fingerprints. 

“What do you do when you are alone?” he asked eventually. 

You looked up from your plate. “That sounds ominous.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Read. Sometimes. Watch terrible shows when my brain is dead. Clean when I am stressed.” 

His eyes narrowed. “You clean when stressed?” 

“Yes.” 

“Terrifying.” 

“I also rearrange bookshelves.” 

“You are worse than me.” 

“You have an emotional support fridge full of food.” 

His mouth parted. “You do not know that yet.” 

“I know enough.” 

He looked almost pleased that you had guessed there was something ridiculous waiting in his private life. 

“I bought this book ages ago,” he told you later, “and I have not had the chance to read. If it is good, I will give it to you so we can share thoughts.” 

You blinked. “You can read?” 

“Oh, fuck you, that is not funny.” 

He looked down, suddenly shy, and smiled. Not his usual smile. Not the crooked one, not the dangerous one, not the one he used to make people feel chosen and stupid. A real one. Warm. Bright. Almost boyish. Your heart skipped so hard it felt embarrassing. He noticed you staring and immediately scowled. 

“Do not.” 

“I did not say anything.” 

“Your face is loud.” 

“You have a beautiful smile.” 

Jungkook stared at you like you had slapped him with kindness. Then he reached for his drink. 

“That was unnecessary.” 

“It was true.” 

“Worse.” 

After dinner, he asked you back to his place like he was asking whether you wanted to step into a weather system. 

“You can say no,” he said immediately. 

“I know.” 

“I am not asking only because I want you in my bed.” 

“I know.” 

“I just—” He stopped, jaw working. “I want you to see it.” 

His home. His real life. The place with no cameras, no monitors, no crew, no Namjoon calling for another take. The place Jungkook existed when no one was being paid to watch him. You said yes. 

His apartment was private in a way that felt intentional. Stylish, clean, controlled. Dark furniture. Warm lighting. A security system so expensive-looking you stopped in the entryway and stared. Jungkook followed your gaze. 

“Super fans,” he said. 

Your expression changed. 

He shrugged too casually. “People are weird.” 

“People tried to get in?” 

“Once.” 

“Jungkook.” 

“Twice if you count the one who sent locksmith tools in a gift box.” 

Your stomach turned. He looked away. 

“It is fine. The system works.” 

You understood then that his privacy was not decoration. It was armour. But then he kept talking. That was the surprising part. Jungkook, who guarded softness like state secrets, began showing you pieces of himself as if he had been waiting for someone to ask without making him feel foolish. Pictures came first, though he pretended they were nothing. Best friends in frames near the shelf, all of them younger and louder in frozen moments. He rolled his eyes as he explained one photo, but his voice softened at the edges. Then books with worn spines. CDs stacked with more care than he wanted to admit. Vinyls arranged in a way that looked casual until he corrected the angle of one sleeve with two fingers. He showed you the record player and touched the lid like it mattered. The gym equipment was in another room, neat and disciplined, not vanity exactly. Routine. Control. A place to put the restlessness people assumed was arrogance. Then the kitchen. A huge fridge that looked like it belonged to a family of six or a man with a deeply emotional relationship to food. 

He showed you things too quickly at first. Almost nervously. Like he was laying cards on a table and hoping one of them made sense to you. 

“This is stupid,” he muttered after explaining the order of his vinyls. 

“No.” 

“You look like you are taking notes.” 

“I am.” 

“On my apartment?” 

“On you.” 

That shut him up. His face changed, just a little. Then he opened the fridge like the appliance could save him. You stared. 

“Banana milk?” you asked. “Really?” 

Jungkook looked offended. “Would whiskey be more mature? It fuckin’ tastes great.” 

“I believe you.” 

“No, no.” He reached in and pulled one out. “You will drink one now. Do not underestimate the power of banana milk.” 

“I did not know you felt so strongly about it. My apologies.” 

“I can take criticism about my performance skills but not about banana milk.” 

“Oh, is this where you draw the line?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

He shoved the banana milk toward your face. You took it, laughing, and looked into the fridge again. Banana milk. Soju. Beer. More banana milk. 

“I hope to God you never mixed those to figure out if they taste good together.” 

Jungkook’s eyes went bigger. Your mouth fell open. 

“Jungkook. I cannot believe you.” 

“I do not care,” he said. “It tasted good.” 

“You are a menace.” 

“You are drinking it.” 

You drank it. It was good. You refused to say so immediately because he looked far too ready to be unbearable. The banana milk broke something open in the apartment. Not dramatically. Softly. Suddenly the guarded place felt lived-in. Warm. Ridiculous. His. 

He showed you the vinyls next. 

“I like listening to music to relax,” he said. 

“With a nice banana milk in one hand?” 

His eyes narrowed. “That is low even for you, you little demon.” 

You smiled. He played a record. The room changed around it. Sound filled the corners gently. Rain had started somewhere beyond the glass, tapping faintly against the windows. Jungkook stood near the window, arms folded, looking out. 

“When it is raining,” he said, “I sit by the window and look at the street. It is calming.” 

You stepped beside him. 

“So do I.” 

He looked at you then. Not surprised exactly. Relieved. The two of you stood there while rain moved down the glass and the music turned his apartment into something softer than either of you knew what to do with. Later, you sat close on the sofa. Then closer. Talking quietly about nothing and everything until tiredness settled over the room. Jungkook became awkwardly careful the longer the night stretched on, as if touching you was easier than asking whether you wanted to sleep there. 

You saved him eventually by leaning into him. His arm came around you immediately. The rain continued. The music lowered. At some point, without ceremony, without hunger needing to prove itself, without either of you making a grand decision, you fell asleep in his arms, in his bed. It was the first time you slept beside each other. Not the way the world would have meant it. The real way. Safe. Held. Unperformed. 

When Jungkook woke, he did not move. You were still in his arms, warm and heavy with sleep, one hand curled near his chest. Morning light softened the room. The rain had stopped. The city beyond his window looked washed clean. He stared at you with the softest look his face had ever carried. He had woken beside people before. One-night stands. Mistakes. Bodies he wanted out of his bed before the air became awkward. He knew the morning-after impatience, the silence, the need for distance. This was different. You were not someone to rush out. You were his lover. His girlfriend. The person he wanted closest in the rawest, most truthful way he knew how to survive. 

You shifted slightly. Jungkook stayed still. His thumb moved carefully over your hand, barely there. Like he was testing the reality of you without disturbing it. Your eyes opened slowly. For a moment, you simply looked at him. Then your mouth curved. 

“Good morning, sugar.” 

Jungkook’s expression panicked around the edges. 

“Do not call me that if you want me to function.” 

“You were staring.” 

“I was monitoring a situation.” 

“What situation?” 

“You in my bed looking stupidly pretty. It is annoying.” 

Your heart turned soft. “That was almost sweet.” 

“Take it or leave it.” 

“I will take it.” 

He looked pleased, then annoyed that he looked pleased, and pulled you closer like he was not ready for morning to take you from him. 

Later, in the kitchen, he made breakfast badly. Eggs too dry. Toast too dark. Coffee too strong. He presented everything with the pride of a man who had built a cathedral. 

“You cooked,” you said. 

“Yes.” 

“For me?” 

“No. For the wall. You can have some.” 

You smiled into your coffee. He watched you eat like it mattered. That morning changed him. You could see it happening. Jungkook kept looking around his own apartment as if it had become unfamiliar because you were in it. Your cup near his sink. Your bare feet on his kitchen floor. His shirt on your body. Your hair still marked by sleep. His home no longer looked only private. It looked shared. 

“Can you please stay with me?” he asked. 

The words came out soft. Exposed. Not possessive. Not teasing. Not disguised as filth. Please. You crossed the kitchen and kissed him softly. 

“Just one day?” 

“As long as you wish.” 

His face changed. Before he could drown in it, you tilted your head. 

“Is banana milk going to be involved?” 

He stared. “I told you about all of my favourite things and this is all you remember?” 

You grinned. Jungkook tried to look offended and failed. That was how your first ordinary day together began. 

“We can go to the library,” he offered later, as if listing options from a boyfriend manual he had found in a panic. “Have a walk. Go to the movies. Anything you want.” 

“The library and a walk,” you said. 

His brows lifted. “You are letting me into a library?” 

“You offered.” 

“I am regretting it already.” 

He was fascinated in the library. He tried very hard to behave. That was obvious. He kept his voice low, hands in his pockets, following you between shelves with the quiet concentration of a dangerous man trying not to offend books. You picked up a novel and read the back. Jungkook watched you like the act of choosing a book was somehow intimate. 

Then you glanced at him and asked, very softly, “Have you ever had sex in a library?” 

Jungkook froze. His head turned slowly. 

“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?” 

You pressed your lips together. He looked delighted. Horrified, but delighted. 

“You are a lot worse than you pretend.” 

“You are a bad influence.” 

“I am a public service.” 

After the library, you walked until the afternoon turned gold. His hand found yours naturally. No dramatic gesture. No announcement. Just fingers threading together as if your bodies had learned the rhythm before either of you did. He kept stealing looks at you. 

“What?” you asked eventually. 

“Nothing.” 

“You have a face.” 

“Everyone has a face.” 

“Yours is doing something.” 

“It is resting.” 

“It is not.” 

He squeezed your hand once. “I am thinking.” 

“Dangerous.” 

“About another book. Another walk. Maybe a movie.” 

Your chest warmed. 

“Maybe cooking,” you said. 

He gave you a look. “Ambitious, considering breakfast.” 

“You need practice.” 

“I need supervision.” 

“You respond well to direction.” 

His mouth curved. “Only from very annoying women.” 

That day taught Jungkook something quietly devastating. Love could be calm. It did not always have to be hunger, jealousy, protection, or intensity. It could be books. Walking. A stupid joke in a library. Your hand in his. Plans that did not need to be dramatic to feel important. Being a boyfriend was something he could learn. Not by being perfect. By showing up. Jungkook had never been good in the clean, polished way people liked to praise. He was not gentle by nature. He was not sweet in public. He was not easy. But walking beside you, hand warm around yours, he started to understand there was another kind of good. Being good to someone. Trying. Returning. Staying. 

You learned something too. The ordinary Jungkook was dangerous in a different way. The rough version had made you want. The protective version had made you trust. The vulnerable version had made your heart ache. But the ordinary version — the man buying banana milk, smiling shyly over books, holding your hand on a walk, asking whether you wanted movies or music or another day — that version made love feel irreversible. Falling for him was like falling from grace. Not into ruin. Into truth. 

That night, you went back to his place. It no longer felt like crossing a threshold. It felt like returning. The softness of the day followed you inside: the library, the walk, the handholding, the jokes, the little future-shaped plans. It settled around the room with the low light and the sound of Jungkook moving behind you, quieter than usual. In the bedroom, he kissed you like he still wanted you desperately, but something in him had changed. He did not rush as quickly. Did not reach first for the version of himself he knew how to offer. 

You touched his face. He looked at you, and for once, he stayed. 

“Let me love you,” you said. 

Jungkook went quiet. 

The line hit him harder than any filthy thing you could have said. You watched him struggle with it. Watched the crude comeback rise and die behind his eyes. Watched him realize that being loved without performing was more exposing than being wanted. Then he nodded. Barely. But he nodded. 

So you loved him carefully. Not coldly. Not timidly. Carefully. You kissed him until his shoulders lowered. Until the hard, defensive line of his mouth softened against yours. Until the hands that had grabbed and steadied and protected you all day began to tremble because there was nothing left for them to fight. He tried to rush when the softness became too much. You felt it. The old instinct. The need to make intensity cover vulnerability. The moment his body wanted to turn tenderness into something he knew how to survive. 

You slowed him with a hand on his chest. 

“Slow down,” you whispered. “Breathe, baby.” 

His breath shook. 

“I am breathing.” 

“No, you are arguing with oxygen.” 

A startled laugh broke out of him. There. You smiled against his mouth. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, something in him had given way. You guided his hands. 

“Touch me here.” 

His eyes darkened, but he listened. Not performatively. Not like he was following a cue. Like he trusted you to bring him somewhere he had never been. When he looked away, overwhelmed by how gentle it felt, you caught his jaw softly. 

“Keep your eyes on me, please.” 

Jungkook closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them. You could see him clearly now. Not the performance. Not the fantasy. Not the man everyone watched and praised for knowing how to look like he belonged in desire. Him. Exposed. Safe. Loved. 

He had never made love before. Not like this. He had been close to bodies. He had been wanted, watched, used as a fantasy, praised for intimacy performed beneath lights. But he had never felt this close to someone. Never felt softness hold so much want. Never felt care move through desire without making either smaller. 

“Come closer,” he said. 

His voice was rough. The words were not only physical. You understood. You came closer. Something in him broke open with relief. The bedroom became slower than the studio had ever allowed. No one telling him when to start. No one asking him to look good. No one waiting for a finished scene. He did not have to angle his face or make his body beautiful. He did not have to become the fantasy. Every time he tried, you brought him back with your hands, your mouth, his name. Jungkook. Not the performer. Not the body. Not the bad boy people watched and wanted and misunderstood. Jungkook. 

He let himself need you then. Not desperately. Honestly. He stopped trying to impress you. Stopped proving. Let your touch, your voice, your patience teach him that love could be felt in the body as warmth, calm, safety, being held. He loved how it felt. It was hypnotic. He pressed closer, breathing your name like it was the only clean thing left in him. His mouth was still vulgar when he lost control of it, still broken around curses and praise and helpless little sounds he seemed embarrassed by until you kissed them out of him. But the filth was different here. It did not hide him. It revealed him. 

“You are doing so well,” you whispered, holding him close. “My baby. My sweet Kookie.” 

Jungkook stilled. 

The name moved through him like light hitting a locked room. Kookie. No one had ever made him sound that soft before. His face changed in a way that made your own chest hurt. Exposed, cherished, embarrassed, loved. Like you had found the softest version of him and decided to keep it. He pulled you into a kiss. Not because he had words. Because he did not. The kiss was his answer to the tenderness. Instinctive. Overwhelmed. Full of something he had never felt before and did not know how to hold except by bringing you closer. 

Afterward, he was quiet for a long time. Not asleep. Not gone. Just full. His arms held you with a care that made silence feel like speech. Love had reached a place performance never could, and he seemed almost afraid to disturb it with his mouth. When words finally came back, they came rough. 

“You are unreal,” he said. 

You smiled faintly. “That sounds like performance praise.” 

His eyes sharpened. “No.” 

The single word stopped you. He touched your cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

“Not that.” 

You looked at him. He swallowed. 

“I mean I do not understand how anyone ever got near you and did not see it.” 

Your throat tightened. He looked almost angry at the thought. Softly angry. Protective. 

“You have been sitting there seeing everything in me,” he said. “Dragging truth out of me like it owed you money. And I—” He stopped, frustrated with the size of feeling. “I do not think anyone has looked at you properly.” 

You let yourself receive it. That was important too. You did not dismiss him. Did not joke too quickly. You touched his hair, pressed your lips to his temple, and let his softness stay in the room with you. 

“I hear you,” you said. 

His eyes closed. 

“You are safe with me like this too.” 

Jungkook forgot how to breathe. He hid his face against your shoulder. 

“Dangerous thing to say to a man in recovery from emotional stability,” he muttered. 

You laughed softly. There he was again. Yours. 

That night changed the shape of his filth. It did not make him cleaner, gentler, or less impossible. If anything, it made him worse, because now every crude thing he said came with the knowledge that he would hold you afterward, feed you afterward, kiss your temple afterward like tenderness was no longer something he needed to hide.

After that, love followed you back into work. Not loudly at first. Jungkook was still vulgar, rude, allergic to behaving like a normal man, and deeply committed to saying things that made you want to throw office supplies at him. But the rhythm changed. He stood closer. Looked softer when he thought no one useful was watching. Respected your notes without turning them into combat. When you were serious, your word became final.

The work did not magically become easy just because you loved each other. Jungkook was still a performer. Bodies still moved under lights. Scenes still needed blocking, notes, resets, professionalism. The difference was that he no longer used the work to hide from you, and you no longer confused the performance with the man who came home to you afterward.

On set, you watched with a director’s eye. You corrected angles, rhythm, eyelines, false notes. You did not mistake choreography for intimacy, and Jungkook never made you pay for understanding the difference. He did not look at you to provoke jealousy. He did not turn co-stars into weapons. When you were serious, he listened. When the cameras rolled, he worked. When they stopped, his eyes found yours with a quietness that belonged to no one else.

One afternoon, after his scene wrapped and he had showered, he came up behind you near the monitors and wrapped both arms around your waist without thinking. The room went quiet. Jungkook looked up. Three crew members were staring. 

“The fuck are you looking at?” he snapped. “Like you lot did not figure it out a month ago.” 

The room immediately found other business. 

You turned in his arms, laughing. “You are impossible.” 

“I am efficient.” 

“You just announced us by insulting the crew.” 

“They looked nosy.” 

“They were nosy because you hugged me at work.” 

“You looked huggable at work.” 

You stared at him. He frowned. 

“Do not make that face.” 

“What face?” 

“The one that means you think I am cute.” 

“You are cute.” 

“I am going to walk into traffic.” 

But he kissed your forehead before letting go. The private jokes became worse after that. One day, while he stood too close to you by the monitors, you tilted your head. 

“Does anyone here know about your banana milk obsession?” 

Jungkook’s face changed immediately. 

“Don’t,” he said softly. 

Your eyes widened. “Oh. So nobody knows.” 

His mouth lowered to your ear. “Say anything and the desk will be my martyr.” 

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. He narrowed his eyes. 

“You are a lot more like me than you would like to admit.” 

“Well, nobody is perfect.” 

“That is harsh.” 

“Enough flirting from you today, honey.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

He still flirted. Still teased. Still found ways to be inappropriate in a room with expensive equipment. But he no longer undermined you. Never again. The thing he had once challenged in you — your authority, your professionalism, your standards — became something he protected. And he learned when to stop. That mattered most. A hand at your waist when the room was light. A dirty whisper when no one could hear. A look across set that promised too much and gave away nothing. But when you were directing, when your voice shifted, when your attention went back to the work, Jungkook let you go. Not emotionally. Never that. But physically. Publicly. Professionally. He gave you space because he loved you, not because he wanted credit for respecting you. 

Then, gradually and all at once, you became the director. 

It happened through work first. A schedule changed and Namjoon asked what you thought before approving it. A performer requested you specifically because your notes made scenes easier to understand. A difficult shoot almost collapsed under tension, and you fixed it with three calm instructions and a look that made the room remember who was in charge. Your name started appearing higher on documents. Then at the top. Then people stopped asking whether Namjoon approved before they listened to you. 

One afternoon, a performer tried to argue around your note instead of with it. Not rudely enough for a confrontation. Just enough to test whether your authority had weight when Namjoon was not standing close. You let him finish. Then you stepped to the monitor, rewound the take, and showed him exactly where the scene broke. 

“Here,” you said. “You are trying to look dominant instead of being present. The line does not need more force. It needs control. Do less with your face. Let the silence do the work.” 

The performer blinked. Namjoon, behind you, did not add anything. He did not need to. The performer went back to his mark and did exactly what you said. The scene worked. Across the room, Jungkook watched you with a stillness that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with pride. The title caught up with the work. 

Jungkook was unbearable about it. Not at work. At work, he respected you. That was the thing people never understood about him. Jungkook was allergic to behaving like a normal man, but when it mattered, he knew where the line was. On set, you were the director. His boss. The person whose call shaped the room. He argued when the work needed argument. He listened when the note was right. He did not undermine you. He did not turn your relationship into a joke for the crew. 

If anyone tried to talk over you, he did not take your voice. He cleared space for it. 

“She is directing,” he said once, mild enough that nobody could call it possessive and cold enough that nobody tested it again. 

Across the set, you met his eyes. He looked proud. No joke. No performance for a second. Just quiet pride that you had become who you were always becoming. Then, when the scene wrapped and you walked past him, he leaned close enough to murmur, “Director looks good on you.” 

You did not look at him. “Behave.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

At home, however, he complained like it was his civic duty. 

“If I had known making you director would get me overworked and underfucked,” he said one night, watching you collapse face-first onto his sofa, “I would have filed a formal complaint.” 

You groaned into the cushion. “You did not make me director.” 

“I contributed morally.” 

“You contributed stress.” 

“And inspiration.” 

“You are a disease.” 

He came over and sat on the edge of the sofa. You were too tired to move. His hand touched your back, warm and careful. 

“Too tired?” 

You turned your face enough to look at him. “Yes.” 

Something softened in him immediately. 

“Bath, then.” 

“Jungkook—” 

“No sex. Bath.” 

Your heart squeezed. He stood, already heading toward the bathroom. 

“You get to be boss at work. I get to be boss of making sure you do not die on my sofa.” 

“That is not sexy.” 

“I am very sexy when I am preventing collapse.” 

He ran the bath. Lit candles badly and too many of them. Made dinner that was only slightly better than his early attempts. Fed you on the sofa because you were too tired to sit at the table. Put you in his shirt. Got you into bed. Did not touch you for anything more than warmth. Jungkook wanted your desire, not your obligation. That was how you knew he had changed. 

Not because he became good in the way people meant when they said good. Jungkook would never be clean enough for that word. He was still crude. Still jealous sometimes. Still complained when you scheduled him for early call times. Still told you the new male performers needed “less hair gel and more personality.” Still kissed you in corridors when he thought no one useful was watching. But he came home. He stayed. He learned the shape of care and wore it badly but sincerely. And when you did want him, he still loved you with the same rude mouth and careful hands, sometimes soft enough to make you cry, sometimes rough enough to leave you breathless and laughing into his shoulder afterward. The difference was that nothing felt performed anymore. Not with him. Not at home. Not in the bed that had become yours as much as his. 

The almost-confession happened three times before the real one. Once in the kitchen, when you were wearing his shirt and trying to fix his coffee because his version tasted like punishment. He looked at you, hair messy, face soft, and said, “I love—” before turning it into, “I love when you act like my coffee is a human rights violation.” 

“It is.” 

“You wound me.” 

“You need wounding.” 

Once at work, after you corrected a difficult scene so perfectly that the whole room shifted around your direction, he stared at you afterward and said, “I love—” then panicked and added, “I love when Namjoon pretends he understands camera language.” 

Namjoon, from across the room, said, “I heard that.” 

“Good,” Jungkook said. “Grow from it.” 

And once during a quiet film night, when you wore a ridiculous shirt you had bought as a joke. It said: 

DON’T GET HORNY AROUND ME. I’M AN EMPATH. 

Jungkook stared at it for ten full seconds. 

“I hate that.” 

“You love it.” 

“I hate that I love it.” 

You curled into his side on the sofa. Halfway through the film, he looked down at you with that same overwhelmed irritation he got whenever softness ambushed him. 

“I love—” 

You went still. He froze. Then his eyes dropped to your shirt. 

“Your stupid shirt.” 

You slowly turned your face up to him. Jungkook looked away. 

“Do not look at me like you heard the first draft.” 

Your chest ached. “Jungkook.” 

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine.” 

You sat up. He looked physically pained. 

“I love you,” he said. “I am saying it badly because I do not know how to say it nicely without sounding like a man I would bully. But I do. I love you.” 

Your eyes burned. He looked horrified by what he had done. You rescued him with a smile. 

“That was terrible.” 

His head snapped toward you. “Excuse me?” 

“Awful delivery.” 

“I just confessed my feelings, and you are giving me notes?” 

“You usually respond well to direction.” 

His mouth parted, then closed. Then he laughed once, helplessly. You touched his face. 

“I understood you.” 

His expression shifted. “And?” 

“I love you too.” 

Jungkook froze. Completely. You watched the words hit him harder than his own had. Saying it had cost him pride. Hearing it back cost him the last defensive thing he had. He swallowed. 

“Well,” he said, voice rough. “That is inconvenient.” 

You laughed through the emotion in your throat. He looked at your mouth. Then the joke left him. He kissed you softly. No audience. No set. No filth to hide behind. Just Jungkook giving in to being loved. 

One late night, after a long week of directing, you stood in his kitchen wearing one of his shirts while he leaned against the counter and watched you drink water like it was somehow the most important thing happening in the city. 

“You are staring again,” you said. 

“I live here.” 

“That does not explain your eyes.” 

“My eyes can do what they want in my kitchen.” 

You smiled. He looked at you with that familiar mix of hunger, annoyance, and love he still did not know how to carry elegantly. You set the glass down. 

“You ruined me for anyone else — and you know it.” 

Jungkook’s mouth curved. “Good. I worked hard.” 

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, his expression softened. He reached for you and pulled you close. 

“You ruined me too.” 

Your throat tightened. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs moving slowly over the fabric of his shirt on your body. 

Jungkook had never been a good boy. He had been vulgar, impossible, filthy, arrogant, and too proud of the damage his mouth could do. He had made a career out of being watched, desired, used as fantasy, and praised for the performance of intimacy. But you had found the man behind the performance. You had seen his false notes, corrected his lazy ones, dragged truth out of his body through a monitor before he ever knew your name in daylight. You had watched him become real. He had watched you stop hiding. Somewhere between the monitor glow, the empty set floor, the vanity, the real bed, and the quiet kitchen light, he had become more than the bad boy who brought heaven to other people. 

He became yours. 

Your impossible standard. 

Your rude-mouthed caretaker. 

Your bad decision with careful hands. 

Your little piece of paradise. 

Now, you were older, 21 going on 22, and claimed to yourself that those feelings were long gone, especially after you two grew closer as friends and nothing more…but Jungkook was so pretty…So hot.

Who wouldn’t have a crush on him? Sexy body. Jet black hair in wolf cut. Well-structured and pierced face. He was manly, almost bulky, very sexy but had that cute bunny-like innocence that could drive a girl crazy. The tattoos and piercings only added to the fun. It's almost like the older he got, the more attractive of a man he became.

He couldn’t even hug you normally without you being pressed against his warm abs. It wasn't his fault that he was so well built and kissed by the heavens and sun. You liked the feeling of his large, rough tatted hands displayed on your back…And you liked the breeze of his breath on your neck…

Despite finding him hot as fuck, you knew there was some kind of imaginary boundary line that shouldnt be crossed as you and Jungkook were just friends, he was your brother’s bestfriend and Jungkook was 28, nearing his thirties while you were in your early twenties. 

After the night of the clubbing though, things were changed and lines were crossed.

Though your brother initially joined you both on the clubbing, he left early to visit his girlfriend. Since he did know Jungkook for a long time, he trusted him to behave around you and protect you throughout the party. Little did your brother know, Jungkook was rebellious as hell and was going to start something he knew he couldn't finish.

“Jungkook~,”

Slurred a drunk Taehyung with an evil smile. Taehyung was one of Jungkook’s longterm friends, and though he didn’t realize it, he was about to redirect the friendship you and Jungkook had built.

 A simple dare or drink game was being played between you, Jungkook, Taehyung, and a couple of randoms. Jungkook was deliberately trying not to drink on this night because he was more concerned about an important work related project he had the next day. Jungkook knew he needed to be prepared for that, and drinking would be the worse choice.

“I dare you to kiss Y/n. Dare or drink.”

Most of the people in the drinking circle ‘ooh-ed’. They loved to see people kiss for whatever reason. Some people, likely drunk and unable to contain their reaction, ‘ugh-ed’ in jealousy. If your older brother was here, he would have made you leave. But now, he wasn't currently there to play the role of mother.

Jungkook slowly turned his head to stare at you, assessing you up and down. He was so lustfully hot in his black tanktop and those thick biceps, but his eyes were so soft and pure. Damn boba eyes.

His gaze made you squirm in your high seat. Though you came in a fitting red dress that showed skin in a sexy yet comfortable way for the temperature, Jungkook made your body feel so much more heated than it needed to be.

You were worried that he could sense it all; the way your fingers shook, the way your thighs clenched, the way your panties soaked.  You two were still just friends after all, so why did you feel this way?

Luckily, you were also trying your best to stay sober since you also had a similar important project as Jungkook. If you were already drunk, you probably would have said a few things out loud you shouldn't have. 

Jungkook casually shrugged and bit at his lip per-icing out of habit. 

“I mean, I’m down if she’s down.” He said in his deep velvety voice.

You gasped. Did he really just agree? But-

Jungkook raised a thick pierced eyebrow at you in question, giving you room to reject him if you wanted. 

…

After you only nodded, Jungkook’s dark boba eyes widened before schooling back to his handsome poker face. He twirled at his black hoop ear-ring to think about something. Clearly, he didn't think long and hard about the "kissing as friends" thing.

Your breath hitched, and your pulse quickened as he slowly approached you. Like a tattooed snake surrounding their prey, Jungkook pushed himself up from his seat, circled around to be behind you and whispered low in your ear so that the others watching couldn’t hear. His tattooed arm gripped your shoulder, but it wasn’t control, it was grounding. 

“We could fake a kiss if you’re uncomfortable.”

….

“I want to kiss you.”

"Very well then."

Then with the blink of an eye, he grabbed your arms, spun you around on your high chair to face him, and he devoured you like he was starving for centuries. The people around watched in curiosity and confusion, but nothing else mattered except for you and him, Jungkook. 

When his lips crashed into yours, for a moment you could only feel his long, slimy tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His cold lip per-icing pressing against your lips, so you impulsively licked the metal and closed your eyes in pleasure once he slurped your tongue back into his mouth, demanding more.

He let out a soft moan and resisted the urge to grind against your chair like a bunny in heat. The sound he made was rough and deep, but you loved the manly vibrations that came with it. 

This passionate makeout went on for a long 10 seconds before you both decided to catch your breaths, hearts racing n all, saliva connected from both mouths. 

You could still taste the aftertaste of his tongue. Something sweet and lip ring metal still on the tip of your tongue.

What you and Jungkook did was not how friends kissed each other, in fact, friends aren't even supposed to kiss. So why in the hell did Jungkook kiss you like that? He kissed you like he was starving, deprived of women's mouths, when in reality, almost everybody wanted him.

Post the tongue sucking Jungkook gave you, you couldn’t help but keep thinking about the way he kissed you. You thought about it so much that your head was spinning, and your body was aching for more of him.

You were basically drunk off of his warm saliva now, constantly thinking back to the way he slid his nasty tongue into your mouth like he owned you, like he wanted to lick more of you, when in reality, you guys were just friends. 

 15 minutes after the Dare or Drink game, it was getting late, so you and Jungkook walked back from the party to the car that night.  He closely followed behind you until you were safely in the car. 

Suddenly, things in the cramped car felt a lot more heated than before. There was not enough room to breathe. You could sense every movement of Jungkook’s large, tatted body like an expensive motion detector. Except a motion detector would alert, you would just grow more wet and your breath would just hitch with every deep breath he took. 

Lord, why did he wear a black tank top and chains today? It was your weakness. You could see every curve of his thick pale biceps and read every tattoo like scripted. You had this urge to kiss all over his flesh and mark his soft skin as yours and- 

Jungkook used his large rough hands to suddenly grab you from your seat and move you on his lap. Now you were straddling him and gazing directly into his boba eyes in this small car. You could feel his hard bulge through his jeans already. From his hardness, flush pierced face and sweaty grip around your waist, Jungkook was feeling the same way you were. The worst part was, you were both sober. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, princess?” He asked with a soft smirk. 

“I- Uh…” You were suddenly nervous under his dazed gaze. Jungkook and you were still at the status of friends, and it would complicate everything if these feelings you both were having were expressed out loud. 

You squirmed frantically to move off him but he raised a pierced eyebrow at your action and slid you harder against him, rough hands now gripping your hips as he used his hand to adjust the seat and lean back in his car seat.

This motion caused a bit of your tight dress to rise and the tips of Jungkook’s ears turned red at the sight. He licked his lips in a needy hunger. 

“I need you, princess.”  He deeply whined, his eyes no longer innocent but more dilated and needy. He looked very drunk despite not consuming any alcohol. 

“B-but Jungkook.” You stuttered nervously. There were so many reasons you two shouldn't hookup. He was not just your much older friend, but he was your older brother’s friend. And Jungkook was your fellow worker. Why hookup with him of all the guys? Why not choose a man closer to your age?

“I dont give a fuck. Just let me fuck you. Now. P-please.”

______________________

You should not have let those big innocent boba eyes fooled you, because the way he fucked you was the complete opposite of gentle and pleading. In fact, he pounded into you like he was eternally pissed at how long your brother kept you guys apart for, making you get fucked cowgirl style.

“Mmm…So warm and wet around me, fuck!-” He gritted through his teeth while thrusting into you with sharper hits. Your thighs were starting to shake around his wide hips in the best way.

Jungkook couldn't hold himself back anymore. He tried to slow down and let you control the pace back during it, but he needed you so bad he couldn't take it.

He hated how much your brother annoyingly cock-blocked him from having you. He hated seeing you during work or during simple hangouts and not be able to fuck you infront of everyone like the world was ending.

You didn't know what to grip on to during this car sex you were having. No matter how quick your breaths were, Jungkook’s thrusts were quicker. And they hit heavy, hard and punishing in the best way, He was so large, girthy and wet, so every pound banged into that spot you so desperately needed him to. Every stretch he gave you felt like a reward. 

If your older brother knew about this whole affair, he'd probably have a stroke, ghost you and kill Jungkook. But maybe Jungkook was growing on you, because you liked the thrill, and you liked the thought of your older brother losing his mind. You were a 21 year old woman now, and you could choose whoever you wanted now.   

You indistinctively gripped onto Jungkook’s wavy thick black hair with both hands and a moan erupted from deep in his chest, sending those same vibrations throughout all of your body just like the kiss. He was quite vocal, it was hard to even think with all the sounds he was making. 

“Fuck, fuck, right there yes. You can take more.” He whimpered, trying to stay quiet in the cramped car but was failing miserably. Both of his hands gripped your waist like you were his life line.

The windows were quickly starting to fog up from the heat you and Jungkook were creating in the cramped car. 

He knew that you were close before you did and demanded that you looked into his eyes during it. You struggled to meet his gaze as you knew what you and him were doing was very scandalous.

Jungkook lowly growled in annoyance and suddenly, his large tattooed hand gripped angrily your chin so you couldn't look away from his dark eyes as he remained deep in you, harshly thrusting up from under.

His pounds were more intentional as he knew exactly how your body worked, and he would feel how your pussy was tightly gripping him, on the verge of release. 

You gasped, almost not being able to feel your legs when the orgasm hit you like a tsunami. You disgustingly squirted all over his tanktop and he only smirked in content. 

He continued to fuck you through it, making you ride him slowly while guiding you with one of his large rough hands. 

You could feel how unbelievably hard he was in you and his eyes kept rolling back like he was going to pathetically pass out. His balls were throbbing as if he was some kind of bomb, ready to explode. 

“P-please, please, fucking please can i cum in?”

You didn’t know why, but maybe to be even more scandalous, you said yes. 

Like a volcano, you felt ropes of hot sticky thick cum fill deep into your insides as his thighs violently shook under you. You almost had a second orgasm at the sight and feeling your brother's best friend just gave you. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He cried out loud before yanking you in for an immediate, wet and sloppy kiss.

You kissed him back and bounced on him seeking more of that friction while he was tongue deep.

“Mmm! So greedy…” He grumbled against your lips with a smile. 

DING. DING. DING- DI- DING

“Shit.” Jungkook suddenly hissed as he pulled away to check the cause of sound. It was no other than your brother freaking out and blowing up Jungkook’s phone. 

“Where are you guys??”

“It's like 2am wtf??”

“Coming rn.” 

“Why are you guys still just in the parking lot???”

“You better not have fucked my sister. Ill kill you.”

Jungkook just chuckled and gave that hungry gaze over to you. You played with his earring because why not. 

 “When he comes, you can show him that you're not drunk.”

But the next morning, he was nowhere to be seen.

When you finally opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight piercing through the cracks of the heavy blackout curtains, the couch beside you was completely empty. You checked your phone—it was god knows what hour of the late morning—and the realization that you were alone in the vast, quiet space hit you like a cold splash of water. The heavy dark duvet was pulled back, the plush pillow still holding the indentation of his head, but Jeongguk was gone.

So naturally, you grew a bit anxious.

A tight, familiar knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you sat up, the silence of the multi-million dollar apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. Your mind instantly began to scramble, racing back through the events of the previous night. You hoped with everything you had that he would just forget what he said last night. You prayed the tequila had completely wiped his memory, that the slurred confessions about true love and people coming up short in comparison to you would just evaporate into the morning air. If he forgot, everything could go back to normal. You could go back to being the constant, unshakeable variable in his life.

But then the darker, terrifying thoughts started to bleed in, turning your anxiety into full-blown panic.

What if he remembered? What if he woke up with a pounding headache and a crystal-clear recollection of every single word that had left his mouth? What if he was so thoroughly mortified, so repulsed by the fact that he had crossed that sacred platonic line and laid his soul bare, that he had physically chosen to flee his own home just to avoid looking you in the eye?

You stood up, your knees slightly shaky, your eyes darting toward the hallway. His bedroom door was still closed, but the heavy silence in the apartment made it feel like he had abandoned the entire place just to escape the mess he’d created in the dark.

That’s when you heard the faucet running.

The sharp, metallic hiss of rushing water cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening just a fraction, only to tighten again with a completely different kind of tension.

With small steps, your feet padding quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you made your way down the hall. Every single breath you took felt like lead, heavy and burning in your chest. You braced yourself for a tense, awkward confrontation, preparing to play off his drunken rambling as a massive joke.

Instead, you rounded the corner and saw him in all his glory, completely naked from the belt up.

The bright morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, hitting the sharp, fiercely toned lines of his back and shoulders as he stood in front of the sink. He had a clean pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing that dark, dangerous happy trail you’d been obsessing over the day before. His skin practically glistened, completely washed clean of the previous night's sweat and alcohol, and his dark, damp hair strands curled slightly around his nape. He was rinsing out a couple of mugs, hands moving with effortless, domestic grace.

As if sensing your presence, Jeongguk turned around.

There was no repulsion on his face. No awkwardness, no frantic desire to flee. Instead, his sweet, round eyes instantly crinkled at the corners, and a warm, lazy grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the morning light.

He greeted you in a sweet, entirely normal manner.

"Morning, sleepypants," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet air. He set the mug down and gestured toward the espresso machine on the counter. "Coffee?"

You sit down awkwardly on one of the high barstools at the marble kitchen island, your hands folded in your lap as you nod your head. "Yes, please. Black is fine."

The silence stretches between you for a bit, heavy and thick on your end, though Jeongguk seems entirely unbothered as he presses a button on the espresso machine. The low whirring of the grinder fills the space, and the rich, dark scent of coffee begins to bloom in the air. Your mind is still a frantic mess of questions, the sheer weight of his shirtless torso in the bright morning light not helping your ability to think straight.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, you clear your throat. "Koo?"

He hums in response, not turning around just yet as he watches the dark liquid drip into the mugs, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, tracing a invisible line on the marble counter. "Do you... do you remember last night?"

Jeongguk freezes for a split second, his shoulders tensing just a fraction before he slowly turns around to face you. He leans back against the counter, crossing his tattooed arm over his bare chest, a totally blank, deadpan expression washing over his features.

"Last night?" he repeats, blinking his eyes with exaggerated confusion. He tilts his head, looking down at his own bare torso and then back up at you. "Wait... what year is it?"

You instantly catch onto the stupid joke, a rush of exasperated relief flooding your chest. You reach out, grabbing a random crumpled tissue you found sitting on the edge of the counter, and throw it straight at his face.

He ducks, but it clips his shoulder anyway. Jeongguk bursts into a loud, boxing-glove laugh, his eyes crinkling into those familiar, endearing crescents as the heavy tension in the room instantly evaporates.

"Yes," he says, his laughter dying down into a soft, knowing smile as he holds your gaze, his voice dropping back into that low morning cadence. "I remember last night, Y/N."

Your stomach drops straight through the floor. The relief you felt a second ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of heat that rises all the way to your face. You fumble with your words, your tongue feeling thick and clumsy as you try to form a coherent sentence.

"You—you remember?" you stammer, your hands nervously gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Then... what you said on the couch. Before you fell asleep. Did you... I mean, did you actually mean it?"

Jeongguk stays quiet for a while. The playful morning light suddenly feels too bright, too exposing. He doesn't move from where he’s leaning against the counter, but the easy grin vanishes from his face. He looks down at his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, his chest expanding with a deep, deliberate breath.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dead serious, devoid of any tequila-induced haze.

"Yes," he says, his voice a low, steady vibration. "I meant it."

You blink, your chest tightening so fast it hurts. "What... what did you mean, Jeongguk? Exactly?"

"I meant what I meant," he mutters, his jaw clenching as he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms tighter over his bare chest, a defensive instinct kicking in as he tries to maintain his footing. He’s trying to stay casual, trying to play the enigmatic card, but the slight twitch in his silver lip piercing gives him away.

"Yes, but what does it mean?" you push, your voice cracking slightly out of frustration. You lean forward on the barstool, completely done with the riddles. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that, tell me everyone else comes short in comparison to me, and then just say 'I meant what I meant.' What does that mean for us, Jeongguk? What are you actually saying?"

Jeongguk stares at you, the silence stretching out between you like a taut wire. You can practically hear the furious looping in his head, the terrifying friction between the decade of friendship holding him back and the raw, suffocating desire to just stop hiding.

"It means exactly what you think it means, Y/N," he says defensively, his voice rising a fraction. "Why do I have to spell it out?"

"Because you were drunk!" you snap back, your own walls going up because you're terrified of getting your hopes destroyed. "Because people say crazy things when they've had six shots of tequila! You told me I'm the standard for your love life. Do you have any idea how insane that is to hear from your best friend?"

That's the breaking point.

Jeongguk cracks. The stubborn, defensive posture completely shatters, his arms dropping to his sides as he takes a sudden, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between the counter and your stool. He looms over you, his bare chest heaving, his eyes wide and burning with a desperate, chaotic intensity.

"It's not insane!" he bursts out, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional force that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He grips the edge of the marble island right next to your thighs, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours, entirely undone. "It's not the tequila, Y/N! I've been sober for months on tour and I thought about it every single day. Every girl I look at, every person I talk to, I'm just looking for you in them. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of the mystery. I meant that I’m in love with you, okay? I’ve been in love with you for years!"

"You're crazy!" you snap back, the pure panic in your chest bubbling over into anger as you push yourself back against the barstool. "You are completely crazy, Jeongguk! You can’t just wake up one day and decide to ruin a ten-year friendship because you had a breakthrough on tour! You don't just get to tear down everything we built because you feel like it!"

He flinches as if you physically struck him. The fierce, looming intensity drains from his posture in an instant, leaving him looking raw and incredibly small despite his broad frame. His eyes turn visibly sad, a thick, glossy sheen coating them under the bright kitchen lights. His jaw tightens, his silver lip piercing trembling just a fraction before a bitter, hurt laugh leaves his throat.

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I have feelings," he spits out, his voice cracking with a dangerous mix of anger and absolute rejection. He pulls his hands off the marble counter and takes a step back, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso again, as if trying to shield his chest from you. "Excuse me for actually trusting my best friend enough to be honest. I didn't decide to feel this way, Y/N."

"It’s not even about that!" you yell back, your hands flying into the air out of sheer frustration. You slide off the barstool, finally standing on your own two feet so you don't have to look up at him. "Jeongguk, think for one second! Could you actually afford to lose me if a relationship goes south? If we do this, if we cross that line and it blows up in our faces, we don't get to go back to being friends. I'm gone. You're gone. Everything is ruined. Can you honestly afford that?"

At your words, his entire demeanor shifts from heartbroken to super pissy and defensive, the vulnerability of his ego being bruised making him lash out.

"It wouldn't go south!" he barks, his chest heaving as he glares down at you, his face flushing a furious, hurt red. "Why are you already deciding we're going to fail? And you know what? It doesn't even matter because you’re standing here acting like you have the high moral ground! Like you're the only one who cares about our friendship and I'm just some reckless idiot trying to break it!"

"I don’t have a moral ground!" you shout, stepping right into his space, your voice matching his volume. "I’m just trying to be smart about this! Someone has to be, because you're clearly letting your emotions run completely wild right now!"

"Why should you be smart?!" Jeongguk erupts, his frustration completely breaking through the ceiling. He throws his hands up, the silver rings on his fingers flashing aggressively in the morning sun. He steps so close you can feel the radiating, shirtless heat of his skin, his breath hitting your face in short, ragged gasps. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face with a suffocating anger. "Why do you always have to be the logical one? Tell me the truth, Y/N—have you ever even thought about me that way? Even once? Or am I just the only idiot who’s been suffocating in this for years?"

"Of course I’ve thought about you that way!" you burst out, the truth ripping through your throat before you could even try to stop it. "Every single day for the last ten years, Jeongguk! I have been suffocating right next to you, watching you date other people, watching you become a global superstar, completely terrified that if I said a word, I’d lose you forever!"

Jeongguk completely freezes. The furious, pissy retort dies right on his tongue, his mouth hanging open slightly as his chest heaves. His round eyes widen, the glossy unshed tears making them look impossibly huge as he processes your words.

"You..." he stammers, his voice becoming a breathless, vulnerable whisper. "You have?"

"Yes! But you’re sitting here acting like it’s so simple," you say, your voice trembling with an overwhelming mix of anger, frustration, and a decade's worth of built-up tension. You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his parted lips, then tracing up to the raw, completely undone expression on his face. He looks so helpless, so utterly desperate for your touch, standing there shirtless in the bright morning light.

You need him to understand. You need to prove to him that this isn't just some casual, easy dynamic he can play with. You want to prove a point—to show him exactly what he's playing with, exactly how dangerous this boundary truly is.

Before he can utter another word, you reach out, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hip to pull him in, and you slam your lips against his.

Jeongguk lets out a sharp, muffled gasp into your mouth, his entire body jolting at the sudden impact. But the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment he realizes you are actually kissing him, he completely shatters. A low, desperate groan rumbles deep in his chest, and his tattooed hands flies to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a terrifying, suffocating hunger.

The kiss is chaotic, fierce, and overflowing with ten years of unspoken agony. You pour everything into it—all the logic, all the smart choices, all the fear of losing him—crushing your lips against his until your teeth click. He tastes like the rich espresso he just brewed and the sharp, lingering heat of his own desperation. He follows your lead completely, surrendering to the dominance you admitted to just hours before, letting you call every single shot as he whimpers against your mouth, his frame trembling beneath your hands.

When you finally pull back, your chest heaving, your lips swollen and tingling, you try to step away to establish the boundary again. "See?" you breathe out, your voice shaky as you stare at his dark, completely blown-out pupils. "That is what we lose if—"

"No," Jeongguk whines instantly, the sudden loss of your lips making him sound incredibly small and pathetic. His hands tighten on your waist, physically yanking you right back against his bare, warm chest. His nose brushes against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "No, Y/N. Please. Just one more. One more."

"Jeongguk, I'm trying to make a point—"

"I don't care about the point," he groans, his voice turning super whiny, his bottom lip pushing out in a desperate, pouty expression that completely contrasts his heavily tattooed, muscular frame. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically begs. "Just one more kiss. Please. Y/N. One more, and then I’ll listen to the logical stuff. Just one more."

You melt away entirely under the pathetic, desperate drag of his voice. Every ounce of your hard-earned logic completely liquefies, dripping away into the space between your pounding hearts as you slide your hands up his radiating chest to cup the back of his neck, pulling him right back down to you.

The moment your lips meet again, Jeongguk kisses you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on this earth to do.

It is an agonizingly deep, consuming kiss that destroys any remaining illusion of your platonic past. He devours you, his plush lips parting with a fierce, wet desperation that immediately slicks your skin. He uses his tongue with a heavy, deliberate stroke, sweeping into your mouth to claim you entirely, tasting intensely of the bitter espresso and the sweet, clean mint from earlier. Every tilt of his head is a calculated shift to press deeper, his silver lip piercing sliding hot and sharp against your bottom lip, an intoxicating friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

You let out a helpless, broken moan right into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his teeth.

The small noise completely undoes him. Jeongguk’s hands abandon your waist to roam frantically all over you, his palms hot and heavy as they map out your body. He slides his hands down the curve of your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your clothes, before lifting up to cup your jaw, his tattooed thumb firmly pressing against your pulse point to hold you perfectly still for his assault. His chest presses flush against you, the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen crushing into your frame until you can feel the frantic, booming rhythm of his heart matching your own.

He is entirely consumed, a slave to the sudden shift in your dynamic.

He briefly breaks the kiss, his lips only parting a fraction of an inch from yours, leaving a string of wet, heavy breaths between you. His glossy eyes flutter open, looking at you with a gaze so completely wrecked and swimming with desire that it makes your knees buckle. He whines against your skin, a high, desperate sound cutting through his deep morning rasp as his forehead drops heavily against yours.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he pleads, his breath hot and ragged against your swollen mouth as his hands slide back down to desperately grip your hips. "Please, Y/N... please let me make you feel good. Just let me. Please."

You don’t reply right away, your mind completely fracturing into a thousand pieces as you stand frozen in his kitchen. Your thoughts pull you in every direction, desperately trying to analyze the wreckage of the last five minutes.

The damage is done. You already kissed him—not just a gentle slip of the lips, but a fierce, devastating confession of a kiss that blew every single one of your carefully constructed boundaries right out the door. The sacred line of the friendship hasn't just been crossed; it’s been entirely incinerated.

As you stare down at his flushed face, a dark, heavy thought slips into your mind, taking root before your logic can tear it down: Would it really be so bad to just go through with it?

If everything is already broken, if the mystery is gone, why keep fighting the very thing that’s been suffocating you both for a decade? You look at his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps, his skin radiating a maddening heat that pulls you in like gravity.

Before a single word can tumble past your swollen lips, Jeongguk completely unravels. His knees give out, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud as he drops down right in front of you.

The global superstar, the man who fills stadiums worldwide, is entirely brought to his knees, looking up at you with huge, glassy, pleading eyes. He looks so sweet, so raw, and completely submissive to whatever you decide next.

"Please," he whimpers, the word spilling out of him like a broken prayer. "Please, Y/N."

He doesn't wait for your permission. His hands slide up the back of your legs, his palms scalding hot through the fabric of your clothes as he pulls your hips closer to his face. He buries his face against you, his warm forehead pressing firmly against your lower stomach as a ragged breath hitches in his throat.

"Let me make you feel good," he begs into your clothes, his voice dropping into a desperate, deep vibration that resonates straight through your skin. "Just let me do this for you. Please."

Then, his plush lips press against your clothed thighs.

He kisses you right through the fabric, his mouth hot and damp, leaving heavy, branding presses of his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He nuzzles his face deeper against your legs, whining softly when you don't immediately push him away. The absolute friction of his silver lip piercing catching against the material, combined with the desperate, worshipful way his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Your hands fly to his bare shoulders just to keep yourself steady, your fingers digging into his smooth, firm skin as the room tilts on its axis.

Your fingers sink deeper into the smooth muscle of his bare shoulders as the sheer weight of his worship pulls you under. The internal debate, the frantic logic, the fear of what happens when the dust settles—it all completely evaporates.

"Okay," you finally whisper, the single word cutting through his desperate, ragged breaths. "Okay, Jeongguk. Do it."

The permission hits him like an electric shock. He doesn't waste a single second, his hands moving with an frantic, desperate urgency. He grips the waistband of your pants and underwear together, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down your legs in a breathless hurry. You kick out of them, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of the bright kitchen.

When he leans his head back in, you let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the hot, concentrated burst of his breath hits your sensitive pubic area.

But he doesn't touch you yet. Jeongguk just stays frozen on his knees, his hands still tightly gripping the back of your thighs to anchor you in place. He’s just looking. His sweet eyes are wide and completely dark with a devastating mixture of awe and pure hunger. His chest heaves, his silver lip piercing glinting as his lips part slightly, his gaze completely tracing every inch of you as if he’s memorizing a holy text.

The intense, unblinking weight of his stare makes you shift your weight, a sudden spike of heat rushing to your face. "Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice trembling. "What... what are you doing?"

"I need more room," he rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, desperate growl.

Before you can even process the words, his large hands slide under your thighs and around your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifts you completely off the ground. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen. He moves with a singular, fierce focus, and in a matter of seconds, you’re in his bedroom.

He lays you down onto the mattress, and you find yourself completely sprawled across the dark, silk sheets of his bed, the heavy clean cotton scent of him enveloping you entirely.

Jeongguk doesn't even let you catch your breath. He crawls up onto the mattress immediately, his large, heavy body looming over yours for a fraction of a second before he slides right back down between your thighs. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, pinning you open, and buries his face directly between your legs.

The first touch of his tongue is a wet, heavy stroke that makes your entire body arches off the bed. He eats you out like it’s a form of salvation, his mouth hot, wide, and utterly ravenous against your wet skin. He uses his tongue with a frantic, consuming rhythm, lapping at you with deep, deliberate strokes that pull a loud, undone moan right from your throat. The slick, wet sounds of his mouth against you echo in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering sanity.

Even as he devours you, the desperate, pleading energy from the kitchen doesn't leave him. Every time you twist your fingers into his damp, dark hair to pull him closer, a muffled, high whine breaks from his throat, vibrating directly against your clit. He nuzzles his face deeper into your heat, his silver lip piercing sliding sharp and intoxicating against your most sensitive spots, making you sob his name into the empty air.

"Please," he whimpers against your wet flesh, breaking his rhythm for only a split second to breathe your name, his voice cracked and completely wrecked. His hands grip your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white, silently begging you to hold him there, to let him keep drowning in you. "Please tell me it's good. Tell me you like it, Y/N. Just let me stay right here."

You can only cry out in response, your hips instinctively rolling into his mouth as his tongue darts back inside, deeper and more desperate than before, completely surrendering his entire existence to the rhythm of your pleasure.

The sound of his name ripping from your throat sends a visible shiver straight through his broad, shirtless frame. Hearing how undone you are only makes him more desperate, his tongue working with a frantic, wet rhythm that has your hips rolling blindly into his face.

"You're so good, Koo," you gasp out, your knuckles turning white as you fist your fingers into his damp, dark hair, pressing him closer. "Ah—yes, right there. You're making me feel so good. So good..."

Jeongguk lets out a muffled, high whine directly against your core, the high-pitched, needy sound vibrating straight through you. The praise completely undoes him. He sucks a hard, bruising path up your inner lip, his silver piercing scraping perfectly against your most sensitive flesh, pulling a loud, broken sob from your lungs. He is utterly buried in you, his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs so tightly that his bicep muscles bulge under his smooth, tattooed skin. He nuzzles deeper, lapping at your slick heat with a ravenous, worshipful speed, swallowing your whimpers like they are the only thing keeping him alive.

The friction is too much. The intense, deep heat building in your lower stomach is expanding so fast it feels dangerous, blinding you to everything else in the room. You are getting so entirely into it, the overwhelming pleasure clouding your logic until you can't breathe, can't think, can't handle the agonizingly slow burn of just his mouth anymore.

You want him. You want all of him.

With a breathless cry, you pull your hands out of his hair and adjust the position you're in, your palms sliding down his broad chest, past his tensed abs, to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. Jeongguk senses the shift immediately, his head lifting, his lips glistening, dark hair falling wildly over his wide, blown-out eyes as he looks up at you with a breathless, questioning whimper.

You don't say a word. You simply hook your fingers into the cotton of his sweats and underwear, tugging them down past his hips in one swift, demanding motion.

His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking a bead of pre-cum that glints in the bedroom light. It twitches against his lower stomach, fully erect and radiating a maddening heat. Jeongguk lets out a raw, hitched breath, his hands trembling on your mattress as he hovers over you, completely exposed, his chest heaving as he waits in agonizing suspense for what you're going to do to him next.

You wrap your fingers firmly around the thick, pulsing base of his shaft, the skin scalding hot against your palm. Jeongguk lets out a shaky, pathetic gasp the moment your hand closes around him, his hips twitching forward instinctively. Without giving him a second to recover, you lean forward, parting your lips, and slide the plush, leaking head of his cock straight into your mouth.

He completely loses his mind.

A loud, ragged moan rips from his throat, echoing sharply in the quiet bedroom. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge, catching the slick pre-cum, before sinking your mouth lower, drawing him deeper down your throat. The rich, clean scent of him mixes with the musk of his arousal, entirely consuming your senses. You use your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his shaft, your lips wrapping tight around him to create a fierce, suffocating vacuum as you bob your head in a steady, demanding rhythm.

He throws his head back, hair spilling over his forehead as a continuous string of broken groans and breathless whimpers spills from his parted lips. He doesn't try to hold back, his chest heaving as he watches you through hooded, blown-out eyes, his silver piercing catching the light every time his jaw slacks.

"Ah, God, Y/N," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated worship. His large, tattooed hand flies to your hair, but he doesn't push you down—he just cradles your head with a trembling, gentle grip, completely submissive to your pace. "You're so perfect. Look at you... fucking hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Please, you're destroying me."

The praises are heavy, thick with a devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s praising you in a way you've never been praised before, treating your mouth like a sanctuary, completely unbothered by his own ego. You take him deeper, your thumb rubbing over his balls, and the combination makes his hips roll blindly against your lips, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his chest.

The edge is getting too sharp for him. The friction of your wet mouth and the agonizingly sweet torture of the rhythm has him shaking from head to toe. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he feels himself reaching a dangerous point of no return.

He suddenly pulls back just enough to slip his cock from your lips, a heavy string of saliva connecting you for a fraction of a second. Jeongguk hovers over you on his knees, his entire body trembling, his face flushed a dark, beautiful red as he looks down at your wet, swollen lips.

"I can't—I can't just take," he begs, his voice breaking completely as he drops his forehead against your chest, his chest heaving against your skin. He is entirely undone, crying out as his hands slide down to grip your hips, physically pulling you back down onto the mattress. He positions himself right between your soaked, aching thighs, the heavy head of his cock rubbing torturously against your wet core. "Please, Y/N. I need to be inside you. Please let me come home. Please let me inside."

A dark, heady rush of power floods your veins as you look down at him. Seeing the man who fills stadiums worldwide reduced to a trembling, pleading mess right under you is intoxicating. You smirk against the flushed skin, your fingers sliding up his damp neck to tilt his face up.

"Put it on then, Koo," you murmur.

You say your consent, and the word acts like a green light. Jeongguk scrambles, blindly fishing a condom from the nightstand drawer—you aren't even paying attention to where he gets it from, your eyes locked onto the sharp, beautiful lines of his tensed muscles as he tears the foil open with his teeth.

His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to roll the latex down his thick, pulsing length.

The moment he’s protected, he doesn't wait. He lines the wet, heavy head of his cock against your slick opening and sinks into you in one deep, agonizingly slow push.

A loud, broken sob rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you out until you're entirely consumed by the sheer size of him. Jeongguk lets out a guttural, trembling groan into the crook of your neck, his large frame collapsing over yours, his full, shirtless weight pinning you into the dark silk sheets.

"Ah, God, Y/N... you're so tight, you're so warm," he whimpers, his voice completely wrecked as he begins to move.

The friction is instant and overwhelming. Jeongguk doesn't fuck you with the practiced, cocky rhythm of a man in control; he fucks you with a desperate, frantic hunger, his hips snapping forward in deep, heavy thrusts that rock the entire bed. He is completely starved for you, his tattooed hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips higher, taking every single inch you have to offer. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoes in the quiet bedroom, mixed with his continuous, vocal praises.

He’s riding the absolute edge from the very first stroke, the decade of built-up desire making him impossibly sensitive. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps against your ear, his silver lip piercing grazing your pulse point as his pace turns frantic, unhinged.

"I'm gonna—Y/N, I'm close, I can't hold it," he cries out, his voice cracking. He gives three more deep, blind thrusts, his entire body locking up as a low, ragged scream tears from his lungs. He spasms against you, his cock twitching violently inside your walls as he finishes first, spilling himself entirely into the condom.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his climax ripples through him, leaving him completely overstimulated and trembling, he refuses to pull out. He knows you haven't crossed the line yet. With his jaw clenched and his eyes swimming with tears from the sheer, burning sensitivity of his post-nut state, Jeongguk forces his hips to keep moving.

He whimpers miserably with every single stroke, the friction against his overstimulated skin clearly driving him crazy, but he keeps pushing inside you anyway.

"I've got you," he pants, a high, needy whine breaking from his lips as he drags his body up and down yours, his movements slower now, heavier, grinding his pelvis right against your clit with agonizing precision. "I'm not stopping... please, baby, come for me. Let me feel you clamp down on me. Please."

The sight of him pushing through his own overstimulation just to please you completely shatters whatever restraint you have left. Your internal walls collapse. Your hips begin to roll frantically against his, your toes curling into the silk sheets as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You scream his name as a violent, crushing orgasm ripples through your body. Your internal muscles clamp down tightly around his thick shaft, milking him through the latex. Jeongguk lets out a loud, pathetic whimper at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he rides out the wave of your climax with you, completely spent, completely yours.

He collapses right besides you, his massive, shirtless frame molding perfectly against you as he pulls you into his chest. Both of your chests are heaving in the quiet room, the only sound the ragged asymmetry of your breathing slowing down. Jeongguk nuzzles his face into your hair, tracing his plush, swollen lips along your jawline before kissing you tenderly on the cheek—a soft, lingering pressure that feels entirely detached from the frantic, consuming chaos of just moments ago.

You lie there, the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare skin where his body isn't pinning you down. The reality of what just happened begins to settle into your bones, the heavy fog of pleasure lifting to reveal the massive, uncharted territory you’ve both just stepped into.

"Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him. "We should talk about it. About... us. What this means."

He lets out a soft, tired groan, burying his face deeper into your neck. His large, tattooed arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you so close there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.

"We will," he promises, his low rumble vibrating right against your skin. "I promise we’ll talk about everything you want. Just... please let me enjoy this moment for a second. Let me just hold you."

You agree, nodding your head slightly against his chest, but you are visibly lost in your thoughts. Your eyes trace the unfamiliar contours of his bedroom, the dark silk sheets, the heavy shadows on the wall. The anxiety hasn't completely vanished, it's just waiting on the periphery, whispering questions about tomorrow, about his career, about the fragile ten-year foundation you just risked.

As if sensing the sudden shift in your energy, Jeongguk shifts. He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you just enough to look down into your face. His eyes are incredibly soft, completely clear of the tequila from last night and the blinding lust from minutes ago. He reaches up, his gentle thumb tracing your cheekbone, wiping away a stray bead of sweat.

"Hey," he murmurs, his piercing catching the soft light. He looks at you with an unwavering certainty that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m going to make sure nothing goes south. I promise you. I love you, Y/N."

Hearing the words spoken so clearly, without a drop of alcohol or adrenaline to hide behind, makes the last of your defenses crumble.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He smiles—a genuine, boyish grin that reminds you exactly of the teenager you met a decade ago—and pulls you back down against him. As you nuzzle your nose deep into the warm, clean-scented crook of his neck, listening to the steady, unshakeable beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the frantic thoughts in your mind finally begin to quiet down.

as self-centred as soojin is, she would give Jungkook her whole entire world, she'd give up anything and everything for him if he'd ask. chloe, as a petite as she is, would move mountains if it meant getting into his heart. maya, as confident as she is would change her way of living if it meant pleasing him. actually every single old love interest in his life would orbit around his axis if he wanted them to. but they were not really love interests to Jungkook. no, they were merely distractions. distractions from the woman who could own him in any way possible. the one woman he longs for with such desperation. the woman he's obsessed with in a way he should understand is unhealthy.

you. his beautiful, smart, sexy, perfect woman. you're not officially his yet, but he needs you to be or else he'll probably lose his mind.

Jungkook's life would be so euphoric if only you felt the same way he did. but you don't and just thinking about it is enough to depress Jungkook. he has it all – the looks, the confidence, the figure, the money. so why can't you just like him as much as he likes you? not to say he doesn't work for your love. he does. he works so fucking hard for it, without trying to embarrass himself too much, of course.

he does various things, trying to prove it to you, obvious actions that practically sing about how much he wants you. but you just can't seem to get the hint, can you? or maybe Jungkook's current worst fear is true. you know how he feels but you just don't care. that thought causes Jungkook's heart to tighten in his chest. he likes the first option, so that is the one he chooses to believe. as ignorant as Jungkook is, the intellectual part of him questions it. how can you not know how he feels for you when he does everything a guy in love would do? for a few examples, he cares for your likes and ambitions, he changes his busy schedules just to accommodate yours, he takes care of you when you're sick, he's constantly checking up on you when you aren't with him, he buys you flowers and chocolates. he makes the best love* to you, just like he is right now…

Jungkook grunts through gritted teeth as he thrusts as deep as humanly possible into you, hitting the perfect spot inside you that makes you let out a breathless, high moan of his name. the sweet sound you've made under him only motivates him to do it again and again. Jungkook thrusts his massive cock into your pussy, keeping his pace fast, hard and a little rough – just as you like it. your nails dig into his broad shoulders and rake down his back, causing it to sting. Jungkook groans at that, knowing it's going to leave marks on him. Jungkook loves any form of possession you show over him, he loves when you leave marks on him or tell him that he's yours. it's as if you know the power you have over him and you can see how badly you affect him.

Jungkook is one strong man, yet you have the ability to make him the weakest and most pathetic on earth. before you walked into his life, things were normal. he had gotten into short situationships, he fucked whoever he wanted, he could do whatever he wanted without you being in his every thought. but after he understood the depth of his feelings for you, things had become complicated and absurd. after a while, Jungkook could no longer live his life the way he used to. he couldn't fuck anybody else, he couldn't touch anybody else, he couldn't even bring himself to look at a woman who wasn't you. it would feel like he's cheating, cheating on you and cheating on himself – cheating on himself because you're a part of him, a big crucial necessity in his life. it shouldn't make sense, but it does to him. you're the other half of his soul, you just don't feel it like he does, as yet.

at the thought of his seemingly unrequited romantic feelings, Jungkook thrusts into you even harder than before, earning him a sweet gasp from you. he hums at the sound before watching you, your eyes are almost rolling to the back of your head and you look so heavily cock-drunk. well of course you'd be, this is the sixth? seventh round? Jungkook's hands that had been on either side of your head now move – one grips your hip, feeling your soft skin and the other goes to the back of your neck to guide your face to his, to meet him in a kiss. His kiss immediately starts off passionate, wet and filthy. you eagerly kiss him back, moaning into his mouth when his tongue slides into yours. you kiss him with equal fervour as he pounds into you so good.

you break away from the kiss, a string of saliva joining your lips to his. you keep your eyes open and on his, gazing up at him. he's sweaty and staring down at you with dark, hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. he looks so fucking hot, you're so grateful to have this beautiful man fucking the living daylights out of you, looking at you with such need. but beneath all the lust, you think that you notice something else. it looks so sincere, so precious. you think hard what it is you see there. you might have an idea, but that's just preposterous. right?

you don't dwell on that forbidden thought, since your seventh orgasm of the night is approaching. your moans become louder and you start clenching around Jungkook's cock. he thrusts become sloppy but he still keeps the animalistic pace, wanting to make sure your approaching orgasm is as good as the previous ones – maybe even better.

"f-fuck," he groans. "you feel too good, baby. always feel too good."

his praises always have your head spinning and pussy throbbing. your nails dig into his back as you mumble incoherent nonsense. you're on cloud nine, just as you usually are when Jungkook fucks you. he's the best you've ever had in bed, you wish you could be full of his cock every day and night.

"k–kook," you gasp.

"hmm?" he hums, looking at your parted lips and hazy eyes.

"gonna come." you mutter shakily.

Jungkook grips your thighs with both his hands and lifts you up a little. he finds the angle that's even deeper, making you whimper and arch up, throwing your head back into the pillows.

"yeah?" he asks before leaning down to lick your now exposed neck. "me too, baby."

you're so gone and drunk on his cock, Jungkook thinks you might finally agree to what he's been wanting to do for the longest time now – to come inside you. oh fuck, the thought of it makes Jungkook want to bust immediately. he imagines filling you up with his release, fucking it back into you, watching it drip out of your pussy. he hopes you'll finally allow it. he's feeling lucky tonight, perhaps you'll allow it since your walls are clenching so hard around his pulsing cock.

"want me to come inside, hmm?" please say yes, please say yes.

"no." you say, panting.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, feeling bummed. but rest be assured, he will release inside you one day.

you release first, crying out his name. he thrusts inside you a few more times before pulling out and releasing over your belly with a groan. he looks at your belly messed with his come, it's not where he wishes it was but it's still so fucking hot. after he reels from his high, he collapses beside you, staring up at the ceiling for a long while. your chest heaves and your eyes threaten to close. despite your body feeling like jelly, you decide that you really have to shower. you turn toward Jungkook, placing your hand on his chest, over his racing heart and throwing your thigh over his hip. Jungkook feels warmth spread through his body at the contact. he turns to you as well, placing a hand on your hip to tug you closer.

"can we take a shower, kook?" you ask, so soft and tired.

Jungkook smiles at how cute you sound. he'll obviously take a shower with you, he's more than happy to do that.

"yeah, baby." he says before gently kissing your forehead. "we'll go soon. I'm too comfortable to move right now."

"Jungkook the sheets are wet and i have your come on me." you state, threading your fingers through his soft hair. "let's go now and we'll come back and cuddle."

Jungkook nods, happy with that deal. he helps you out of bed and picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom since you're drained and walking on very weak legs – it's understandable, he's done a number on you. inside the shower, he steps behind you and turns on the water, setting the temperature to exactly how you like it. you lean against Jungkook and sigh in contentment as the hot water washes over your sore body. the both of you spend a long time in the bathroom – washing up thoroughly and sharing heated kisses. Jungkook initiates more intimacy by reaching between your thighs, but you smack his hand away with a little laugh, telling him that any more of this would leave you rotting in bed due to the inability to walk. he pouts but respects your decision of course.

after the shower, you both change into sleep wear and cuddle just as you've said. Jungkook brings you right against his chest, holding you tightly against him while breathing you in. he feels so full of everything nice at this moment. you're where you're meant to be, safe in his arms. he wishes that all of his nights could be like this, instead of a few nights only. he does appreciate what you do give him. after all you are the woman he loves with all his heart. he yearns for you in a way that borders on madness, so he needs all of you entirely.

The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray you’d make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.

“Shit,” you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.

Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god it’s only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.

“In 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,” your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You don’t want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.

You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money you’re going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. There’s what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all that’s missing is a damn banjo.

What comes to your mind immediately is the horror movie cliché of a car breaking down in some rural backwater town and what happens after. You’ve watched countless of them - Wrong Turn, House of Wax, The Hills have Eyes. You don’t have any plans to end up as a final girl to a clan of inbred hillbilly psychos. Hopefully, whatever is wrong with your Buick is fixed quickly so you can be on your way.

You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.

“Hello?” you ask into the empty space. There’s a front desk, but it’s unoccupied.  Please, don’t let this place be actually closed down already for the day.

“Back here,” you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.

You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you don’t see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.

“Um, hi?” you address the jeans-clad legs.

“One sec,” a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.

And, well, he’s really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. It’s not the outfit either, he’s just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.

Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didn’t ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.

He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.

But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, it’s dead.

The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. “Doesn’t start huh?”, he correctly assesses. “Put it in neutral, I can just push it inside.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesn’t budge without the engine being on.

You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. “Ah, automatic,” he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.

Without warning, he’s suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You would’ve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.

You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. “I didn’t get dirt on you, did I?” He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. “Shit,” he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.

“It’s good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?” he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You can’t help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.

His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as he’s pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that you’ve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.

“Little to the left,” he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.

You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once you’re in a good spot.

“I’ll pay to get your jeans cleaned,” he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.

“Let’s take a look at your baby,” he says as he yanks open the hood. “I already have a suspicion.”

While he’s checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.

On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe he’s just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.

When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.

“Yup, I was right,” he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. “Alternator’s shot.”

“That sounds … bad?” you reluctantly more so ask than state.

“It just needs to be replaced. Good news first, it’s not a lot of work so I’ll be done in like an hour,” he lets you know. “Bad news - I need to order it in.”

You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least it’s not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.

He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.

“Are there any hotels or something close by?” you ask him once he’s done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.

He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. “The closest motel is like two towns over. And it’s a bit of a shit hole.”

That doesn’t sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?

“Can you give me the address? I’ll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.”

“Good luck on finding any Ubers out here. We’re basically out of their operating zone.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.

“I’ll take you,” he offers, already on his way to your Buick. “Get your bag.”

You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Wouldn’t advise accepting rides from strangers, but I can’t have you stay on the street,” he speaks up. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. I’ll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.”

This won’t help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.

Apparently it’s time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since he’s the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You won’t question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.

“Where’s your car?” you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.

Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.

“Pretty, huh?” he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. “It’s a Fat Bob 114.”

Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He can’t seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.

“I don’t even have a helmet,” you try to weasel your way out.

To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. “Good thing I keep a spare around.”

He’s already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. You’ve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.

You hear Jungkook’s muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.

“Lemme help,” he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.

The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet “Thank you.” Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.

“All set,” he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.

“Just hold on to me,” he tells you.

You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist. 

He pulls off into the street and soon you’re leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.

Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure he’s not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. You’re not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what you’re learning right now.

After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.

Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.

“This must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?” you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.

“Not usually.”

Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues. 

“Can I just..?” you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette. 

He seems to be confused but doesn’t stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue. 

“That’s better,” you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment. 

With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk you’ve seen in your life.

“Hello,” you address him. “I need a room, please.”

“Really?” he responds in a mocking tone. “Who would’ve guessed that?”

Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.

“Mind checking if you have any available?” he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasn’t for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint. 

Woah. Apparently he’s not one to mess around with. It’s kind of hot.

“Alright, alright,” the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.

“Seems like you’re out of luck, everything’s booked,” he shrugs his shoulders. “There’s some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.”

Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really don’t want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.

“Ah, wait,” the clerk suddenly perks up. “There’s someone checking out in a bit. Once we’ve cleaned up the room, it’s yours.”

Oh, thank god. You couldn’t care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. You’ll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesn’t really matter, unless you’ll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.

“We have a bar,” the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest he’s ever had to work. “You can wait there. It’s gonna be like 2 hours max.”

You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.

“Uhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda don’t have a ride.” The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.

He looks at you, quizzically.

“I’m not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,” he shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you until the room’s ready.”

Before you can even start arguing that you don’t need an escort, he’s already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. You’re a grown woman, you don’t need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since he’s also nice to look at, why shouldn’t you indulge a bit longer.

The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather.  The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.

There’s two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it it’s not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.

Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when you’re only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.

“What do you want to drink?” he asks from beside you.

You take out your phone, checking the time. It’s 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.

You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesn’t seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.

Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. He’s coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.

“Sorry, but I’m not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that you’re here by yourself, no chance,” he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.

The fact that he’s doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. It’s not because he’s making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.

“How much was it?” you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.

“Take it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,” he smiles at you.

For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.

“So,” Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. “Judging by your plates, you’ve been on the road for a while, huh?”

You hum in agreement. “Just a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.”

“I can tell,” he laughs.

“And you?” you proceed to ask. “Have you ever been out of these parts?”

Jungkook’s fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks. 

“Not really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.”

“So you like living here then?”

He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t really have an opinion on it.

“It’s just, you don’t seem like a small town kinda guy,” you continue when he stays silent.

“Now, why’s that?” he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.

You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. It’s his home after all.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.

“You know, the next city is just like an hour’s drive away,” he lets you know between laughs. “We’re not cut off from civilization. Not totally.”

You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that you’re in between jobs right now.

You’re laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.

“Room’s ready,” he lets you know before he trudges away again.

“Before you try to argue - I’m walking you to the room.”

You figured.

So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesn’t feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. It’s not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesn’t catch on the floor. Yikes.

Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.

“What a nice view,” you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that it’s two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.

Jungkook turns to you. “Look,” he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.

“Thank you for everything, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jungkook shakes his head and doesn’t move even an inch.

“I can’t let you stay here,” he says, decidedly. “Not by yourself. You’ve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!”

You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.

“I’m not some damsel in distress in need of saving,” you scoff and walk to the door. “I’ll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.” You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing it’s almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesn’t bode well with you.

Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.

Then there’s suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now you’re actually hoping Jungkook’s offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry,” he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.

“Thanks,” you mumble while looking around the room. There’s exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.

Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.

“I’ll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.”

The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room that’s worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like it’s been in heavy use. Ew. At least you’re not the one having to sit in it.

To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as it’s still hot out.

“I could never get used to this heat,” you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. “Don’t think I can even sleep while it’s this hot,” you add, groaning.

Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that you’re sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and it’s sticking to him. No wonder - he’s been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.

It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like you’re being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but you’re not about to strip in front of Jungkook, who’s also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.

“Hey, you want to get some more beer?” you ask him, sure that you’ll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.

“Sure,” he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. “We can get some from the bar.”

You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. It’s a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.

Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.

The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.

Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.

“It’s been in the family for a few generations,” he lets you know. “I’ve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfather’s still.”

“Did you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?” you wonder.

Jungkook laughs at the idea. “I’m way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.”

You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off what’s been troubling you. Could’ve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe you’re dumb too.

Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.

“I quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasn’t that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.”

You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.

“You alright?” Jungkook’s voice chimes up.

“Yeah,” you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. You’re in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so you’re not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that you’re judging, you probably wouldn’t opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.

“Thank you again,” you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. “For staying with me. I’m sorry for all the troubles.”

Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. “I didn’t have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.”

He’d probably have air conditioning though and wouldn’t have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is … really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all he’s done for you. Can’t be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe it’s the beer finding its way to your brain or you’re just really not better than a man.

Your body doesn’t feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesn’t look even half as attractive on you.

While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.

The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while he’s suffering in the cuck chair.

“You know you could just come sit on the bed, right?” you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.

He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. “Nah, I’m stinky from working, don’t want to make it all gross.”

“Please, I don’t want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,” you joke. “Sounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, who’s gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?”

“I might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,” he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.

“But I’ll take a shower first, if that’s alright with you,” he finally gives in.

“Sure,” you nod. “Go ahead. Haven’t checked out the bathroom - hope you won’t come out dirtier than before.”

Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.

While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.

Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.

“My shirt is soaked,” he tells you with an apologetic smile. “I’ll air it out and put it back on, yeah?”

His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.

“Jungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, I’ve seen it all. Now don’t be stupid and come sit with me.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.

“Which side are you gonna sleep on?” he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,” he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. “This bed is probably already gross enough.”

You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. “It’s actually not so bad,” you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.

So, in this incredible turn of events, you’re now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.

Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.

“I love Gillian Anderson,” you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.

“I love David Duchovny,” Jungkook replies with a sigh. “Gillian’s not bad either.”

His remark doesn’t surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.

You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man that’s hiding in vents to eat people’s livers. Mulder has just foiled the abomination’s attempt to murder some family when Jungkook’s head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.

You can tell he’s asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?

His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. “Did I drool on you?”

You assure him it’s fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.

The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.

“I think we can keep this open now,” Jungkook decides. “It has cooled down like… at least 1 degree.”

You agree, even if it won’t help with the warmth, some fresh air won’t hurt.

“You should try and get some sleep,” he proposes. “I’m guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.”

He’s probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.

Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently he’s not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.

You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since you’re still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.

“Good girl,” Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.

The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. You’re uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places you’ve tried to outrun with your road trip.

Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you don’t dig sitting around in complete darkness. You’re in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.

You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.

“I’m taking this as a Yes,” Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.

Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.

Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.

“You plan on staying in your town forever?” you ask him. “Like, just keep the garage going until you’re too old to work anymore?”

He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.

“I like the mechanic work,” he starts. “But I’m not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.”

“I knew you weren’t the type.”

“Yeah. But I just can’t let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.”

“He’d want you to be happy, no?”

He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since there’s not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.

Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesn’t return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.

His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.

“I didn’t really quit my job for the trip,” you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. “Just couldn’t do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.

Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.

“’M driving through the whole country to my friend’s place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.”

“Must be a fucking idiot,” Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.

He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame.  After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and you’re locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.

It’s like time freezes and then you’re suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if you’re letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasn’t pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkook’s close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. He’s not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.

“Want to give sleep another shot?” he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.

“Mhm,” you nod. “I’m gonna take a shower first though.”

“Good idea,” Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.

Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.

You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you can’t rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, that’s how riled up the kiss has gotten you.

When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding it’s clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you don’t look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.

Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. He’s reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. He’s so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.

And he’s looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didn’t leave him unaffected either.

“Are you not hot in this?” he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.

“Are you not hot in your jeans?” you tease in response, making him chuckle.

“C’mere,” he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.

Once you’re in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when there’s no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and you’re already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. There’s just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didn’t think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.

“Your skin is so soft,” he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.

Finally, he’s had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.

With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.

“Wow,” he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.

You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.

You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.

“You sure?” he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.

Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. “Like silk,” he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.

“Dripping for me already,” he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. “So fucking hot.”

His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him.  After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.

When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.

His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.

With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.

He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.

Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until you’re flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice strained. “You feel amazing.”

That’s enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.

His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. He’s not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.

The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you can’t get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.

You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and it’s making your head swim with need.

You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. He’s too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.

The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.

Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.

“So damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.

The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. You’re sure though it’s not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.

After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.

This time it’s him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.

“You smell like heaven,” you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but it’s enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you weren’t aware of before, because he’s driving you insane.

The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. He’s really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.

He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.

With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.

“Fuck, I could eat you out forever,” he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy. So sweet.”

You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. “Yeah, I could tell.”

He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesn’t crush you.

His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when you’re done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you can’t resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.

On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. There’s no slow start, you’re not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like it’s trying to rip it off.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.

Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he can’t help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.

“Damn,” he presses out, his dick pumping into you. “You’re the best fucking ride of my life.”

With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesn’t take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.

When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.

With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care that he’s not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like you’re getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.

It doesn’t take long for his movements to go choppy.

“Fuck, how are you still so tight… so… perfect,” he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he can’t hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.

With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkook’s weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.

“Are you okay?” he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.

“Better than the bed,” you giggle sleepily.

Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.

“I’ll be right back,” you let him know.

You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.

“I’m taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,” he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.

Masterlist

“You’re joking.” All you can do is laugh when he says that. You analyze his face for any hint of kid that he may have intended with his suggestion. Except, there is none. He stares at you with a straight face for the first time since you had run into him again this summer. “You’re not joking.”

Jungkook just stands there and exhales through his nose. His hands slip into his pants pockets as he walks closer to you sitting at the breakfast bar. He doesn’t break eye contact with you while you’d do anything to do so. 

When he reaches the other side of the counter, he takes his hands out of his pockets. Resting his forearms on the cold marble surface, Jungkook leans forward just far enough so that his face is about a foot away from yours. “You don’t want my help?” His big dark brown eyes stare at you as he blinks slowly. 

For the past 24 years, you’ve seen his face at every possible angle. You saw his face when he had acne, when he had bad hair days, when he sleeps and even when his face was just inches from yours. And none of those times did you ever think he’s handsome. 

But why is it now? Why is that opinion changing at this moment? 

“No, it’s not that.” You whisper, feeling your heart race. 

“Then what’s so hard to believe about me being your boyfriend?” His voice purrs while his eyes remain locked onto yours. 

You stay quiet, not knowing what to say. You want to get out of this conversation and this intense situation. You just stare back at him, blinking as he slightly raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. 

“Something smells good!” Casey’s voice interrupts the moment. 

Thank god. 

With Jungkook staying in that position, he finally breaks eye contact and peers over to look at your older brother. You spin around in the bar stool to greet your brother with a relieved smile. 

“Wassup, kiddo?” He clicks his tongue and ruffles your hair. “How you doing, man?” He bumps fists with Jungkook before sitting next to at the edge of the breakfast bar. 

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’.” You frown while fixing your hair. 

“But you are a kid. What else am I supposed to call you?” Casey smirks, teasing you. “Anyway, were you two going to eat that all by yourselves? You mean brats.” 

“You were going to come downstairs even if I didn’t invite you to join us. You always do, Casey. Why are you saying that all of sudden?” You scoff, watching Jungkook open the wrong drawer while looking for utensils. “No, the one on your right.” You point to the drawer next to the one he just opened. 

“What about Spencer? He’s not coming down?” You wanted to share the food with Spencer too, especially since it’s been a while since he’s had a home-cooked meal. 

“He’s still at the hospital. He had one day off and then was back to being on-call. Third-year medical residents aren’t able to come home as often. And even then, he’d probably go to his place. He wouldn’t come all the way here.” Casey sucks his teeth while looking at his younger sister, “Wait, how come you don’t know that he isn’t home? Do you even pay attention to your brothers? You’re too busy bickering with Jungkook all the time, aren’t you?” Your brother wraps his left arm around your neck and pulls your head closer before rubbing his knuckes against the top of your head. 

You groan at the playful display of affection your brother is showing you, annoyed that your hair is messed up, again. 

Jungkook walks over, setting down the utensils on the counter in front of you and your brother. He glances up at you two, smiling to himself. “I think you need to rub her head harder, Casey.” 

You sit up straight again and glare at your brother once he lets you go. “Casey.” You whine but your brother is busy sucking on the tip of the spoon that was in front of him, waiting for the food. “You don’t have to keep staying here. My ankle’s all better now. You can go home, Casey.”

“Mom’s coming home early in the morning tomorrow. I have to go pick her up at JFK airport tomorrow so I thought I’d be easier to crash here tonight since it's closer to the airport.” He speaks with the tip of the spoon still in his mouth. 

“Wow.” Casey’s eyes widen as the sizzling cast iron pan gets brought in front of him. “It’s kimchi fried rice.” 

“I’m sure he messed up again.” You use your spoon to point to the fried rice in the pan while Jungkook bends down to sit down on the other side of the counter. 

“Just shut up and try it, would you?” 

You take a deep breath before taking a spoonful of rice from the top. After letting the spoon hover in front of your mouth for a few seconds, you risk it and put the food in your mouth. Your teeth scrap the rice off the metal spoon before you chew and swallow. 

It’s good. For the first time, it’s good. 

“What the hell?” You stare at the pan as you cannot process what you just tasted. 

“It’s good, right?” Jungkook smiles, proud of the job he’s done. 

“Yeah. How is that possible?” You tilt your head with your eyes still on the rice in the pan, wondering how he made this. Your head jerks in his direction and eyes dart at him, “You used MSG, right?”

“I’m offended that you’d think I’d use MSG in my cooking.” 

“Then how else do you explain how this tastes good?” You raise your eyebrows at him, wanting him to admit that he cheated. “Just admit you used MSG and I’ll let it go.” 

“Hey.” He finishes chewing the food in his mouth. “You’re the one who called me over to make you dinner. So I made you dinner. Now you’re trying to pick a fight over it?” He points his spoon in your direction. 

“Pick a fight? Me?” You scoff, “You little, punk-.”

“Just shut up and eat!” Your brother raises his voice at you and Jungkook. You and him immediately calm down and sit still. Casey exhales through the food in his mouth. “I can’t believe I’m 30 years old and I still have to babysit you two. When will you brats grow up?”

8:00 PM

Jungkook sits up straight, facing forward in the middle of the sofa in the living room, his feet up on the coffee table in front. You are leaning your back against the cushion covering the inner side of the left arm rest. Your legs are propped up on his lap, his left hand relaxed on top of your shins. 

You two are watching The Karate Kid, Part III again, which you had on your DVR. Watching the movie series together was something you two used to always do during this time of year, during summer break. 

It’s 30 minutes into the movie when you take your eyes off of the TV screen and turn to your head to look at his side profile. You pause the movie and bring your upper body forward to sit up. “You’re serious?” 

Jungkook turns his head to his left, staring at you with relaxed eyes. “About what?” 

“About being my boyfriend? You’re serious about that?” Your arms are relaxed in your lap. 

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs, not thinking much of it. 

“What do you mean, ‘why not?’” 

“Half of our classmates thought we were dating all throughout high school. It wouldn’t even surprise them if you said that I’m your boyfriend.” 

You blink, “So you’re saying that you’re going to be my boyfriend because it’s easy and convenient? You do realize that you’re the one that asked if I want your help?” 

“And I think it’ll be fun.” He smiles, his cheekiness beginning to show again. 

“Fun? Is this some game to you?” You chuckle, dumbfounded that he’s so eager to help you out with this. 

“Yeah. I want to see whether or not you’ve been pining for me.” He takes his left hand off of your legs and raises his arm over your head to rest it on top of the cushion of the back of the sofa. He leans closer to you and smirks, “Use me, babe. I’m at your service.” 

The second you hear his words, all you can do is blink. “Your calling me ‘babe’ is exactly why everyone thought we were dating. Stop calling me that. And who says that I’ve been pining for you?” 

Jungkook giggles in a slightly low tone before changing the subject, “You did have your first kiss, you know.” He maintains eye contact with you while watching you tilt your head, trying to remember when. As far as you know, such a thing never happened. 

Yours and Jungkook’s moment is interrupted for the second time tonight by Casey, but this time, it’s for a reason. 

He’s standing on the steps, halfway up the staircase, “Get dressed, kiddo. Mom just called and said that Grandma passed away. We have to go.” 

“O-okay.” You watch as he races back up the stairs and then you turn your head back to face Jungkook. 

“Oh my god.” Jungkook reacts, staring back at you in shock. 

“I should, uh-,” You hurriedly stand up from the couch and run up the stairs to change and pack a carry-on. “Where’s my black dress?” You frantically move around your room, sifting through the boxes that you still hadn’t cleaned up. You groan while going through piles of clothes, “Where is it?”

Jungkook has followed you upstairs and is watching you from the doorframe. He then notices a back dress hanging on the top of the closet door behind you. He walks into your room and past you to reach for the hanger. 

“Is this it?” He holds it up at his side before you take it from him. 

You had hung it there so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled as it’s the dress you are wearing to your cousin’s wedding. That’s months away and you never expected to need it for anything prior to that.

You stand still with the dress in your hand and stare at the bottom of the closet door. “My carry-on.” Just as you open the closet door, you remember that your carry-on is still in the garage, broken. “Dammit, it’s broken.” You curse under your breath, in a rush. 

“Calm down.” Jungkook reminds you that rushing is not going to help you right now. It’s only going to make you more anxious. 

“I can’t, I have to-,” You run your hand through your hair. “I have to go see my-.” You hang your head low, staring at your feet. Your vision starts to blur as your eyes begin to burn from holding back your tears. 

Still standing next to you, Jungkook grabs your shoulders and bends down to look at you. “Look at me.” He waits until you lift your head. Noticing your furrowed eyebrows and the whites of your eyes that are slightly pink, his eyes are full of concern, “Breathe. It’s okay. I’ll go with you and your brothers.” 

“Don’t you have work?” 

He shakes his head, “I have the next few days off. I want to pay my respects to your grandma.” 

You exhale, “Okay, thanks.” Jungkook’s hands now let go of your shoulders and you walk out of your bedroom while talking, “Casey should have another suitcase. I’ll see if he has an extra suit.” 

8:45 PM 

“I have to go pick up Spencer at the hospital so we’ll meet you guys at the airport.” Casey gets into his car as you get into the passenger seat of yours that is parked next to his on the driveway. 

Jungkook gets into the driver’s seat on the other side but once he sits down in the seat, his body is folded together and his chest is leaning against the steering wheel. The seat is way too close to the wheel for him. “How-?” He grunts and looks over at you like you’re crazy for sitting this close to the wheel. “Are you seriously this short?”

“I’m only 5”2’.” You remind your best friend who’s eight inches taller than you that you are on the shorter side. 

“Right and I forgot you have short legs.” He teases. 

“I actually have long legs for my height.” You bicker with him, momentarily forgetting where you are going. “Stop whining and just drive, would you?” You fold your arms across your chest and adjust the way your back is leaning in the passenger’s seat. 

Jungkook chuckles and reaches below the seat to pull the lever that adjusts the distance of the seat from the wheel. Pulling the lever up, he pushes the seat back to a comfortable distance. He then puts the key into the ignition and starts the engine. 

“Do you even have a driver’s license?” You turn to look at him, speaking over the hum of the idling engine. 

“Who do you think I am? I got my license when I was 17, remember?” 

You nod, now remembering, “But when’s the last time you drove a car?” That’s the real question you meant to ask. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He winks while backing out of your driveway. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Jungkook, what’s that supposed to mean?” You feel your heart rate increasing, suddenly starting to regret letting him drive. He doesn’t answer you, which confirms your suspicion. He hasn’t driven a car in years. 

9:20 PM 

“Would you calm down already?” Jungkook sits in the chair next to you by the gate. You and him are waiting for your brothers, who are stuck in traffic. 

You squeeze the four plane tickets in your hand. “Don’t tell me to calm down.” You hiss at him, your heart pounding after that ride here that you thought you were going to die in. 

“Now you know how I felt, right?” He tries to prove a point, even in a situation like this. 

This idiot. You force yourself to calm down a little before glaring at him, “You were just being a baby when I drove that time. You drive a car like you drive your bike.” 

“Tomato, tomahto.” Jungkook looks into the distance with his left arm extended out behind you, resting on top of the back of the chair you’re sitting in. 

“That is not the same thing.” You squint for a second before relaxing your eyes. “For someone who’s had their license for over ten years, you sure don’t have that concept down.” 

“Regardless, you didn’t get hurt. So just shut up and calm down.” 

He’s so annoying. You exhale deeply, your heart rate finally steadying to its resting rhythm. Jungkook’s still looking straight ahead so you grab his attention again. “How do you know that I’ve had my first kiss?” 

He slowly turns his head to face you, meeting your eyes with a relaxed expression, “Because it was with me.”

;

May 1999, 10:30 PM

“Help me.” You breathe heavily through your words, your bloodshot and puffy eyes staring up at your best friend who looks down at you worriedly. 

It’s pouring outside and you are drenched. You just came from JFK Airport and had been standing outside of his front door for the past ten minutes before finally knocking on the door and him answering it. 

“What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” His voice coos softly, seeing as you had cried.

“Take me somewhere.” You calm down a little, trying to keep your breathing steady. 

“At this hour? Where?” Jungkook peers over your head to see the rain pouring down as hard as it sounds. 

“Anywhere.” You know the only transportation he has is his motorcycle and you usually dared not to get on that vehicle. But right now, you don’t care. You just want to get some air and stop feeling like this.

“Sure. Let’s go.” Jungkook nods, letting you come in. You follow him down to the garage where his motorcycle is parked. He opens the garage door before helping you onto the bike and putting the spare helmet over your head. The rain splashes down onto the driveway, getting heavier by the minute. “You sure about this?” 

You nod, the helmet on your head shaking up and down with your head. 

Jungkook sighs before putting on his helmet and getting on the seat in front of you. He lowers the visor as you wrap your arms around his torso. “Hold on tight.” His voice is muffled but you can still hear him through the helmet. 

He twists the handlebars with his hands to rev the engine before taking off. He turns out of the driveway, races down the street and heads toward the main road. His speed continues on the main road, driving the bike in between cars. He knows that you usually get scared when you’re on his bike, that’s why you never say ‘yes’ to riding on the back of it. 

But something is different tonight. Something is different about you. 

As he speeds through the traffic, he’s headed toward the highway. You sit behind him with the left side of your head leaning against his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and eyes closed. You don’t nag him about his reckless driving or scream about his speed. You were just, quiet. 

Once Jungkook gets on the highway, he slows down and his speed is now steady. The ride is now a lot smoother and you feel yourself mindlessly falling asleep behind him. 

11:15 PM 

“What happened? What are you suddenly doing here? Why did you ask me to take you out?” Jungkook leans his right side against the side of his bike. His motorcycle is parked in front of a bench looking out toward the Hudson River, with a view of New York City on the other side of the water. 

The rain has now slightly calmed down, though it is still heavily falling. 

“Ask one question at a time.” You take off the helmet, being greeted by the beautiful scenery. New York City at nighttime is beautiful, especially from here. 

He sighs, “Are you okay?” 

You nod your head while looking at the skyline, though immediately shake your head a second later. You begin to tear up at his words. You then lower your head and stare at the helmet on your lap. Choking on your next words, you feel a pit in your stomach as you speak, “It’s hard.” 

Jungkook is now drenched with you, after being out in the heavy rain for the past 30 minutes. Water drips from the tips of his bangs as he just stares at you, “Then why did you go?” 

You look up from the helmet, finally making eye contact with him, “I don’t think I can do it anymore. I feel like I’m suffocating.” Your voice cracks as your eyes well up with tears. 

You moved to California last July after getting accepted to Stanford. And for you, adjusting to living in a city on the other side of the country wasn’t easy. You had no friends, the classes were too hard and you felt homesick. But it wasn’t just that. Your dad kept calling you, when you wanted very little to do with him. 

Your nail beds turn white as your grip on the helmet in your lap tightens, “And my dad just keeps- He just keeps calling me. He calls and I don’t pick up. So, he leaves voicemails and apologizes over and over again, telling me that he regrets hurting us.” You scoff, dumbfounded at your dad’s repeated attempts to right his wrong when both you and he knew he couldn’t, now that the damage was done. 

Jungkook looks at your hands, seeing them turn red in the dark from gripping the helmet too hard. He takes a step closer to remove the helmet from your hands. “Have you talked to him?” He sets it down on the seat next to you

You shake your head, “Would you want to if you were me?” You exhale, “I know that he feels bad, but if he’s going to regret it, why did he leave in the first place?” 

“Some people just realize things when it’s a little too late, I guess.” Jungkook doesn’t know how else to comfort you in this situation. Your behavior right now is all new to him.

Your anger calms down a little, and you let out a soft chuckle.“I just wish I had someone with me in California.” The loneliness hits you again and tears roll down your face, “Can you come with me?” 

“What?” Jungkook whispers, holding the helmet in his hands. 

“Can you come with me? I’m so lonely.” You whine, your eyes desperate. 

Jungkook sighs and stands in front of you, watching as you cry harder, “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Please.” Your voice cracks again as you lean your head against his chest. “Help me, Jungkook.” 

“What do you want me to do?” He lays a hand on your head for the first time. This is the first time in the 15 years you’d known him that you had broken down in front of him like this. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better. 

You sniffle then lift your head off of his chest to look up at him. You stare at him for a second before slightly lifting your body off of the leather seat that you are sitting on. You mindlessly lean your face closer until your lips touch his. When you pull away a second later, Jungkook just blinks at you. 

“W-What are you doing?” Jungkook whispers. 

Realizing what you just did, you blink rapidly and avoid his eyes. “S-sorry. I d-didn’t mean to do that.” 

You two just stand there in the rain, without saying a word to each other for the next five minutes. All you could hear is the pitter-patter of the water as it falls from the sky. 

Jungkook breaks the awkward silence by exhaling deeply. He rubs his mouth with his right palm, “It’s late. We should get back.” He clears his throat and leans to his right to grab your helmet. He puts it over your head, lowering the visor for you and covering your face. 

After putting on his helmet, he lifts his left leg and brings it over the leather seat to sit on the front of the bike again. You follow and sit properly on the bike behind him before wrapping your arms around his torso. Jungkook revs the engine before the bike speeds forward and turns around sharply in the direction that you came from. 

The ride back home is again silent and once he drops you off at home, that’s the last time you see him again. 

Until June 2008.

;

You had completely forgotten about that moment. All you had remembered from that night was going to Jungkook’s house and getting drenched by the rain, which had given you a bad cold the next day. “Oh,” is all you could say.

Jungkook clears his throat loudly, sharply turning his head in the opposite direction trying to look for you brothers. “Why aren’t they here yet?” 

“We don’t have to board for another hour, you know.” You check the flight time again, looking at the ticket that is on top of the pile of four. “Our flight is at 11:00pm, so we land at Hancock Intl. in Syracuse at around 12:45am. Then tomorrow at 6:15am, we board in Syracuse, where we then land at O’Hare Intl. in Chicago at around 7:30am.” You read the ticket aloud.

“That’s almost a five and a half hour layover in Syracuse.” Jungkook points out the obvious after doing the math in his head.

“So? What do you want me to do about that?” You raise your eyebrows and the skin of your forehead slightly wrinkles. 

“What are we supposed to do for five and a half hours?” He asks like you know the answer to that question. 

“I don’t know.” You stare at him with a blank expression. 

“Why’d you buy tickets for a flight with such a long layover?” He nags, keeping his eyes off of you. 

“This is the only flight I could get at the last minute. You were right next to me when I bought the tickets. Why are you nagging me?” You grit your teeth, leaning closer to him. 

Jungkook turns his head in your direction and blinks while making eye contact with you, “Could you move your ugly face away from mine?” 

You exhale softly and slowly back away from him, “Happy?” 

“Thank you. I don’t want this handsome face to get contaminated.” 

You shake your head, “You know, the more you say that, the bigger your head is going to get.” 

“What’s wrong with being confident about my face?” 

“Being confident and conceited are two totally different things, by the way.” You speak while rummaging through your purse lying flat on your lap. “Where’s my iPod?” 

Jungkook pulls a pack of gum out of his pants pocket and picks out a stick to chew. He puts the pack back into his pocket before unwrapping the piece of sugar-free gum and popping it into his mouth, grinding it with his teeth to taste the minty flavor. He watches as you continue to look for your iPod. 

You suck on your teeth, while digging through your bag for the fifth time already. “Did I leave it at home?”

Jungkook then takes out his MP3 player from his other pants pocket. His wired earbuds are plugged in and wrapped around the center of the player. He holds the player with his left hand while rapidly unwinding the cord of the earbuds with his right hand. He sticks the left earbud into his ear before sticking the right one into your ear. 

Feeling the piece of plastic fit into your ear, you lift your head from your bag and look at Jungkook. He smiles at you before turning on a playlist and the first song is by Baby V.O.X. 

You chuckle, “You still listen to Baby V.O.X? 

“You like them too.” 

“I know.” You lean back in the chair and cross your legs, listening to the music. “This makes me think about when we were teenagers. Your favorite member was Yoon Eunhye.” You glance at Jungkook who is sitting next to you in the exact same position. 

He has his eyes closed and nods his head, “It still is. She’s pretty.” 

“You know, people tell me that I look like her.” You smile to yourself, keeping your eyes on your best friend. 

Jungkook opens his eyes and looks at you with a frown, “That’s an insult to Yoon Eunhye. How can you say that?” 

“I’m serious. People say that I resemble her.” You defend yourself. 

“Resemble, my ass.” Jungkook turns his head back to face forward again as you grumble and fold your arms across your chest.

10:20 PM

“Guys!” Spencer stumbles while running towards you and Jungkook with Casey right behind him, pulling the large suitcase. 

Your head jerks around in the direction of your brother’s voice, “Spencer!” You stand up and pull the earbud out of your right ear before rushing over to him to help him with his bags. Jungkook also stands up and follows you, bringing your bags with him. “Why are you still wearing your white coat?” 

Spencer throws his backpack down on the floor next to him. “I forgot to take it off.” He huffs in between his words before turning to face Jungkook, “Thanks for coming, man. Appreciate it.” 

“No problem, Spencer.” Jungkook nods at Spencer who’s still catching his breath. 

“We gotta go.” Casey rushes the three of you, dragging the large suitcase next to him to the gate. 

Spencer grabs his backpack and swings one strap over his shoulder, then takes his other bag from you while you adjust your purse on your shoulder. Jungkook grabs your suitcase and small tote bag, following all three of you to the gate. 

10:50 PM 

“Hey.” Jungkook pokes your left cheek with his index finger. “Are you still sullen?” He smiles like a kid having fun teasing their older sibling. 

You sit still in the seat next to him, while your arms are folded across your chest. You answer his question without turning to him, “No. Why would I be?” 

“You just seemed upset after I disagreed with you when you said that people say that you resemble Yoon Eunhye.” 

You finally turn to face him, “It’s not the first time you’ve said that I’m ugly or something of the sort. So why would I be sullen? I’m not a kid or anything.” 

“Okay, good.” He turns his body to face forward and taps his right shoulder with his left hand. “Rest your head on my shoulder if you want.” 

You frown, “Why are you being cringey?” 

“What? You don’t like it?” He raises his eyebrows, looking down at you with his head leaning back against the headrest of the seat. 

“No, I don’t. I want to slap you right now.” 

“Don’t be like that. Not to your boyfriend.” Jungkook’s voice hums in a low tone before a smirk is drawn on his face. 

Your eyes widen at the sound of the word, ‘boyfriend’. “Are you crazy?! Why are you calling yourself my boyfriend?” 

“I am your boyfriend.” He continues to poke fun at you. 

You scoff then smile as you run your tongue along your top teeth. “Are you going to keep this up?” 

“Keep what up?” He winks and clicks his tongue. 

Ha. This brat. 

The Next Day, 1:20 AM, Syracuse, NY

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jungkook reacts to the one bed placed in the middle of the back wall across from the door. 

You follow and scoff, “You’re joking. How are we supposed to sleep here?” 

The two of you stand side-by-side in the doorway and just stare at the queen-size mattress. Jungkook walks into the room first, pushing the suitcase into the corner on his right-hand side. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.” 

“Well neither am I.” The carpet looks dirty and you didn’t know when it was last vacuumed. You are not sleeping on it, even if there’s a flat sheet in between you and the floor. 

After landing in Syracuse at 12:45am, the four of you decided to go to a motel and get some sleep before your flight to Chicago. Unfortunately, at that hour, the only two rooms available each had only one bed. Casey and Spencer are in one room and you and Jungkook are in the other right next door. 

You and Jungkook stare at either before the both of you lunge toward the bed and jump on it. You two wrestle with each other, “No! The bed is mine!” Your voice goes higher as you fight your best friend for the bed. After about five minutes, you push Jungkook off of the bed and he rolls onto the floor. 

You lay with your legs bent on the mattress, knees pointing to the ceiling, and let out a sigh, “this is nice.” You pull your upper body up with your core and sit up, smiling down at your defeated best friend on the floor

Jungkook groans as his body hits the floor with a thud. As you enjoy your victory, he curses under his breath and gets up from the floor. He breathes heavily and stares at you before climbing onto the bed in front of you and pinning you down on the mattress. His hands grab your wrists as he’s looking down at you, still breathing heavily. “I’m not giving up this easily.” 

“Hey, armrest. Do you have-?” Spencer opens the door to your room and cuts himself off when he sees you and Jungkook on the bed. You two jerk your heads in the direction of the door as Spencer just blinks, “What are you two doing?”

“We’re fighting over the bed…” You’re embarrassed to admit to your older brother that you and Jungkook still fight over things like this. 

“You know, there’s a couch right there.” Spencer points to the couch that’s to the right of you, a few feet away. 

Both of you only notice that after Spencer mentions it. Jungkook whispers, “oh,” and exchanges a glance with you before getting off of you and standing up from the bed. 

“Anyway, do you have toothpaste? I forgot to bring mine from work.” Your brother walks into the room, leaving the door open a crack.

You groan while rolling off of the bed and walking over to the suitcase in the corner where Jungkook left it. After bending down and unzipping the luggage, you grab your toiletry bag and dig through it. “Here,” you lift your head and make eye contact with Spencer while handing him one tube of travel-size toothpaste

Your older brother slightly nudges your temple with his left fist, “Thanks, dork.” He glances at Jungkook, then back at you. “You two have to stop fighting. You’ll end up growing on each other.” He chuckles and makes his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Okay, fine,” you zip up the suitcase and use it to stand yourself up from the floor, “you take the couch.” 

Jungkook scoffs, “If you think I’m giving up the bed, think again.” 

“You’re going to let a girl sleep on the couch? Where did chivalry go?” You fold your arms across your chest and bend your left leg, leaning on your right. 

“What makes you think I consider you a girl?” He tilts his head, raising his eyebrows. 

-

You exhale, “This is no better than one of us sleeping on the couch.” Laying on your right side, your back is turned to Jungkook’s on the bed. 

He lays on his left side on the other end of the bed, now just in the jeans and black t-shirt he’s been wearing. He had taken off the white long sleeve shirt he was wearing under the t-shirt and thrown it on top of your tote bag. “Quit whining and go to sleep.” Jungkook says with his eyes closed, his left arm bent and between his head and the pillow.

“This is stupid.” You roll over onto your back and lay still on your side of the bed. “I’m going to the couch.” You move to get up but Jungkook extends his right arm back and slightly pushes your left shoulder down so you’re back on the bed. “Just sleep there.” 

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“I won’t move from this side, so don’t worry and just sleep.” He still has his back turned to you. 

You listen to him and sigh, closing your eyes, but five seconds later, they open again and you are wide awake. “Are you sleeping?” 

“Mm.” Jungkook hums in his sleep. He has no problem laying next to you in the same bed. 

You breath softly, closing your eyes again to really try and fall asleep this time. You roll over back on your right side and feel yourself falling asleep. 

5:40 AM 

“You both slept in the bed?!” Casey’s eyes widen after hearing yours and Jungkook’s sleeping arrangement. He looks at the two of you with an ‘overprotective older brother’ look in his eyes.

“Relax.” You whisper, telling your brother to lower his voice as the other people in line to board the plane could hear him. “Do you really think something could’ve happened between me and Jungkook?” 

“Still… I know you two used to do that when you were kids but now? A grown man and woman sleeping in the same bed, is a bit-.” Spencer agrees with Casey. 

“I moved to the couch halfway through the night. So, both of you can rest assured.” Jungkook tells your brothers that they didn’t need to worry about anything. “She still bearhugs me in her sleep.” 

You giggle and raise your right palm and the three of them, “Sorry.” 

“So it’s you we have to worry about.” Casey grits his teeth while poking your forehead with his index finger. 

Spencer then lightly nudges your head with his fist, “You brat.” 

“Ow, that hurts!” You glare at both of your brothers. 

“Let me see the seat numbers on the tickets.” Casey moves on from the current conversation. He takes the tickets from your hand and checks the seat numbers. “On the last flight, Spence and I had no leg room. You’d think that the leg room on planes would be accommodating for people over 6 feet tall, but no.” After reading the seat numbers, he nods. “It looks like these seats are two and two that are front and back.” 

The line moves forward and the four of you are now second in line to board. “I’m nervous.” You’re reminded of why you’re traveling to Chicago again. You weren’t ready to say goodbye to your grandma. It’s too soon, too sudden. 

Spencer exhales deeply and rests a hand on your shoulder, “We are too. It’s okay.” 

-

The next six days after the four of you get to Chicago feels more like a month. 

Spencer and Jungkook had to go back to work after the funeral and the wake so they both had return flights four days before you. You, your mom and Casey stayed in Chicago for three more days at your now late grandma’s house to clean out her place. She had put her house up for sale before she passed away. That house was your mom’s home since her family had immigrated from South Korea when she was in high school. You and your brothers would spend part of every winter and summer break from school there. Your grandma and her house held many memories for all of you. 

So, naturally, both were very hard to let go of. 

Two Weeks Later, July 2008, 11:00 AM

“My aunts asked if you have a girlfriend. They wanted to set you up.” You mention that without warning, which makes Jungkook choke on his iced coffee. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” You lightly pat his back to help his body calm down. 

“They want to do what?” His voice is hoarse from coughing. 

“Don’t worry about it. I told them that you have a girlfriend.” You sip your coffee through the straw. 

“You should’ve just told them that you’re my girlfriend.” Jungkook leans back in the chair on the other side of the table in the Starbucks you two are in, now feeling better after choking. 

“Do you like me or something? Why are you so okay with being my fake boyfriend?” 

“Hey, like I said, use me, I’m at your service.” He tilts his head and smirks at you. “So, use me as you see fit. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Then again, they did say that it’d be a shame if you didn’t have a girlfriend because you’re so handsome.” You shake your head, disagreeing with them. 

“You don't have to make the fact that you disagree so obvious, you know.” 

“Sorry. I’ve been working on controlling my facial expressions. I’ve been told that I’m transparent.” 

Jungkook chuckles, leaning forward to take another sip of coffee. “You know that’ll never work on me. I know you too well.” 

“Dammit.” You whisper under your breath. 

Jungkook checks his watch and smiles before looking up at you, “Anyway, what time is the movie again?” 

“Eight thirty.” The fingers of your left hand play with the ring on your right middle finger. 

“Why are you so dressed up? Do you have a job interview or something?” Jungkook asks, not really looking for a ‘yes’ to his second question. 

“I actually do.” You smile, happy that you actually got a call back for at least one position you applied for.

“Where?” His eyes widen, shocked that you had actually found a job. 

“You don’t have to act that surprised.” 

“Sorry.” He smiles and his voice is slightly lower as he speaks.

“It’s at a law firm like twenty minutes from here.” You exhale and stretch out your arms. “It’s in thirty minutes.” 

“I’ll drop you off.” The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he pushes it back to stand up. “I’m headed that way anyway.” 

You shake your head violently, staying seated. “I’m good. I’ll just walk.” 

“It’s like ninety-five degrees out.” He scoffs, “You’ll sweat through your makeup and look uglier than you already are. You’ll be rejected as soon as they see your face.” He smiles so that his top and bottom teeth show. 

“And riding on the back of your bike won’t be hot?” You raise your eyebrows, not really seeing the difference. 

He shrugs, “No, but you won’t have sweat on your face and they might actually consider going through with the interview.” 

You chuckle, grabbing the clear plastic cup of black coffee from the table. The outside is wet from the condensation of the ice melting. “Fine, let’s go.” 

“Seriously?” He tilts his head, shocked for the second time. Just like nine years ago, there’s something different about you this summer. 

“Come on, before I change my mind.” You walk out of the Starbucks and to his bike parked by the curb. 

“Oh-kay,” he whispers under his breath and follows behind you. 

“Hold on tight.” He reminds you before driving off. 

You gasp at the sudden movement, still not used to the speed he drives at. Luckily, your arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. Though your body does jerk forward and bumps into his back when the bike speeds forward. 

“No matter how many times I get on this thing, it’s never any easier.” You yell over the sound of the engine and the wind. 

“Maybe you should ride it with me more often.” Jungkook yells back. 

You scoff, “No thanks. Maybe you should get a car instead.” 

Jungkook glances at you through the left rear view mirror, “No thanks.” 

You chuckle, adjusting your grip around his waist. Ten minutes later, Jungkook stops his bike in front of the law firm where you had your interview. You breathe as you pull the helmet off of your head and put it back underneath the seat. 

“See? Now you might actually get the job.” Jungkook has the visor of his helmet lifted and he looks at you with playful eyes. 

“Shut up.” You shake your head, “Don’t forget about tonight at eight thirty.” 

He clicks his tongue and winks, “I won’t, babe.” 

“Bye.” You walk away as Jungkook watches before lowering the visor and taking off. The low rumble of the engine before it revs echoes in your ear as you disappear into the building. 

8:15 PM 

“What the hell happened to you?” You run up to your best friend after seeing his bruised face while walking toward you. 

“I got into a fight with my friends earlier. It’s no big deal.” Jungkook looks away from you and exhales softly, “Let’s go in.” 

-

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You look up at your best friend while walking out of the theater next to him after the movie ended. 

“I’m fine.” He has his hands in his pants pockets and matches his pace to yours. 

“Your face is saying otherwise.” You stop him in the hallway of the theater and stand in front of him to examine his face. “Why do you always-“ You cut yourself off when you hear a familiar voice calling to you. 

“Hey, chewing gum. It's been a long time.” 

You turn your head toward the direction that the voice sounds from and smile once you recognize the face, “Taehyung!” You leave Jungkook all alone and rush over to talk to him. 

“‘Taehyung’?” Jungkook raising his eyes and mumbles to himself as he watches you smile widely at the guy who you seemed rather friendly with. He couldn’t hear the conversation you are having but he watches as you act all shy by tucking your hair behind your ear and smiling silly. He scoffs and shakes his head, “Would you look at her.” He keeps talking to himself, noticing that you clearly had history with the guy. Jungkook rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, glaring at the guy from a distance. 

You wave at Taehyung before you part ways with him. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you walk back towards Jungkook, “Sorry, it’s just someone from college.” 

“Who was that?” Jungkook keeps his eyes on Tarhyung who walks away. 

“He’s a guy who was a year above me at Stanford. I had a crush on him so I followed him around all the time.” You’re still smiling and that seems to annoy Jungkook for some reason. 

“You seemed to love talking to him and called him by his name.” He scoffs. 

“I’m close with him so it’d only make sense to call him that.” You don’t see anything wrong with that and you could tell that Jungkook is getting jealous. It’s fun to watch. “Are you jealous because he’s better looking than you?” 

Jungkook laughs, finding it ridiculous that you’d say such a thing. “Who? Me?” 

You shrug, “Let’s go. I’ll patch you up.” 

He doesn’t move so you link your arm with his. He frowns at your sudden playful display of affection. “Let go of me.” 

You listen to him and let go of his arm. “Getting annoyed doesn’t suit you, by the way.”

“Whatever. We’re taking my bike to my place so suck it up.” Jungkook’s voice holds little emotion as he walks ahead of you with his hands still in his pockets. 

“I know.” You rush behind him, smiling to yourself. 

10:45 PM 

“Don’t be a baby.” You respond to Jungkook flinching when the ointment touches his busted up lip. You hold a cotton swab in your hand as you apply ointment to the skin of his lip. 

“It hurts. Be gentle.” He nags, looking away from you and closing his eyes in pain. 

“Who told you get beat up like this all the time? Aren’t you sick of it?  Ever since high school.” You move on to apply ointment on the cut on his left cheekbone. 

“Then what am I supposed to do? I promised your dad to be your knight in shining armor.” He now turns to make eye contact with you as you suddenly stop what you’re doing. 

“You what?” Your voice is just above a whisper as you hold the cotton swab in your hand that floats in the air by his face. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly softens. 

“What is it?” You go back to what you were just doing, trying to take your mind off of what you just heard. 

Jungkook stares at you without blinking, “Why did you kiss me back then?” 

© kookied 2026. all rights reserved. all content shared on this page is my own, original work. the above characters (including original), characterizations, dialogue, plot and settings are all fictitious. they are not to be associated with any real people mentioned, whom are solely used for visual purposes.