petite bibliothèque

You remembered the first time you saw him.

Your sister, Suji, was two years older than you and ever since you were ten, she brought her friends home nearly every weekend.

There were four of them: Jimin, Yejin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

They were inseparable and exactly the kind of friendship you only ever read about in books or watched in movies. On weekends, your house was always filled with their voices and you never minded it, especially since two-years was not much of an age gap, hence you were included in almost everything they did.

That only changed after they graduated from high school and scattered across the country. Even then, the distance never truly separated them. They would stay in touch, called regularly, and planned a holiday together at least once a year.

As a child, being included in their group made you feel important. There was something exciting and cool about being ten and spending most of your time with older kids.

It did not take long for you to realise that Suji was the one holding them all together and her friends always orbited around her without noticing they were doing it. That never surprised you because Suji has always been the main character wherever she went, both at home and everywhere else.

You never resented her for it because she was the kindest sister you could have asked for. She never made you feel smaller than her, she invited you to parties you were too young to attend, defended you when Taehyung teased you about your missing front tooth, and let you borrow her clothes without ever complaining about it.

Her friends were kind to you too.

Jimin and Yejin were the first ones you met. You remembered them sitting beside you at the kitchen table, patiently helping you with your maths homework. Now they were married, with a daughter who was as cheerful as the two of them.

Then there was Taehyung, around whom fourteen-year-old Suji started acting differently. She became shy in his presence, more careful with her words, and she would glance at him now and then whenever she thought no one was looking. They were married now and, as far as you could tell, still having the time of their lives together.

And then there was Jungkook.

You, Suji, and the rest of her friends had been playing hide-and-seek throughout the house one Saturday afternoon, and Jungkook was the seeker. You hid behind the living-room curtain, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps.

You were certain you would be caught first, because you barely had time to find a proper hiding place.

And you were right, Jungkook did find you first.

He pulled the curtain aside just enough to see you. But instead of dragging you out and gloating the way Taehyung or Jimin would have done, he merely smiled at you and ruffled your hair.

Then he let the curtain fall back into place and walked away to find the others.

You stayed behind the curtain for another full minute, your heart beating so loud that you considered asking your mom to call an ambulance.

At ten years old, what was that if not a knight in shining armour?

You have been in love with him ever since.

By fourteen, you assumed the feeling would have disappeared. It was supposed to be puppy love; something harmless and embarrassing that you would laugh about with Suji over wine in ten years time. But it did not just disappear like you thought it would. 

In high school, Jungkook became one of the popular boys. His face made insecure boys resent him and hopeful girls imagine they had a chance with him. Yet he never seemed interested in any of it, he only cared about being around Suji and the rest of their friends, and he never seemed to mind having you around either.

Well, mostly because you were his best friend’s little sister.

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At fifteen, you finally told Suji about your little embarrassing crush. 

She was not surprised when you confessed that you had a crush on one of her best friends. Jungkook was handsome too so it wasn’t really weird. You learned much later that she had known for years, but that night, she only laughed softly and said, “I’ll help you get together with him when you’re a little older, okay?”

Not long after you told her, Jungkook stopped coming to the house.

The rest of the group continued gathering in your living room every weekend as loud and inseparable as ever, but his usual seat was always empty. You still caught glimpses of him in the school hallways. He never said hello, though that wasn’t really strange since he rarely greeted you at school even before he stopped coming around your house.

Then you noticed that Jungkook started spending time with a different crowd. And it happened around the same time Suji and Taehyung finally started dating. These two quickly became the school’s “it” couple, with every photograph of them posted online always accompanied with the same ‘#CoupleGoals’. 

But them getting together never surprised you.

What surprised you was that the moment Suji and Taehyung got together, Jungkook noticed you again, but not the way you wanted him to. The time your paths crossed again, he spat onto the ground in front of you and looked at you as if the sight of you disgusted him.

You didn’t understand it. You’ve adored him for five years by then, and you had no idea what you did to deserve that kind of hatred.

When you asked Jimin whether you somehow offended Jungkook, he only sighed and told you not to take it personally. And that Jungkook started spending time with wealthy, arrogant boys, and he has changed. 

To you, it made sense for him to hang out with a different crowd, especially since he came from a different tax bracket than you did.

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You were twenty-two when you received the phone call from your mother. 

By this time, Jungkook was somewhere not in your life; he was just a name that came up at your school reunion and nowhere else. You’ve heard things about him; that he helped his father ran their family’s company, then him eventually becoming the CEO. 

Your mother has been a single mother almost your whole life, and she has never once, in twenty-two years, called you sounding like she was preparing for you to leave her life.

"Can you come home?" she asked, "tonight, if you can. I need to talk to you about something and I don't want to do it over the phone."

You asked if everything was okay, and she said she'll explain when you were there, which is somehow worse than any answer she could have given you, and you spent the whole drive over with your stomach tightened in knots.

Your mom was waiting at the kitchen table when you arrived, two cups of tea already going cold in front of her like she made them an hour ago and forgot they existed the moment she poured them. 

“Mom?” you asked as you sat down in front of her, “this is reminding me of horror movies,” you chuckled. 

"I need to tell you something," she said, "and I need you to not hate me."

You immediately became silent and didn’t even dare to say anything. So you let her say whatever she wanted to say in her own time, because she seemed as if she was going to burst into tears.

"I owe some family a great deal of money," she said, finally opening up after what felt like fifteen minutes, "forty million dollars. It's to the Jeon's family. Jeon Jungkook, do you remember him? From when you were kids, Suji's friend.."

You couldn’t help the gasp that followed, "How?" was all you could manage to respond with. 

forty million dollars was more money than you have ever seen in your life. Your mother was an investment banker at a small firm, so your family has never been poor, but you were nowhere near forty-million-dollars rich. But then, compared to the Jeon family, you might as well have been poor.

“I’d been at the firm for three years by then,” your mother said, her eyes fixed on the table, “I was young enough to be desperate for a win. I wanted to prove myself, especially in rooms full of men who called me sweetheart and honey during meetings and constantly tease me.”

She paused, playing with her fingers in her lap, “One of my colleagues brought me a deal. It was a startup that was supposedly going to be bought out within eighteen months. It was the kind of tip that could make someone’s career if it worked.”

“And you believed him?” you asked.

“I believed in the startup,” she corrected, “enough to pass it on to a client I’d been trying to win over for months. Jungkook’s parents. I told them it was a sure thing,” your mother said, her voice slightly breaking on the word sure, “I wasn’t lying to them. I believed it too.”

She looked down at her hands, “That’s the part that still keeps me awake. I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt anyone. I did it because I wanted them to trust me. I wanted it so badly.”

“And it failed?”

“Not at first. For a few months, everything looked promising, then the company’s lead investor pulled out after a fraud investigation. None of us saw it coming and the entire company collapsed within six weeks.”

She paused before continuing, “Jungkook’s parents lost almost everything they invested. And because I was the one who brought them the deal and told them their money would be safe, they came to me. forty million dollars was what they believed they would have earned if the deal had succeeded, added to everything they had lost.”

“They expected you to pay all of that?” you asked in disbelief.

“They said I could take as long as I needed and I could repay it at whatever pace I could manage, and they would never tell anyone what happened,” she said, before finally looking up at you.

"How much have you paid so far?" you ask, though some part of you already knows the answer will hurt you.

"Five hundred thousand. A little more, actually, slowly but steadily I was paying it off, but it has been years since the deal, ____," she said, her eyes filled with tears. 

You have never seen her crying this much, not even at your father's funeral where she held back her tears for her children, "I didn't want you or Suji to know. It’s a debt I don’t want the two of you to carry.”

"And the rest of it?" you finally asked, "you wouldn't have called me here just to tell me about the debt or the amount. There's something else, right?"

Your mother's hands tighten in her lap, "They want to erase the whole forty million debt, if.. "

"If what?" you asked nervously.

"If you marry their son, Jungkook."

You laughed at your mother, because what she just said sounded like an opening line of a story or a cringe fan fiction you read on Wattpad years ago. 

Then you looked at her face and understood she wasn’t trying to fool you at all.

“Mom,” you quietly said, your voice shaking out of anger, confusion, and sadness, you couldn’t really tell. 

“I barely know him anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, and he’s not the boy from my childhood anymore. I don’t even know who he is now.”

“I know,” she said, and she sounded as if she dreaded saying the idea aloud, for even thinking of asking you to do this, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for even considering asking this of you,” her voice trembled, “I’ve thought it over in my head for weeks, and I feel so bad as a mother, it feels as if I’m selling you to fix my own mistake.”

She drew in a breath, “It’s fine, you don’t need to do this. I’ll find another way. I will not make you responsible for a debt that belongs to me.”

“Jungkook is a good-looking man, Mom. He’s rich too and he could have anyone he wanted,” you hesitated before asking further, “so why would he agree to this? Why me?”

“He’s refused everyone his parents have introduced him to,” she said quietly, “for years, apparently he has refused half a dozen women. From what I understand, he turned every one of them down.”

She paused before adding, “But this time, his parents told me it was his idea,” her eyes lifted to yours, “he chose you.”

You thought it was bullshit, why would Jungkook choose you out of all people? It was clear as days that his eyes were never on yours, and all of the sudden he has chosen you? 

Jungkook was an old friend you spent years hoping never to see again. What could someone like him possibly want from you now?

You couldn’t help but wonder if being chosen meant being wanted by Jungkook, or if you were simply the easiest answer to him; something he agreed to because saying yes was easier than arguing with his parents over a marriage he did not care enough to refuse.

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You said yes.

Because when you did the math more than once that week, lying awake in the dark, trying to picture your mom at seventy still working even during the weekends to pay down a debt that is almost impossible to pay off. 

You just couldn’t make yourself accept a future that looks like that when you have the power to end it with a single word.

You said yes because you have spent your whole life being the person who helps everyone around you. The little sister who never made anyone feel lacking in anything, the daughter who learned early not to add her own weight to a household already struggling with just one income. You were always the person who takes care of others when they are sick and never asks anyone to do the same for you.

It is the only thing you have ever known what to do. And some part of you just does not know how to look at someone who needs you and say no, even when the person who needs you most is yourself.

Then there is the other reason.

 That small part of you that is still ten years old, still standing behind a curtain while Jungkook smiled at you, has never fully stopped hoping there might be a version of this where Jungkook looks at you without hatred.

You know how ridiculous that sounded.

You know it is not the kind of reason anyone sensible enough should agree to a marriage. But you were ten when you fell for him, and somehow, despite everything, a part of that girl never really went away. When your mother said Jungkook had chosen you, that little girl came rushing back.

You understand, even as you agreed to the marriage, that this is a stupid reason to ruin your life. Yet you said yes anyway, because you have never been as rational as you would like to believe when it comes to Jungkook.

Because some part of you would rather walk willingly into the fire than spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had turned away.

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Two weeks later you were standing in a hotel lobby, your hands were trembling despite the summer heat outside, because his mother suggested or insisted, really, that the two of you meet before anything was finalized. 

You spent forty minutes deciding what to wear and hated yourself for even caring about it.

Jungkook was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with his jacket off and his sleeves pushed up, and his phone in his hand. He didn't stand up when you sat down.

Up close, he still looked familiar, only older now. He had tattoos all over his right arm and there was very little left of the boy who used to smile at you like the two of you shared a secret.

"You're late," Jungkook said, not even looking up to look at you.

"By only four minutes," you answered.

"Four minutes I didn't have."

"Then you should've told your mother not to schedule this in the first place," you scoffed.

That finally made him look up from his phone. Something changed across his face, you could tell that Jungkook was surprised that you answered back at him instead of backing down like he seemed to expect you to do.

You remembered, vaguely, a boy who was gentle to you. There was very little of him left in the man frowning at you now, and you hated that some part of you still mourned the loss of someone you barely knew anymore.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Jungkook asked. 

"Oh, I remember you," you said, “though you used to be nicer."

"You used to be shorter," Jungkook said, rolling his eyes at you.

You ordered coffee neither of you touched and spent the next forty minutes arguing about the wedding neither of you wanted. 

And some small, foolish part of you enjoyed that meeting because arguing with Jungkook meant he was looking at you. It meant you mattered enough to annoy him. 

It meant, for those forty minutes at least, you managed to take up space in his mind.

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You married him six weeks later, on a bright Saturday in August, in a dress that cost more than your mother's monthly salary, in a ballroom filled with flowers your mother-in-law chose without consulting you.

The man standing in front of you was not the boy who once found you behind a curtain during a hide-and-seek game. 

Jungkook shook your hand instead of kissing you when the officiant told him he could. He even came up with a charming joke about how shaking hands was an inside joke between the two of you, which made the room laugh.

When you told Suji and Taehyung that you were marrying Jungkook, neither of them believed you. It happened too quickly, you have never told them you were in a relationship, there was no engagement or anything that might have explained how the two of you have gone from never speaking to planning a wedding.

You could not tell them about the debt. You didn’t want them to be angry with your mom, so you insisted it was a long time coming. You told them you have always loved Jungkook and that, somewhere along the way, he secretly started to feel the same way. 

Suji and Taehyung did not believe that either, of course they didn’t, they knew Jungkook has always liked Suji. They just didn’t want you to know it, that was what they have been protecting you from since you were ten. So, at the wedding, neither of them cried. Even Jimin and Yejin didn’t bother to congratulate you either. 

Suji only held your hands for a moment, while Taehyung stood beside her with an expression you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

“We’re here for you,” Suji said.

“Anytime,” Taehyung added.

You couldn’t tell whether that was a warning, but you knew then that they knew something you didn’t. 

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Jungkook’s hand on your waist during the first dance felt cold, because he was touching you only because the event expected him to. He never pulled you closer or whispered something sweet in between of the dance. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere over your shoulder, while you moved together with the applause of people who believed they were watching two people in love.

Later, in a hotel suite far too large for two people who had nothing to say to each other, you and Jungkook sat at opposite ends of the couch, still dressed in your wedding clothes.

Jungkook's tie had been pulled loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Your veil was folded beside you and the hand bouquet of flowers were placed right between the two of you.

“Just so we’re clear, we’re only married on paper,” Jungkook eventually said. 

Jungkook didn’t think he was being cruel to you. If anything, he believed he was doing you a kindness by being honest from the beginning. 

“I won’t cheat on you. I can’t afford to have my company being caught up in a scandal,” he continued, “but I’m not going to treat you like a wife. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just my roommate.”

“Okay,” you said.

It was the only word you could utter at that moment. 

You did not know how to explain how his words made you feel. You only knew that you already decided Jungkook would never see you cry over something he clearly would never think was worth grieving.

You changed out of your wedding dress in the bathroom because it felt strange to do it in front of a husband who barely looked at you since the ceremony.

That night, you slept on opposite sides of the same bed, with a pillow placed between the two of you like a line neither of you was meant to cross. 

By the time you woke up the next morning, Jungkook was already gone. 

At the very least, Jungkook had the decency to leave a note on the counter with his flight time. Much later in the marriage, you would realize it was the first of countless mornings that started the same way:

waking up to find out that Jungkook already left.

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first year of marriage

Jungkook moved into the guest room during the very first day you started living together. That first night, you lay awake in the enormous bed you were apparently meant to have all to yourself, listening to the faint sounds of Jungkook moving around the apartment. 

Then during the first year of your marriage, you found yourself keeping track of everything Jungkook never did.

You stupidly believed that if you counted the nights he came home, the meals you shared, and the times he looked at you like he cared about you, then you might be able to prove that things were getting better. And when they did not, the numbers became proof that you had not imagined how lonely the marriage made you feel.

You hated that you cared enough to count it all and you hated yourself even more for still waiting for Jungkook to change.

Pathetic did not feel like a strong enough word for measuring your marriage by how little your husband gave you, only to find yourself disappointed each time the answer was almost nothing.

You counted the nights he came home before midnight: 11 out of 365 days. 

You counted the meals you ate at the same table: 4, and two of those were during the week his grandmother visited. To Jungkook, keeping up appearances to his family mattered more than whatever existed between the two of you.

You counted the number of times he asked how your day was: 0.

Well, what did you really expect? 

This was an arranged marriage, and Jungkook chose you because he knew you would be easy to please without ever having to worry that you might leave the marriage. At some point, you realized maybe Jungkook had always known how you felt about him. Perhaps that was why he had chosen you as his wife in the first place.

Yet what some stupid part of you wanted was to know undoubtedly that he cared for you, even just a little. 

Whenever you were out with friends and thought of him, you would bring something home and leave it on the counter with a note telling him it was his to eat or drink.

By morning, the food was always still sitting there on the counter, clearly untouched.

Jungkook never ate any of the food you brought home for him, not once that entire year. So eventually, you stopped being surprised and then, sometime near the end of the first year, you stopped bringing anything home at all.

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Family holidays were the worst because Jungkook never bothered to show up. So you had to act and lie to everyone around you that the marriage was fine and Jungkook is just one busy businessman. 

“He’s on a business trip,” you told your mother at Chuseok, “the company’s expanding into three new markets this quarter. He barely has time to sleep.”

“He’s swamped with work,” you told Suji at your father’s memorial dinner. That was the one day you truly wanted him there. Just once, you wanted your fake husband to stand beside you at your father’s grave, so you didn't have to lie when you were already drowning in grief and sadness. “Jungkook sends his condolences,” you added.

He did not.

You made it up, the way you always did. He did not come because he did not want to, because you were not worth giving up even a single hour of his life for. You could not say any of that to the people who loved you, not yet and maybe not ever.

Besides, you had no one to blame but yourself. 

No one had forced you to say yes. Your mother would have been fine if she had to keep paying the debt, even if it took the rest of her life, and you could have helped her without marrying Jungkook. There were always other choices you could have picked, harder ones perhaps, but they always existed.

Yet you chose this route.

You walked into the marriage willingly because some foolish part of you wanted an answer to the question you’ve always had since you were ten: what would happen if Jungkook chose you to be his partner? 

Well, now, the adult version of you know.

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What you didn't know that first year was that Jungkook noticed all the empty containers more than he let on, he noticed all the food you brought home for him to consume.

Jungkook would come home late most nights, and sometimes later than he actually needed to, because coming home early meant having to sit in the same room as you, and Jungkook never knew what to say to you.

He would see the food you left for him on the counter with a small note on top of it. And every time he saw it, something in his chest felt weird. Jungkook told himself what he felt had to be guilt, there was no other reason for him to care about you.

A few times, Jungkook found himself standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, holding the food you brought home and he would just stare at it for a while before putting it back exactly where you left it. Because he didn’t want you to know he had even looked or noticed the effort you put in for him.

To Jungkook, the whole point of this marriage was revenge.

You ruined his life, so he was ruining yours. 

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second year of marrtiage

By the second year of your arranged marriage, you were used to the coldness between you and Jungkook. You stopped hoping for him to change his ways, you stopped waiting for him at dinner and setting out a second plate.

You started going to Suji's for girls’ nights and coming home late on purpose, just to see if Jungkook would notice and he never did. Thankfully, it didn't hurt you as much as it would have in the first year. Most nights, he was either still out or locked inside his study. Sometimes the light under the door was the only sign that he was even home.

The apartment stayed exactly the same whether you were there or not.

At New Year, your aunt cornered you before dinner, “Where’s your husband? We’ve only met him twice in two years, and one of those times was at your wedding.”

“He’s closing a deal in Singapore,” you answered easily as lying about Jungkook was almost natural by now, “it’s a big one, so he had to be there.”

What she did not know was that you cried in your car before coming upstairs. You gave yourself exactly ten minutes to cry, sitting in the dark parking lot with the engine off and your forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Once ten minutes were over, you went upstairs to greet your family and smiled as if nothing was wrong.

It was also during the second year that you flew to Jeju for the wedding of one of Jungkook’s business partners.

You assumed you would sit together since it was still a public appearance. It felt stupid now, standing at the gate of priority passengers with your boarding pass in hand, but you didn’t think to check your tickets until Jungkook told you.

“I’m flying first class,” he said, “you’re in economy.”

“Oh,” you forced a small laugh, trying to sound as if it didn’t bother you, “I thought you would’ve booked us seats next to each other.”

“Economy seat should be fine for you. It’s only three hours.”

You spent the flight in a middle seat between two strangers, leaning past the person beside you whenever you wanted to look out the window. 

Years ago, you believed being noticed by Jungkook would feel like winning something.

Now you were his wife, and he couldn’t even be bothered to sit beside you.

When the plane landed, he was not waiting for you, just as you expected. You had to book a taxi to the hotel alone and texted him to say you have arrived. And his only reply was the number of the room you had to share together since most of his colleagues and friends are staying in the same hotel. 

When you let yourself into the room, he was on a call, feet up on the balcony railing as he sat on the balcony couch. It was thankfully an ensuite room with 2 separate beds, so you didn’t have to share a bed with him. Your only interaction with Jungkook then was when he lifted his finger in front of his mouth to tell you to be silent as he was talking on the phone.  

At the wedding reception, you sat at a table full of his friends, who happened to be the group he used to hang out with at school, and you smiled throughout a dinner where no one asked you a single question about yourself, because to them you were simply "Jungkook's wife.”

You weren’t paying much attention to the conversation until one of the women at the table turned to you, “Is that even a real Van Cleef?” she asked, nodding at your bracelet, “it doesn’t look like it.”

“It isn’t,” you said, “it was handmade by a small business.”

“Huh,” she looked at it again, her mouth twisting slightly in disgust.

Another woman leaned closer, “Don’t you think you should make more of an effort with Jungkook’s friends? You never come to any of our gatherings. We barely know anything about you besides the fact that you’re Suji’s younger sister.”

Jungkook has never invited you to any of those gatherings, but you couldn’t tell them that, it would only give them something else to laugh about, “I’ve been busy,” you said.

“Jungkook is much busier than you,” one of the men cut in.

The first woman looked at you again, “You should be more careful about how you dress too, wearing cheap jewellery makes your husband look bad.”

It was not as if Jungkook has ever given you money to buy anything, not that you would have taken it even if he had.

 “I see,” you muttered.

You stared at her bracelet before standing up from your seat, “Well, at least mine was made responsibly by someone who was paid fairly,” you said, “can you say the same about yours? Or do you just not care about the children who had to mine the diamond and stones as long as your jewellery came in an expensive box?”

Then you picked up your bag and walked away before any of them could answer.

Later, near the bar, you overheard your husband's name.

"Jungkook, honestly, I always thought you would end up with the sister. Suji, right? The one who's married to Taehyung now? She would've made more sense since you had always fancied Suji too. I mean, no offense, your wife seemed sweet, I guess, but.."

"She doesn't really fit in with us, does she?" someone else said, finishing the sentence the other couldn’t.

You turned away before you could hear Jungkook’s response, already heading back towards a table where you felt just as out of place, then his voice stopped you mid-step.

“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, sounding almost bored, “I guess Suji would’ve made more sense for me.”

That was the day you found out Jungkook fancied your sister.

You waited until you were in the hotel bathroom to cry. You locked the door, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pressed both hands over your mouth because Jungkook was somewhere on the other side of the wall and you could not let him hear you.

It should not have hurt as much as it did, you knew he did not love you. Jungkook made that clear from the first night of your marriage.

But knowing he did not want you was different from finding out he liked your own sister.

Suddenly, everything made sense to you.

The way Taehyung and Suji looked at each other when you announced the marriage to them and the way they never congratulated you. They knew, everyone knew except you.

And the worst part was remembering that you told them you have always loved Jungkook, and that he secretly liked you too.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

A few weeks later, back home, you went to dinner at one of Jungkook’s business partner’s houses. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, but you knew the second you walked in that it still was not enough for them. 

One of the wives looked you up and down before smiling, “Cute,” she said.

And you knew it was not a compliment.

“No ring upgrade yet?” another woman asked during dessert, nodding at the plain band on your finger, “Jungkook usually doesn’t do anything halfway. I guess he’s saving the good jewellery for later.”

“She likes simple things,” Jungkook said without looking at you and then he continued, “Suji always said less is more too.”

You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom before your face gave you away. When you came back, they were talking about Suji, about how smart and impressive she was. 

“You know,” one of his friends said to you as he refilled his glass, “we always thought Jungkook would end up with your sister. You seem sweet, but Suji and Jungkook would’ve made much more sense together.”

“None taken,” you said. This was a conversation you have heard before, so you didn’t really care much of it, at least that was what you thought. 

You looked at Jungkook across the table and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Jungkook could have told them to stop. He could have done anything that made you feel like you were not just the wrong sister sitting in Suji’s place. But instead, he looked away and didn’t even bother to correct them.

You didn’t speak during the entire drive home, Jungkook didn’t ask what was wrong or maybe he didn’t even notice how your silence was different, or maybe every silence with you sounded the same to him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next morning, you tried to talk to him about it, because some stubborn, hopeful part of you still believed that if you just explained it clearly enough, he would understand how you felt.

"You compared me to my sister in front of your friends," you said, over coffee he was drinking standing up, already half way out the door. 

"It wasn't a big deal," he said, checking his watch, “it was a joke."

"It didn't feel like a joke."

"I don't have time for this right now," he said, "can we talk about it tonight?"

You knew, even as you nodded, that tonight would turn into tomorrow, and tomorrow would become some vague promise of “later”. By then, you already knew what later meant with Jungkook, it meant never.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

What you did not know was that Jungkook kept thinking about what he said in Jeju.

“Suji would’ve made more sense.”

The words came back to him at random times; in the shower, in the elevator, during meetings when he was supposed to be listening, and he kept telling himself it was true. Suji was always the one he wanted and everyone knew that.

Still, he could not understand why saying it had made him feel so bad.

Jungkook should not have felt guilty. You were the reason he lost Suji in the first place. You were the reason she had chosen Taehyung and left him behind. 

So if anyone deserved to feel guilty, it was you.

Later that year, on a night you were out, he opened the cabinet and took out two plates without thinking. He stared at them for a few seconds before putting one back.

You stopped setting a place for him months ago, but he watched you do it so many times during the first year that the habit had somehow stayed with him. He stood there longer than he needed to, wondering why he reached for two plates when he knew you were not coming home.

For years, Suji had been the person Jungkook believed he wanted. His friends still mentioned her like she was some great love he lost, and he let himself believe that was true because it gave him a reason to stay angry.

But whenever Jungkook tried to remember her, his mind kept going somewhere else. He remembered sitting at your family’s kitchen table, helping you finish a puzzle because no one else wanted to. Jungkook remembered finding you behind the curtain during hide-and-seek, and he remembered how easily you used to laugh around him.

Jungkook has not heard your laugh in a long time and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

One night, while you were out celebrating a friend’s birthday, he sat alone in the living room with a drink in his hand. He remembered you mentioning the party, though he couldn’t remember whether you told him directly or if he saw the birthday card on the counter.

Jungkook looked around the apartment and thought that you were probably happier when he was not there.

And Jungkook did not like that thought. He did not like knowing that you could leave the apartment and become a completely different person around everyone else; someone happier. 

He poured his drink into the sink and went to bed early.

Jungkook told himself what he was feeling towards you was guilt that would pass if he ignored it long enough.

It did not.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

third year of marriage

By the third year of marriage, you stopped hoping at all.

Whatever hope you carried into the marriage was nowhere to be found. You could not remember the exact moment it happened, you only knew that one day, you stopped expecting anything from Jungkook.

The two of you have been living separate lives under the same roof.

You paid for half of everything, the groceries, bills, and all the other small expenses neither of you ever discussed. 

You have also gotten even better at lying during family gatherings; “he’s travelling,” “he’s busy,” or “the company is going through an important season.” You said the same excuses so often that the lies came out without any effort nowadays, even Suji stopped asking you questions about Jungkook. 

“You know you don’t have to keep covering for him,” Suji said quietly at your mother’s birthday after you finished explaining Jungkook’s empty chair for the hundredth time, “we’re not going to think less of you if you tell us the truth.”

“I know,” you said.

You just didn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Once you told them, they would worry, they would ask what you planned to do, they would want you to leave him, and then you would have to explain why you even stayed for so long.

Some nights, you sat alone in the apartment and thought about how long it has been. Three whole years; you have spent three years living with someone who barely knew you.

You counted everything during the first year, but eventually, you stopped doing so. The amount of things Jungkook has done for you has become too embarrassing. There was no point keeping track of shared meals when there were barely any to count.

You feel like a different person now, sometimes, you almost feel sorry for yourself.

You waited so long for your knight to choose you, never knowing that when he finally did, it would be the very thing that broke you apart.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Sometime during the third year of the marriage, Jungkook finally began to understand something he spent most of his life getting wrong.

It has never really been Suji.

For years, he has been so sure she was the one he wanted. Suji was beautiful, confident, and always at the centre of everything. Everyone liked her, so wanting her had always made sense to Jungkook, especially when everyone around him seemed to expect it.

But when Jungkook thought back to the years he spent at your family's house as a kid, the memories that stayed with him were never really about Suji. 

It was you sitting beside him at the kitchen table, asking for help with a puzzle even though you were too shy to look directly at him. It was you hiding behind the curtain during hide-and-seek and him trying not to laugh when he found you. It was the way you used to save him a seat at lunch, the way you followed him around when you were younger, the way your face lit up whenever he paid attention to you, as if he'd done something far kinder than he actually did.

Somehow, Jungkook took all of those memories and put Suji's name all over them instead. Maybe it was because Suji was his age, and she fit so easily into the rest of his life. You have only ever been Suji's little sister, or at least that was what he always told himself. And the truth came to him slowly, then all at once.

It would have been easier if Jungkook could have kept blaming you.

Jungkook was sixteen when he finally found the courage to tell Suji how he felt, he was certain she felt the same way, only for her to turn him down. Suji told him she liked Taehyung, not him. Then she told him that even if she felt differently, she could never be with him. She told him that she couldn't bear the thought of you finding out that the boy you adored since you were ten had fallen for your own sister instead.

That was the day Jungkook decided you were the reason he lost Suji. He never could decide who he was angrier at; you for telling her first or Suji for choosing you over him. 

And Jungkook found it easier to be angry at you.

He told himself for years that marrying you was a way of taking back what he lost, except somewhere in the second year of your marriage, the plan stopped feeling like justice and started feeling like something he will regret his whole life.

Because somewhere in that same year, without meaning to, Jungkook started noticing you.

He noticed that he memorised the sound of your keys in the door. He noticed he wasn't surprised your mug was blue, because he remembered you telling him back when you were still a kid that blue was your favourite colour. 

Jungkook started noticing the shows you watched in the living room that he could hear from his room, the nights you came home late and laughed quietly on the phone before disappearing into your bedroom, and the way the apartment felt different when you were gone.

He noticed you took your coffee black in the mornings but liked your tea with milk at night. Jungkook noticed the light under your door usually went out around midnight, and on the nights it didn't, he found himself lying awake wondering what was keeping you up. 

Jungkook noticed how you would go still for a second before answering your mother's calls, then soften your voice the moment you picked up. He noticed you still bit the inside of your cheek when you were concentrating, exactly the way you did at ten years old.

He spent years insisting he had no interest in getting to know you, and somewhere along the way, he memorised you completely.

He even started coming home earlier on the nights he knew you would be there; early enough that he could hear you moving around in the kitchen, or catch a glimpse of you before you went to bed.

Jungkook remembered that night in Jeju more clearly than he wanted to. He watched you leave the table after his friends made fun of your bracelet, and for a second, he almost went after you. Yet he did nothing instead and later at the bar, he told someone that Suji would have made more sense for him. It was just easy to say because he has been telling himself the same thing for years. 

It was easier to believe he lost Suji than to admit he was ruining whatever chance he had with you.

The night he finally realised it, he tried to think about Suji, tried to search for whatever he spent years insisting was still there and there was nothing. Whatever he felt for Suji disappeared a long time ago. Jungkook only kept holding onto it because it felt familiar, because blaming you was easier than admitting he was the one in the wrong.

He knew more about you than he ever bothered to learn about Suji, and that was when he finally understood that all along, the person he has been thinking about was you.

Somewhere in the middle of an arranged marriage he agreed to as a revenge, Jungkook had fallen for the person he was punishing, and he only realised it after you had already stopped caring whether he came home.

The only question left was whether Jungkook had realised he witnessed your devotion too late.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You didn’t come home that night, instead you called your sister for an emergency meeting at your mom’s place, "Come by mom’s house tonight," you pleaded, "please."

Suji and Taehyung were already there when you arrived. 

You sat down at the kitchen table where you grew up doing homework, "I need to tell you guys something," you said.

So you told them about how he treated you, you told them the reason behind the empty chair at every holiday, and every single thing that happened during your marriage. 

The moment you stopped talking, your mother went to her knees in the middle of the kitchen. You have never, in twenty-six years, seen your mother on her knees for anything, not even at your father's funeral where she stood so straight and so still you worried she had forgotten how to bend her knees

"I did this to you," your mother cried out, and she was frantic in a way you have never once witnessed, her hands were shaking as she reached for yours, "I owe them the money, not you. I sold you to fix my own mistake and I have watched you smile through three years of a marriage that's been eating you alive and I told myself it was fine because you never once complained, because you're so good at never complaining, and I am so sorry, I am so sorry, please forgive me."

You dropped to your knees and held her, and you cried the way you haven’t let yourself cry in years. You cried until your throat was hurting, until Suji came around the table and wrapped her arms around both of you, until Taehyung stood a few feet away with his jaw tight and his hands curled into fists.

"It's okay," you said, when you could speak again,"I'll always help you, Mom. I mean that, I’ll help you pay that debt. But this time, I want a divorce."

Suji was already standing next to you, and the look on her face was one you'd never seen there before, "I am going to kill him," she said, “I’m sorry, ____. I never.. I should have known. I should have asked you harder. I should have protected you."

"Don't," you said, “please. I don't want any of you doing anything. I don't want him in my life anymore, and I don't want to spend one more minute of my energy on him. I just want it to be over. I want to be done."

They didn't like it. 

You could see in all of their faces that it was hurting them not to do anything in your stead. But they loved you enough to hear you out. 

For the first time in three years you slept in your childhood bedroom, and that night, you slept better than you have in a long, long time.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At first, Jungkook didn’t think much of it when you weren’t home. You went out sometimes. Three years of marriage taught him your routine; Tuesdays with your girlfriends; the occasional weekend at your mother’s. 

Jungkook came home the first night to an empty apartment, ordered food, and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. Your disappearance didn’t seem unusual enough for him to question it.

By the second day, the apartment felt different and he couldn’t immediately work out why. The coffee maker hadn’t been used, there was no bitter smell in the kitchen when he walked in that morning and the mug you always used for tea was still sitting where he left it two days ago.

Jungkook looked at it for longer than he should have, then he checked the entryway for your shoes and they weren’t there. An hour later, Jungkook checked again, and still you weren’t back home.

By the third day, he texted you.

Jungkook: You okay?

No message came back. He stared at the screen until it dimmed in his hand again, and when Jungkook unlocked it, there was still nothing.

By the fourth day, the uneasiness became too loud for him to ignore. It followed him into the shower, the car, and the office. Jungkook sat through meetings without taking in a word. Jungkook asked his assistant to repeat what they just said three times, and afterwards Jungkook still couldn’t remember what they were even discussing.

Jungkook called you once in the afternoon, then again on the drive home, but both calls went to voicemail.

Jungkook wasn’t used to this. 

Jungkook is used to handling problems, hell, he has built companies and sat across from men twice his age and made them agree to terms they had sworn they would never accept. Jungkook knew how to remain calm when everyone else in the room was losing their mind. 

But that night, at two in the morning, Jungkook lay awake thinking about one unanswered text, thinking about where you were, if you were eating well, if you were sleeping soundly, if you will ever come back home to him.

When did he become like this? 

By the fifth day, Jungkook drove past your mother’s street twice. 

The first time, he told himself he had taken the wrong turn. The second time, he slowed down near your house and looked for a light in the windows. Jungkook wanted proof that you were there, that you were somewhere and you didn’t simply disappear beyond his reach.

Jungkook hated how badly he needed you. He opened your contact on his phone again and again but never pressed call, his thumb only hovered over your name until the screen went dark again.

The past three years of marriage have been made up of small things he never should have done. The meals you prepared that he barely touched, the questions he answered without looking at you, the evenings when you sat beside him and eventually stopped trying to start a conversation.

You tried to make a life with him, yet Jungkook treated every attempt as an inconvenience.

For years, he told himself that he was the victim, that Suji was the person he should have been married to. But when Jungkook forced himself to remember exactly why he liked Suji, he felt nothing.

What Jungkook remembered was always you and everything the two of you had done together. He remembered a girl half his size sitting across from him, looking up at him like he was her world. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with you and he remembered pretending not to see you.

Jungkook always said Suji was the person he was the happiest with, but all the memories that felt warm to him, belonged to you.

Admitting the truth would have meant admitting that Jungkook spent years hurting the wrong person. And tonight, Jungkook sat alone in the living room and finally clearly admitted the one he always wanted was you.

Jungkook didn’t want a divorce and he did not want you to leave him.

When he imagined the apartment being empty of your things, Jungkook’s chest started hurting. When he imagined another man hearing you laugh, learning what food you liked, being invited to your mother’s house, he felt something pressing against his chest that it was hard for him to breathe.

Jungkook wanted you to remain his wife and the thought made him feel ashamed of all the things he had done to you the past three years.

“My wife,” Jungkook said to his empty apartment.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook tried to call Suji, but she didn’t answer. So, the next morning, he called Taehyung and to his surprise, Taehyung answered on the second ring.

“Stay away from my family,” was all Taehyung said when he picked up.

“I knew you had feelings for my wife,” Taehyung continued, “I have known for years, I knew since we were children, Jungkook. I didn’t say anything because I thought you would get over it. I thought it was some pathetic thing from when we were younger that would eventually die out.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook tried to cut him off, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him.

“No. You don’t get to say shit. It’s been years,” Taehyung said, “and while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself, you destroyed her sister. Three years, Jungkook. She carried your marriage alone for three years and still smiled through every family dinner because she didn’t want anyone worrying about her. We recently found out it was an arranged marriage, fine, you didn’t have to love her, but you could have treated her decently.”

“You knew she didn’t deserve it,” Taehyung continued, “that’s the part I can’t understand. You knew exactly who she was, and you still treated her like she was responsible for everything you hated about your life.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Taehyung let out a short and bitter laugh, “But I hope you do now. I hope you finally understand what you’ve done, and I hope you feel every second of it.”

Then the call ended.

Jungkook spent years blaming you for a decision neither of you had made. Every humiliation, disappointment, and every bit of grief he carried since he was seventeen, he somehow found a way to make it yours.

It was easier than looking at you, who stayed beside him and asked for so little, and realising he had still given you even less than that.

Now you were gone and there was no one left for him to blame but himself.

Jungkook was not the man he always imagined himself to be. He was pathetic, petty, cowardly, and far smaller than the woman he spent three years treating like nobody.

Jungkook has been nothing but a pathetic, petty and frightened boy wearing a man’s face.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next day, Jungkook went to your mother's house.

She opened the door and just looked at Jungkook with disappointment across her face. It was the same look she gave him when he didn’t kiss you at the altar.  

"I'm not here to see her," Jungkook quickly said, before your mom could close the door, "I know she doesn't want to see me yet. I'm here because I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me out."

She didn’t say anything, yet she opened the door wide enough to let him in. Unlike the other guests who have visited her home, your mother did not offer Jungkook tea. There was no need to treat him like an acquaintance, soon Jungkook will be her ex son-in-law and someone whom she’ll never ever meet in her life again. 

She sat him at the same kitchen table where you cried just a few nights before.

"I owe your family a lot of money," she said, folding her hands in front of her, "I understand that. I understand this was an arranged marriage none of you asked for or wanted, and that you were as much a pawn in it as my daughter was.”

She drew in a small breath before continuing, “What I do not understand, Jungkook, is how you could treat another human being, my daughter, the kindest person I have ever raised and the one who never once in her life made anyone feel small… How could you have treated her the way you have done the past three years? I am in as much pain watching what this did to her as she is living it, maybe even more, because I was the one who put her in this situation with you in the first place. So tell me, why should I forgive you? Why should I let you anywhere near her again? What exactly do you intend to do?"

Jungkook has never been shaken by anything in his life, not until tonight, sitting in front of your mother.

"I don't have a clear answer," he said, "I wish I did. I spent years being angry at _____ for something that was never even her fault, something I won't even go into right now, because it's mine to explain to her first. And then I spent three more years married to her and still treating her like she was the one who wronged me. I'm not asking you to forgive me." 

Jungkook looked at her, and he looked so broken your mother couldn’t help pitying him, "I'm asking for the chance to keep showing up until it means something to her. I'll beg for her forgiveness, I'll keep coming back even when she tells me not to, even when she has every right to slam the door in my face. But we'll talk, we'll argue, we'll probably fight, more than once, because I don't think she's going to make this easy for me, and she shouldn't and I wouldn’t want her to. I just know I can't bring myself to just let this end without actually trying for the first time in this whole marriage. I want to be someone worth her time. Without knowing it, I realised that the small things she has done throughout our marriage was never small at all. She loved me despite the ugly things I have done. I was just too busy being furious at my past to notice I was standing next to the person I actually wanted."

Your mother stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Jungkook thought she might ask him to leave without another word.

Her marriage to your father hadn’t always been easy. There were years of arguments over parenting, finance, and many more. There were years where she wondered if she married too young.

But when he died, something in her broke apart and it never quite put itself back together.

She remembered how you used to climb into their bed on Sunday mornings, how your father would let you win at cards, how you cried at his funeral so quietly like you were trying not to take up too much space even in your own grief.

you see, your mother knew about your crush on Jungkook. She watched you for sixteen years, she saw the way your face changed whenever Jungkook's name came up at the dinner table, and pretended not to notice the way you used to volunteer to answer the door whenever Suji’s group of friends came around, just in case it was Jungkook. She knew, long before you ever confessed to it, that you had loved him since you were a child. 

And when she told you about the arranged marriage, some small, guilty part of her had let herself believe that maybe this could help. Maybe if she was going to ruin your life with her mistake, it could at least be with the one person you had always wanted to have a relationship with.

She was wrong. 

She watched that hope change into something else these past three years, watching you get smaller in ways you thought she hadn't noticed, watching you repeating lies about a man who could not even be bothered to accompany you for your own father’s death anniversaries.

She was, is, a bad mother for that. 

But she also knew you. She knew that if she asked you right now, whether some part of you still wanted to know if he was willing to try, you wouldn’t say no.

"Sit up straight," she finally said, and Jungkook blinked at her, caught off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," your mother’s voice was firm and steady, "If you're going to sit in my kitchen and tell me you intend to fight for my daughter, you're not going to do it slouched over like a boy waiting to be punished. Fighting for her means showing up like you mean it, every time, starting now."

Jungkook immediately straightened his posture.

"I'm not telling you this because I forgive you," she continued, "I will not forgive you for a long time, and that will be my right to decide, just as it will be hers." 

She took a deep breath, before continuing, "But I have spent three years watching my daughter lie to the people who love her because she didn't want anyone to know how badly you have hurt her. If you're serious, then you do not need to convince me. You show her, you keep showing it to her, and you need to accept that she may never let you back in, and you don't get to be angry about it, not after all the years you've taken from her already."

"She was ten years old the first time she talked to me about you," she said quietly, "I used to think it was sweet. I didn't know I was watching the beginning of something that would be a long time pain for her. So if she gives you a second chance, you do not waste whatever time she gives you, Jungkook. She has given enough of it away for free, do you understand me?"

"I understand," he said.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You came home from a work trip three days later and found Jungkook sitting at your family home’s dining table, his laptop open and a stack of papers beside him like it was any other weekday.

He was sitting there as if it wasn’t your first time seeing him since you walked out of the home you shared with him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?” you sneered.

Your keys were clenched in your hand, and your entire body went rigid at the sight of him sitting in a chair at your family home.

"I'm here to date you," he said, slowly looking up at you.

You stared at him in disbelief, "You are here to what?"

“Date you,” Jungkook said as he closed his laptop, “I want to date you properly this time.”

For a second, all you could do was look at him. 

"I know what I did,” Jungkook continued, “I know what three years of this marriage to me did to you. I'm not asking you to forget it. I just.. I want the chance to earn what I should’ve earned before we ever got married.”

You let out a dry and humourless laugh, before asking, “What the fuck?!”

You dropped your keys onto the counter, and they hit harder than you intended it to be, “You think you can just show up here and ask to start over?”

“No matter what you do, my heart is not going to change, Jungkook. I'm not a child anymore. I know better than to give you a second chance, hell, I gave you a hundred chances over the last three years and you didn't take a single one.”

“You are beneath me now,” you said quietly, “do you understand that?”

“Then give me one last chance,” Jungkook said, almost pleading.

“Let me court you,” he continued, “let me date you the way I should have the past three years.”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked past him and went to get changed.

You were meeting your friends that night, and had no intention of spending another minute in that kitchen listening to Jungkook act like he could fix three years with a few words.

He stayed where he was while you moved around the house, but you could feel his eyes on you. It shouldn’t have felt unfamiliar, he was your husband. Still, you couldn’t remember the last time he actually noticed you. 

but you hated that your body enjoyed the feeling of being noticed by him, hated that some part of you still wanted to be seen by him.

"Can I come?" he asked, from the living room, he sounded quieter than you have ever heard him speak, “I would love to get to know your friends.” 

You scoffed out loud in response and left without answering him.

“It's that time of the month again!?” 

It always came around too quickly for his liking, and yours.

“It’s so baaaad,” You whined and dramatically threw your head back, gripping tightly onto the loose work-out top hanging from his shoulders. God, he looked delicious in that top.

Jungkook rested his hands on your waist with a sweet smile, thumbs gently rubbing your hips, “What do you need, baby? Because I'm not offering sex and getting rejected again – my ego can’t take it.”

You scoffed, “That was last night and you know what I’m like – sometimes I don’t know what I want but right now I need you to just... I dunno, touch me I guess,” Your voice was low and meek compared to your usual tone.

But Jungkook understood. “What hurts?” He asked gently, pressing soft kisses to your flushed cheeks. 

“Everything,” You sighed, melting into his touch.

“Here?” He asked tentatively as his hands slipped under the sheer shirt you’d thrown on, slowly travelling up to your bare chest. 

You nodded, pliantly arching into his warm palms, “No bra? Hurts too much, huh?” He whispered, fingertips smoothing over your sensitive swells. Every movement laced in pleasure and pain.

“Be gentle,” You moaned back, eyes closed as his lips nipped at your neck. 

“When am I not?” He asked cheekily, you could hear it in his voice. 

“I can think of a few times… Jesus, that feels incredible.” 

“My name is Jeongguk,” He quipped back before giving you a toe-curling kiss, groaning when your fingers slipped into his tangled curls.

“Shut up,” You murmured against his lips as his fingertips gently brushed across your swollen nubs, earning him a deep moan and a sigh of relief. 

His hands were warm and soft but calloused in all the right places. And he knew you like the back of them; like a maestro performing the sweetest of symphonies. He knew what you liked, how much pressure you needed to really feel it – he knew when to slide up your shirt and give you extra attention with his perfect mouth. The small whimpers from above encouraged him, the little whines every time he lapped with the wet tip of his tongue and he knew when you needed more.

Jungkook knew how far to push when you were like this – sore, swollen and achey. He couldn’t stop staring at them at dinner last night, or this morning when he woke up to you sprawled out in bed, uninhibited by a bra. And fuck did it turn him on, imagining what they may look like if someday, he was lucky enough to put a baby in you. 

“Kook, your mouth feels so good,” You whimpered, barely making a sound. 

“Think you can come just from this?” He asked, eyes coming up and boring into yours as his slick thumbs worked you over, pace quickening.

“I think– yeah.. maybe, shit – no, I need more, baby.”

“I’ve got you.” 

Jungkook's voice was gravelled as he alternated between each nipple with a pop, tongue flickering against the sensitive nubs while he steadied you against the kitchen island, knees trembling. His skilful fingers dipped down to your underwear, smoothing over your cotton covered clit so perfectly.

“Fuuu–ck,” You sighed, fingers still deeply entrenched in his messy curls as your body shook. The high built and washed over you slowly, like a soft crescendo – moan after moan slipping from your bitten lips, teetering over the edge. 

Jungkook's hands came up to cradle your chest while you came down from the clouds, pressing soft kisses to the swells of your breasts and trailing up to your neck, “How do you feel now?”

“Relaaaaxed,” You sighed, grasping his blushing cheeks in your shaky palms and giving him a sweet kiss. 

“Good,” He nodded with a proud smile before giving you a gentle smack on the backside, “Now come and have a shower with me because I smell.”

“And you're so hard…” You teased with a playful smile and a glance towards the mouth-watering outline in his stupidly tight cotton gym shorts.

Jungkook hummed and lovingly pushed you towards the bathroom, “And whose fault is that, huh?” 

“I wouldn’t have a clue.”

—

♡ Jimin is a long-term relationship kind of person, he's very adamant about working through all of your problems, changing and improving himself to make sure he is your absolute dream person and perfect partner. In his eyes, there is nothing that you can’t work through together.

♡ Lots of hugs from behind!!! He loves wrapping his arms around you, and sometimes when he's extra clingy, he'll backpack onto you, resting his whole head and body on your back, just smiling into your shirt because he loves holding you like a teddy bear so much

♡ Jimin is a reformed crashout, but 100% he still does in secrecy. Taehyung or Jungkook will do something really irritating in public, and you’ll SEE him fight to hold it together and remain calm and let the night continue smoothly, but the moment you two get home, it’s all “Aiiiish, he’s actually so annoying. Aishh, I just thought about it again; he’s actually such a brat.” It’s cute seeing him get all riled up, and he loves that you’ll always listen to him rant about it. It amuses you to see him get all hot and bothered.

♡ On a similar note, your arguments can get kind of intense sometimes, but not because he ever yells at you, but just because he is fiery and passionate (read: stubborn), and he is also the most forgiving person you’ve ever met. Every argument has always ended rather quickly and been forgotten about.

♡ “Jagiyaaaa, my glasses? Have you seen my glasses?” yelled from down the hall. Like almost every single day.

♡ He is such a gentleman, your own little prince. it’s so important to him that you and he remain on a romantic level. You are each other's best friend, but he always wants you to feel like his woman. If you ever get a little too casual with him or tease him as if he were just your friend, he gets easily irritated.

♡ whatever he gets, he gets two of: one for you. Freebies at work? “Can I take one for Y/N?” Stopped by a cafe? There’s now a croissant in his bag for you too. He’s always considering you.

♡ spas together very often!!!

♡ he really loves taking pictures of you. “Look how nice these flower bushes are, will you please stand there so I can take a photo :)”

♡ If you let go of his hand jokingly, he stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you in pure comedic shock. “Babe, what do you think you’re doing? Get back here.”

♡ He’s a ritual lover!!!! Every night you two sheet-mask together; every morning you two brush your teeth together. If you skip it or either of you is too busy, his day is slightly ruined, you’re his lucky charm

♡ Did I say huge fan of hand holding

♡ His laugh is everything!!!! He thinks you’re the funniest person in the room, and he collapses to his knees at your jokes

♡ “Shoot. I can’t find my phone.” “Jimin, it’s in your pocket.”

♡ He's gifted with the art of noticing. He notices and tells you whenever you make the slightest change to your look, or you buy a new top. He always talks about how lovely the sky looks when the sunset is extra pretty. The world seemed to have gotten so much prettier since you started dating him; he's always got something positive to admire.

♡ Late-night snacks on the floor at the coffee table after a long day, while he talks about the calories don’t count because he’s eating them with you

♡ He fucking loves bringing you places in public to be photographed together. In every single photo of you two walking together, Jimin is smiling as wide as ever because you make him so happy, and he loves that the world gets to know about you.

♡ He likes makeup shopping with you!!!!!! You two go around and swatch lip products and fancy skincare together, and he always ends up getting another lip balm because he lost his old one.

♡ He's just big into shopping sprees together in general. Loves trying clothes and accessories on with you, and, of course, he doesn't even question whether you need them. If you like it, it's yours.

♡ Your parents and friends adore him. He's so kind and thoughtful, and so polite. He's a little quieter and shyer around your family, but he loves to be invited to see them anyway.

♡ Your shared apartment is really tidy. Jimin's good at keeping things clean, and one of his love languages is cleaning up after you in small ways. Your mug gets taken back to the kitchen when you're done with your drink. You'll wake up the morning after a night out to your dress already hung up.

♡ He's a gift giver 100%. Loves buying you gifts. You'll often come home to flowers; whatever you've been looking at recently will be sitting on the dining table, wrapped neatly in a bow.

♡ Jimin's laughter is often a part of your foreplay. Lots of giggling in between kisses, he likes to tickle you as he kisses your neck, his smile is enough to melt everything inside of you as he coaxes you out of your clothing.

♡ Unfortunately for him, it turns you on to get him mad. Not furious, but just bothered enough for his smile to fade and his Busan accent to come front and centre. And that's when his gentleness subsides. Suddenly, you're having your head pushed down further onto his length as you blow him, you're being handled and positioned however he wants you. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, "Stop being such a brat, baby."

♡ Jimin needs you to sit on his face. He practically won't eat you out any other way. If it starts with you lying on your back, he'll eventually get you straddled over his face. He'll lie down, pat his chest a little and stick his tongue out, open-mouthed. "Come here, don't make me wait.”

♡ He's a hair puller through and through. Manhandling you, holding you in place, it's his favourite. Bending you over the counter with his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady and forcing you to look back at him. He loves gripping you by the ponytail as he finishes inside of you.

♡ He's SO vocal when he has an orgasm. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, he can't even form words; it's just endless moans, hisses, whines, and panting. He practically sings when he finishes. (Do you remember that Run BTS episode when Hobi threw a bowl of water in his face and Jimin's reaction????? yeah)

♡ Jimin is into public sex, and he's not terribly cautious. At this point, friends of yours know that when you two are missing in action, you're probably on top of a counter somewhere or against a wall, and Jimin is fucking you missionary against something.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊

You barely register the soft creak of the bedroom door first, that familiar low groan of hinges as Jungkook nudges it open just enough to peek inside. The dimmed lights must have tipped him off that you’d already tapped out for the night. He slips fully into the room, the cool draft from the hallway brushing your bare legs for a split second before he closes the door behind him with a deliberate, quiet click that seals the space.

Moonlight strains through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window dominating one wall, painting silvery streaks across the floor and bed, tangled up with the low, golden haze from the nightstand lamp. It bathes everything in this hazy, intimate glow that makes the air feel thicker, warmer. Jungkook takes those slow, small steps toward the bed, shoulders loosening as he peels off his suit coat, the fabric whispering when he drapes it over the back of the chair in front of your dressing table. His fingers linger on the wood a moment, like he’s grounding himself after whatever bullshit the outside world threw at him.

His eyes lock onto you immediately, dark and full of that raw adoration that always seems to hit him harder in these stolen quiet moments. You’re fast asleep on your back, oversized shirt (which belongs to him) twisted from the day’s chaos, with seven-month-old Jae nestled right on your stomach—his little cheek smushed against your skin, tiny fists curled, breathing in that deep, trusting rhythm that syncs with yours. The weight of him anchors you even in sleep, warm and solid, his soft exhales tickling your belly through the thin fabric.

The exhaustion clings to your bones in the best-worst way; days blur from early feeds to those midnight wails that rip you awake, but you handle it with this fierce, stubborn grip. Barely twenty-three and already owning the mom role like it’s second nature, your body tuned to every shift of Jae’s, every tiny sound, while still carving out space to look after Jungkook when he drags himself home wrecked. You’ve been running on barely five or six hours, eyes heavy, muscles sore from rocking and carrying, but the thought of handing any of it off to a nanny never crosses your mind. This is yours—messy, relentless, and so fucking real it hurts in the sweetest spots.

That middle-school spark you two carried through high school and into this love marriage still simmers under everything—no big fights, just this lived-in understanding where he offers help at every turn and you push back because wearing yourself down for them feels like the only right move. Well, Jungkook was just as stubborn. He did as much work as possible before going to work, like the dishes, laundry, and so on.

His breath catches a little as he watches Jae’s tiny hand flex against you, the way your arm stays curled protectively even in deep sleep. It’s all present, all consuming—the faint baby-powder scent mixing with your usual warmth, the quiet hum of the room, his own pulse kicking up at how perfectly wrecked and beautiful you look tangled in this life you built together.

He’s won in life, no contest, the thought hitting him square in the chest as he stands there a second longer.

You look so damn peaceful, features relaxed in that deep sleep only new parents steal when the baby finally crashes too. Jae’s the same—tiny chest rising and falling right on your stomach, those soft tiny snores filling the room like the world’s most effective lullaby, warm and trusting against your skin.

Jungkook’s eyes trace your face slow, carving out every detail he already knows by heart: the faint crease between your brows that’s finally smoothed out, the way your lashes fan against your cheeks, lips parted just enough for those quiet breaths that pull at something low in his gut.

He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, movements deliberate and slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he braces his hands beside him, careful not to disturb the perfect pile of you and Jae.

Then his gaze slips. It trails lower without permission—from the soft lines of your face down the column of your neck and collarbone, catching on the way the top two buttons of your shirt was undone probably from breastfeeding Jae, that teasing peek of cleavage rising with each inhale under the mixed moonlight and lamp glow. It follows the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips hugged by the sheets, illuminated like they’re begging for attention, all the way to the smooth stretch of your thick thighs where your shorts have ridden up. God, he would love to bury his face betwee—

He jerks his eyes away hard, suddenly hyper-focused on the curtains like they’re the most fascinating shit he’s ever seen, jaw flexing as he tells himself he wasn’t just checking out his wife while she’s dead asleep with their kid on her.

Wasn't he feeling warm-hearted a moment ago? His heart isn't the only warm thing now.

You’ve had this body that’s ruined him since forever, perfect in that effortless way that makes his brain short-circuit. Carrying Jae only smoothed everything out and emphasized those curves harder, leaving him stealing extra fifteen minutes in the shower way too often just to shake the constant pull.

Intimacy has turned into this rare, almost mythical thing since Jae showed up. The little guy is the ultimate cockblocker without even trying—tiny demands at all hours turning what used to be easy, constant touch into stolen glances and quick brushes that leave you both aching in the quiet.

Jungkook isn’t some hormonal kid who doesn’t get self-control. He’s been solid about it, the respectful type who reads the room and never pushes, even when the want sits heavy under his skin.

You let out a slow yawn, body shifting under the sheets as sleep starts to loosen its grip. He snaps his attention back to your face instantly, clearing his throat like he’s been caught mid-thought, shoulders tensing for a beat.

Your lashes flutter, eyes cracking open heavy and unfocused, the room’s soft glow filtering in as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The weight of Jae on your stomach grounds you first, his tiny snores still humming steady, then Jungkook’s solid presence right there on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth cuts through the sleepy haze.

“Little guy’s got better taste in pillows than I do,” he teases, voice low and rough from the long day, dragging his gaze down to Jae with a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. There’s that playful glint in his eyes, the one that always sneaks in like he’s trying to lighten the exhaustion weighing on both of you.

You blink harder, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Your frown deepens quick. “You’re home?” The words come out thick with sleep, eyes widening when the numbers hit—four whole hours had slipped by since you crashed.

He looks back up at you, that steady gaze softening around the edges as he nods. “Yeah. And don’t worry about it, I’ll hit the rest of the house chores later. You can sleep more.” His voice drops a notch, reassuring and warm.

“I don’t wanna sleep more,” you murmur, voice still scratchy from the nap. “And you sure you can handle the rest? I mean, you must be wiped from work—”

“I can and I will,” he cuts in, firm but gentle, that no-argument tone he pulls out when he’s decided.

You feel a small smile tug at your lips despite the fog in your head. “Thanks.”

“You’re always welcome, love.” The words roll off him easy, low and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket you’re half tangled in.

You move slow and careful, easing Jae off your stomach with practiced hands. His little body stays limp and trusting as you lift him, settling him down beside you on the bed. You tuck the blanket up to his chin, fingers brushing his soft cheek for a second before you push yourself up to sit, back against the headboard. The motion makes your shirt slip lower on its own, the undone buttons giving way and exposing more of your cleavage in the warm lamp light.

Respectful or not, he’s still a man at the end of the day. His eyes drop immediately, tracking the movement before he can stop himself, that familiar heat flashing quick across his face.

He drags his gaze back up with visible effort, jaw tight like it’s taking every ounce of willpower he’s got. You rub at your eyes, another yawn slipping out as you stretch your arms overhead, body still heavy with leftover sleep.

“You must be tired from doing the same grind every day,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go out tonight? Like a drive or something?” The suggestion comes out casual.

You frown, head tilting. “To where?”

“Not every drive needs a fixed destination. Count on the night to take us wherever it wants to.”

“You can’t be for real,” Jungkook mutters, cutting a sideways glance at you while the car idles at the red light, city glow reflecting off his eyes. The engine hums low beneath you, mixing with the distant buzz of traffic.

You’re staring straight ahead at the empty crosswalk, mind half elsewhere. “Really, I’m not hungry. Now stop arguing about it,” you tell him, turning your head to meet his gaze while your fingers scratch lightly at the back of your head, trying to shake off the leftover sleep fog.

He sighs, long and defeated but fond, shaking his head with the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. “Nevermind. I’d rather make you something when we get home anyway. My way tastes better than whatever greasy spot we’d hit.”

“It’s been months since we got alone time like this,” you murmur, rolling your shoulder in a slow, deep stretch that pulls a contented sigh from your chest, the tension unraveling bit by bit in the quiet car. Then worry crashes in fast, tightening your expression. “But I hope Jae’s doing okay. What if he wakes up or—”

“Shh, baby,” he cuts in, voice soft and steady. “He’ll be just fine. Kid passed out hard before we left, belly full, and we handed off every single thing he could possibly need to your friend. She’s got him covered, promise.”

“How about you focus on me instead?” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand slides over, palm warm and deliberate, settling high on your thigh. His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shorts, the pressure just firm enough to pull your attention fully into the car.

“I am,” you mutter back, eyes flicking down to watch the path of his hand for a beat before lifting to meet his gaze again, the city lights flickering across his face.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that deeper octave that always seems to vibrate through you. His fingers inch higher up your thigh in no rush at all, drawing light, teasing patterns along the way, taking his sweet time like he’s memorizing the feel of you under his touch after too many rushed nights. The weight of his hand feels grounding and electric all at once, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.

“You got a cigarette on you?” The question makes him jerk his head your way for a split second, eyebrows lifting in that surprised, amused way he does when you catch him off guard.

“Bad habits die hard, huh?” he asks, the low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he shakes his head.

He eases the car into a long, deserted lane, tires crunching softly over gravel before he kills the engine. Silence settles heavy around you both, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal. Jungkook leans over and pops open the hidden compartment, pulling out the familiar pack of your favorite—Marlboro Red—and holds it out without a word.

You pluck one from the pack, the paper smooth between your fingers, and wait as he fishes out the lighter. You slip the cigarette between your lips, the filter resting familiar and comforting. You flick the flame to life, the small orange glow lighting up the space between you for a moment as you lean in, inhaling slow until the tip catches and burns steady. The first drag fills your lungs with that sharp, smoky hit, tension easing from your shoulders

You glance sideways at Jungkook and catch him staring, that dark, unreadable intensity locked on you like he’s memorizing every little shift in your expression. Grinning, you lean in closer on purpose, lips parting as you blow a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right across his face. It curls around his sharp jaw and lingers in the space between you, hazy and intimate under the dashboard lights.

To him, the whole thing is pure heat.

You pull the cigarette from between your lips and hold the filter out toward him, pinching it lightly between your ring and middle finger, the paper still warm from your mouth.

He watches you for a long second, eyes heavy, before his fingers wrap around your wrist—grip solid and warm, thumb pressing just enough against your pulse point. He leans in, takes the cigarette between his lips, and pulls a long, unhurried drag. The ember glows brighter for a moment. Then he rolls every window down, letting the cool night breeze rush through the car, carrying the smoke out into the empty lane. He drops his head all the way back against the seat, as he exhales a thick cloud.

You freeze right there in your seat, the rest of the world fading for a second. The sight hits different—his relaxed shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw in the low light, throat exposed, neck veins popping, the effortless way he owns the moment. Your breath catches without meaning to, pulse thrumming louder in your ears. It might honestly be one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed in your life, simple as it is, leaving the car feeling smaller, the air thicker, and your thoughts a little scrambled.

You take another slow drag, deliberately turning your face away toward the open window, desperate for anything to distract from the unfairly hot man sitting right beside you. The cool air does little to settle the sudden warmth crawling under your skin.

You pass the cigarette back and forth a few times, letting each of you steal a couple drags in comfortable silence, the smoke mingling with the night breeze. Then he snatches it smoothly from your fingers, bringing it to his lips for a long, deep pull without asking.

You don’t complain. Not even a little.

Your eyes drift over him instead—his hair still a little messy and damp from the quick shower he took before you left, half-lidded eyes heavy with that post-work exhaustion mixed with something sharper. That prominent big nose you’ve always had a weakness for (whatever Doja Cat said about big noses), the full cupid’s bow lips you’ve almost forgotten the exact taste of after so many tired nights, the sharp jawline that cuts straight through your better judgment and sanity, the strong column of his neck, those muscular arms flexing casually, the broad chest and defined lines under his plain t-shirt, and the very obvious, massive outline straining against the gray sweatpan—

You freeze hard, head snapping up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. You did not just look there.

Heart hammering, you gather the nerve to sneak one more millisecond glance downward, confirming the prominent bulge the soft fabric does nothing to hide, especially in the dim lighting. Then you jerk your eyes back up to his face, only to find him already watching you, that dark, knowing look pinned right on your expression.

The gray sweatpants make everything stand out even more in the low light, impossible to ignore now that you’ve seen it. The air in the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.

He keeps his lips parted, slowly exhaling the smoke in a lazy, controlled stream that curls toward the open window. He taps the ashes out with a flick of his finger, then turns that heavy stare back on you—like a predator eyeing prey he’s forcing himself not to pounce on, the tension thick enough to taste.

“What?” you ask, voice coming out quieter than you mean it to. You snatch the cigarette right from his fingers and twist toward your window, staring hard at the empty lane outside. Your face feels way too warm, probably bright red, and you keep it turned away on purpose so he can’t see the flush creeping up your neck.

“Don’t look at it like that if you can’t do something about it, yeah?” he murmurs, the deep rasp of his voice cutting straight through the quiet car and sending a rush of heat straight down your body. “Gives me all kinds of wrong ideas.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this—the easy, skin-prickling intimacy that used to happen without thinking, back before Jae turned your nights into a constant rotation of feeds and exhaustion. The hunger is mutual. He’s desperate for you in that quiet, restrained way, and you’re every bit as desperate for him. He’s just holding back, staying respectful and patient like the man you married.

He holds the eye contact when you finally glance back, the moment stretching thick between you as you pull a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette. The smoke burns down your throat, grounding you for a second, before you toss what’s left of it out the window into the dark.

You let your eyes wander over him freely now, no more pretending. Why should you? He’s your husband—your person.

Your man.

You let your eyes drift deliberately now—down the strong column of his neck, over the flex of his arms where the muscles shift under your stare, across the broad stretch of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs visible through the thin t-shirt. His body reacts under the attention, arm tensing visibly as you keep looking. Your gaze drops lower again, settling on the prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants, and he spreads his legs a little wider on purpose, manspreading across the seat in that casual, devastating way.

Fuck, it’s stupidly hot.

It’s been so long since you’ve had this kind of uninterrupted moment, and you’d almost forgotten how perfectly you two used to fit together, like you were molded for each other in every sense.

Again— every sense.

Your hand moves almost on its own, sliding across the center console before coming to rest on his thigh, fingers settling warm and tentative right below where the fabric strains so obviously.

You hear him exhale sharply through his nose, the sound rough in the quiet car.

“Y/N,” he says, your name coming out half warning, half like he’s talking himself down from whatever pull is threatening to drag him under. His hand covers yours on his thigh, not pushing it away, just holding it there—warm and steady.

You glance up for a second, catching the raw hunger burning in his eyes—dark, barely leashed, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You look back down almost immediately, breath shallow.

Your fingers start inching higher up his thigh on their own, slow and exploratory.

“Y/N,” he murmurs again, voice strained. “You gave birth to our son just seven months ago. I don’t know if you’re healed enough. And honestly, I think it’s probably those ovulation hormones messing with you right now. I don’t think you’re ready. I’m trying to be nice here, so don’t do this.” The words come out in a low whisper, but he holds eye contact the whole time, steady and intense. You’ve known him long enough to read what he’s not saying—the need is written all over his face, screaming in the tension of his jaw and the heat in his stare.

“Jungkook…” you murmur back, barely above a breath.

“Yes, love?”

“Didn’t you just tell me to stop looking unless I wanna do something about it?” you say, a small, teasing,challenging smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working on that.” With that, you gently push his hand off yours, freeing your fingers to keep moving at their own slow pace.

Your fingers trace the hard outline of his bulge through the soft fabric, deliberate and slow, as you lean across the center console for better reach. The position puts you half out of your seat, shoulder brushing his, the console digging lightly into your ribs. He doesn’t stop you this time.

He knows you both need this—the months of careful distance cracking open in the quiet dark of the car.

You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers finding the warm, thick base of his cock. His head drops back against the headrest with a heavy, relieved sigh, throat working as he lets you explore.

He helps without a word, lifting his hips just enough to tug the sweatpants lower. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the cool night air hitting heated skin as it rests against his stomach. The sight of him like this—laid out in the driver’s seat, chest rising faster, jaw clenched—sends a fresh wave of want through you, sharp and undeniable after so long.

You pause with your hand wrapped around him for a second, heart hammering too loud to ignore. Then you grab the collar of his shirt with both hands and yank him toward you, crashing your mouths together in a hungry, fierce kiss that’s been building for months.

He meets you just as hard, one big hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you back with raw need. He tastes like cigarette smoke and mint, the combination dizzying, making your head spin. You can feel yourself getting wetter, panties clinging uncomfortably as heat pools low in your belly.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab his phone, connect it to the car’s speaker, and blast some random R&B track on full volume. The deep bass fills the space as he yanks all the heavily tinted windows up, sealing you both inside, as well as turning the air conditioner in the car on. Then he looks back at you, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen.

You crash your mouths together again because once isn’t enough—you’re addicted, and so is he, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, desperate and messy. That manly scent rolling off him hits you harder with every inhale, warm skin and faint cologne and pure Jungkook, working on you like some kind of aphrodisiac drug that makes your thighs press together on instinct.

You break the kiss when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, pulling back with a sharp inhale, both of you breathing hard and fast. Your face feels flushed, lips tingling and swollen, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue.

Your hand drifts back down without hesitation, fingers wrapping snug around the thick base of his cock. You stroke him slowly at first, a few firm pumps that draw a deep, contented hum from his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into you.

With your other hand you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, then bend down over the center console, leaning in close. You drag your tongue in one long, slow stripe from the base all the way to the flushed tip, feeling every ridge and vein under the wet heat of your mouth.

He lets out a low, guttural groan the moment you sink your mouth down onto him, lips stretching wide around his impressive girth. The fullness of him on your tongue is overwhelming in the best way, warm and solid after so much time apart.

His hands are careful but possessive, gathering your hair and twisting it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. He holds it there like his own personal grip, fingers flexing against your scalp as you start to move, the bass from the speaker pulsing around you both in the sealed, slightly space of the car.

His hips jerk up instinctively when you take him deeper, pushing more of his thick length into your mouth. You can barely handle halfway before his tip nudges the back of your throat, making your eyes water slightly at the stretch and fullness.

His head falls back hard against the headrest, a strained “Fuck…” slipping from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

The raw reaction only fuels you more, heat curling tight in your belly as you work him with renewed hunger.

Your hand and mouth move together in a steady rhythm—fingers wrapped tight around the thick base your lips can’t reach, stroking in time with the way you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip on every upstroke, tasting the salty bead of precum that leaks for you, sucking lightly as your cheeks hollow out. The car fills with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low, broken breaths, the music still thumping low in the background.

“You’re doing so fucking good,” he breathes, the words rough and strained. You lift your gaze through wet lashes and meet his eyes—half-lidded, burning down at you with that raw, unguarded hunger that makes your stomach tighten. “Good girl.”

The praise sinks straight into your bones. The second you feel him twitch against your tongue, you pour everything into it, sucking harder, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your hand works the base in tight, slick strokes.

He groans deep in his chest and tightens his grip in your hair, using it to bob your head up and down at the pace he needs. You let him take control, relaxing your throat as much as you can, eyes watering from the stretch and the way his thick cock fills your mouth completely. Saliva drips down your chin but you don’t care, humming around him, the vibrations pulling more broken sounds from his lips.

His breaths turn ragged, groans getting louder, hips jerking up every few seconds as he twitches more frequently on your tongue. The tension coils tighter in his body until it finally snaps. His orgasm hits hard with a loud, guttural groan, head slamming back against the headrest, eyes rolling back as thick, hot ropes of cum flood your throat. His body jerks with every pulse, thighs trembling under your touch as you swallow around him, taking everything he gives you.

He keeps you there for a long moment, fingers still tangled tight in your hair, holding you close as the last tremors run through his body. His groans gradually fade into heavy, satisfied breaths that brush warm against the top of your head.

Then he tugs you up gently by the makeshift ponytail, guiding you until your mouth meets his in a fierce, claiming kiss. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning softly into it, the kiss turning deep and messy, filled with raw gratitude and the kind of hunger that hasn’t been fed in months.

You grab onto his shoulders for balance, but he’s already pulling you closer, strong hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers you over the center console. You end up straddling his thighs in the driver’s seat, knees pressing into the leather on either side of him, the position intimate and close in the cramped space.

“I missed this…” he murmur against your lips, voice breathy and rough.

He proved his point by trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw and along the curve of your shoulder. You tilt your head to the side without thinking, giving him better access, a shiver running through you as his lips and tongue work over your skin, hands sliding possessively up your back under your shirt.

“Mmh… Jungkook…” The gasp slips out sharp when he bites down on that sensitive spot along your shoulder, teeth grazing just hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into the front of his shirt.

“Mhm,” he hums against your skin, soothing the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine.

His hands are everywhere at once—one gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he needs to anchor himself, while the other trails down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweatpants. The light touch makes your breath hitch, anticipation curling tight in your core.

Your eyes fly open the second his hand slips inside your pants, palm cupping your soaked mound with confident possession. A thick finger slides through your wet folds, parting them easily, and a full-body shiver runs through you at the contact, thighs clenching around his lap as the car suddenly feels impossibly smaller.

“Fuck, you’re dripping down my hand,” he growls against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at your flushed face. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. He waits until you manage to lock your gaze with his, pupils blown wide, before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.

Your hips jerk hard against his hand, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden stretch and fullness. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, swallowing every moan that tries to escape as his fingers start moving—deep, steady, curling just right inside you.

The pads of his fingers brush against that perfect spot with every stroke, making your thighs tremble around his lap, pleasure sparking sharp and hot through your body as he works you open with practiced precision.

As he pulls back from the kiss, you’re both panting hard, lips swollen and breaths mingling in the steamy confines of the car. His free hand slides up your body with purpose, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive grip. Not hard enough to restrict your air, but just tight enough to send your head spinning—blood pounding in your ears, a delicious dizziness washing over you that only heightens the arousal flooding your system.

His thumb presses tight, perfect circles against your swollen clit, the pressure steady and maddening, pulling whimpers and sharp little gasps from your throat with every rotation. You’re close already, core clenching around his fingers, as your eyes shut closed, thighs trembling around his lap as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter—until he suddenly stops moving entirely, fingers buried deep but still.

You groan in pure frustration, brows pulling together as you open your eyes and stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face burning flushed and chest heaving with every desperate pant.

“I said eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, one brow arched in that teasing challenge. “Don’t you dare look away or close your eyes, or else I stop, hm?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to argue back or do anything else, cheeks blazing even hotter.

He’s reduced you to this needy, dripping mess—embarrassingly aroused, hanging on every word and touch like he owns you. And right now, he absolutely does.

“Such a good girl for me,” he hums against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, the praise sinking into your skin like a brand.

You don’t wait for more permission. You start moving your hips again, grinding down onto his fingers, fucking yourself on them with desperate little rolls that make obscene wet sounds fill the car. He matches your pace instantly, thrusting deeper, curling those long fingers against that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.

A few more relentless strokes and the coil inside you snaps violently. You clench hard around his fingers, orgasm ripping through you with a loud, broken cry that bounces off the tinted windows. Your whole body shakes, thighs clamping tight around his lap as wave after wave crashes over you, soaking his hand and the front of your sweatpants while your vision whites out for a second.

He doesn’t stop right away. He slows his movements instead, drawing out every last tremor and pulse of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes, milking you through it until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess in his lap, aftershocks still sparking through your oversensitive nerves.

You lean your forehead against his shoulder, still breathing hard, eyes closed, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs shaky and your mind hazy. The solid warmth of him grounds you even as your pulse continues to hammer.

“Breathless already, baby? We just started,” he teases, the grin clear in his voice as he turns his head and drags his tongue slowly over your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver.

Somehow, in the tight space of the driver’s seat, he manages to work your sweatpants the rest of the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs with a soft rustle. His hands grip your hips firmly, angling them back so you’re positioned perfectly above him, the head of his still-hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance.

You open your eyes, swallowing hard, the lump in your throat thick, your breathing still uneven and your pulse racing under your skin. The cool air of the car hits your bare skin, contrasting with the heat rolling off his body.

He leans back, reaching down to recline the seat a little further so there’s more room, settling deeper into the leather. His dark eyes lock onto yours, voice low and rough with command as he murmurs,

“Now… ride me.”

Your eyes snap open wide the second the command hits your ear, a jolt of nervous heat racing through you. He raises a brow at your reaction, that cocky, knowing look already in place.

You gulp hard, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your fingers tighten against his shoulders for support.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t act all shy now,” he grins, clearly enjoying the deep flush that floods your cheeks. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you down slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he sinks into you.

The moment you bottom out, a low, guttural groan rips from his chest at the same time a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He fills you so completely it borders on overwhelming—stretching, hot, and so deep it feels surreal after months of nothing. Your thighs tremble around him, the full, heavy pressure of him inside you stealing the last of your breath.

You stay still for a second, adjusting to the overwhelming stretch, forehead pressed to his shoulder again as you try to catch your breath. He’s thick and deep, filling every inch of you until it almost hurts in the best way.

His hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”

You start to move—small, tentative rolls of your hips at first, testing the angle. The friction is immediate and intense, every shift dragging him against that sensitive spot inside you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“That’s it,” he encourages, guiding you into a steadier rhythm. “Just like that.”

You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself upright, finding a better angle. The new position lets you sink even deeper, and you both curse at the same time. Your thighs burn already from the effort, but the pleasure is sharper now, building fast as you start to ride him properly—rising up until only the head remains inside, then dropping back down in one smooth motion.

The wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the car, mixing with the low bass still thumping from the speakers. Jungkook’s head falls back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he watches you, jaw tight, every muscle in his abdomen flexing under you.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, hips lifting to meet your downward thrusts. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You lean forward again, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you pick up the pace, chasing the heat coiling low in your belly. His hands slide up your back under your shirt, then down to grip your ass, helping you bounce harder on his cock. Every time you take him to the hilt, a broken little sound escapes you—half moan, half whimper—and he drinks every one of them in like he’s starving.

The pace turns messier, more desperate. You bounce harder on him, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the sealed car. Sweat starts to dampen the back of your shirt; his palms slide over it as he grips your ass tighter, helping lift you up only to drag you back down harder each time.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, the words punched out of him every time you sink all the way down. His hips snap up to meet yours, driving deeper, making your breath hitch on every thrust. The fullness is almost too much, stretching you open in a way that makes your thighs shake and your nails dig into his shoulders.

You drop your forehead to his again, panting against his mouth. He captures your lips in a messy kiss—open, wet, all tongue and teeth.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you come around me.”The underside of your thighs burns from the strain, muscles trembling as your pace starts to slow. Jungkook notices immediately. His hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up hard whenever you lag, forcing himself deeper.

“Keep going,” he orders, voice rough and breathless.

Every time you sink back down, a loud, broken moan spills from your lips, the sound echoing in the small space of the car. He’s so deep it steals the air from your lungs, stretching you open with every downward roll of your hips.

You try to obey, bouncing on him again even as your legs shake. The friction is relentless—wet, hot, and perfect. His grip on your thighs stays firm, guiding your rhythm when your body starts to give out, using his strength to keep you moving.

“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

You drop forward, bracing your hands on his chest, forehead pressed to his as you keep riding him through the burn. The new angle makes him hit even deeper, and another loud moan rips out of you, louder this time. His hands slide up to your waist, holding you steady while he starts thrusting up to meet every downward motion, the wet slap of skin filling the car along with your shared, ragged breathing.

One of his hands slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, firm circles over the swollen bud while continuing to thrust up into you, the dual stimulation so intense it makes your vision blur.

You’re seeing stars almost immediately.

Your hips stutter, a high, broken moan tearing from your throat as the pressure builds at a dizzying speed. Every deep thrust combined with the relentless circles of his thumb pushes you higher, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs shake violently around him, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as you race toward the edge.

“That’s it—come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and strained.

The command snaps the last thread of your control. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, ripping a loud, choked cry from your lips as you clamp down around him. Your whole body seizes, trembling violently in his arms while wave after wave of pleasure tears through you. Your hips jerking weakly as he keeps thrusting up into you, dragging out every pulse until you’re oversensitive and gasping against his shoulder.

He groans deeply when you clench around him, the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your walls pulling a raw, broken sound from his chest. His hips stutter for a second as he feels every pulse of your orgasm, forehead dropping against yours while he rides it out with you.

“Fuck—just like that,” he rasps, voice strained and breathless. His hands grip your hips harder, holding you down as he thrusts up through the aftershocks, chasing his own release now that you’re fluttering and dripping around him.

You cling to his shoulders, still trembling, oversensitive but not pulling away. Every deep stroke sends little sparks of leftover pleasure through your body. His breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing under your palms, the wet sound of him moving inside you growing louder and more desperate.

“Gonna fill you up,” he warns through gritted teeth, the words punched out between thrusts. His pace turns short and hard, burying himself as deep as he can go with every snap of his hips.

A few more powerful strokes and he comes with a low, guttural groan, head snuggled against your neck. His body jerks with each pulse, holding you tightly against him while he spills everything he’s got, cock twitching deep as he rides out the last of his orgasm.

You both stay locked together for a long moment afterward, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed against him while he softens slowly inside you. The car is quiet except for the fading bass of the music and your shared, uneven breathing.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the side of your neck, the earlier intensity melting into something gentler. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, grounding both of you.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough but softer now.

You nod weakly against his shoulder, too spent to form words yet. Your thighs are still trembling, the dull ache from riding him mixed with the pleasant, heavy fullness of him still inside you. He doesn’t rush to pull out. Instead he holds you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other rests warm on your hip.

Outside the heavily tinted windows, the empty lane remains dark and still. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sex, smoke, and the faint cologne clinging to his skin. He shifts just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips—slow this time, unhurried, tasting of gratitude and leftover hunger.

“Missed this,” he whispers against your mouth. “Missed you.”

“Thank you so much for taking care of Jae,” you say with a bright smile, glancing between Yuna and the baby now settled in your arms. He’s wide awake, tiny fingers already tugging curiously at the neckline of your shirt.

“Of course,” Yuna replies, looking proud of herself. “I was gonna stay up all night anyway, so it wasn’t a problem if you left him here a bit longer. Feel free to drop Jae off whenever you want—I honestly believe a couple deserves some time alone too.”

She worked as a babysitter for about six months back in high school, but you hadn’t expected her to be this good with kids.

“Oh, surely… only if Jae doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” you offer with a soft laugh.

“Nah, he’s chill. One of the nicest kids I’ve seen. Barely troubled me at all.” Yuna tilts her head, smiling. “But I hope you and Jungkook had a great time. Where did y’all go, though?”

Your smile drops instantly. You look down at Jae, suddenly very interested in adjusting his little onesie, trying to fight the flush you can already feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.

Of course you can’t exactly tell her that Jungkook fucked your brains out in the car.

“Somewhere,” Jungkook answers for you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you.

You know better than to look at him right now. One glance and the heat already crawling up your neck will turn into a full-blown flush that Yuna will definitely notice.

She frowns slightly at Jungkook, then shifts her attention back to you, waiting for a better answer.

“We—… we went to a cinema,” you say quickly, forcing a casual tone as you bounce Jae lightly in your arms.

Yuna’s frown disappears, replaced by an easy smile. “Oooh. That’s great.”

At least she buys the lie. You risk a tiny glance toward Jungkook and catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. You immediately look back down at Jae, pretending the baby’s tiny fist has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“Alright, I’ll take a leave then. Good luck for your exam, yeah?” you say to Yuna with a smile.

She nods and walks you both out to the car, standing on the curb and waving until the vehicle pulls away and her apartment building disappears from view. Jae remains nestled in your arms the whole time, tiny and warm against your chest.

The car is quiet for a few minutes as Jungkook drives, the city lights sliding across the windshield. You glance over at him, catching the soft, satisfied look on his face, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.

Jae makes a small cooing sound, pulling your attention back down. You adjust him carefully, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek.

“You think she bought it?” you ask quietly, keeping your voice low even though the baby can’t understand.

Jungkook’s mouth curves into a small smirk. “Cinema, huh? Cute.” He glances sideways at you, eyes dark and amused under the streetlights. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. Your ears were bright red.”

You huff, looking out the window to hide the fresh heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up.”

He chuckles low, the sound warm and familiar, then reaches over to rest his hand lightly on your thigh—nothing heated this time, just steady and present. “You good?”

You nod, leaning your head back against the seat, still cradling Jae. The ache between your legs is a quiet reminder of everything that just happened, but the contentment sitting in your chest is stronger. For the first time in months, the exhaustion feels lighter.

You see, perverted or not, life just feels better when you’ve got a capable—actually insane—sex partner. Like, hell yeah. Fuck anyone who claims sexual frustration isn’t a real need.

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𝒮.𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : : closed and finished. (Oneshot)

The sound of the running water echoed quietly through the bathroom. Steam gathered quickly, fogging the glass and leaving a thin layer of moisture over the tile. The air is heavy with the scent of vanilla body wash and something very musky, very manly.

Jungkook was standing under the main showerhead, his head bowed down, eyes closed, one forearm braced high against the wet tile. Water slides down the hard lines of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, tracing the deep lines of the V-lines that point down where you kneel.

You’re on your knees on the textured shower floor, the heat of the water spattering your back and shoulders. The sight of his cock, thick and fully erect, curving proudly upward his hard, trembling stomach. A pearl of precum leaks from his pink tip, glistening even in the fogged air. It makes your mouth water.

“Please..” he whispered, voice barely audible over the steamy rush of water. He leans back against the tile behind, arching his abdomen towards your face, as he gazed down with a pleading eyes, desperate for the feeling of your mouth on him.

Although, you very much enjoy edging and teasing Jungkook to submission, but you’re very desperate for his taste as well. You don’t wanna wait longer, so you lean forward and take him into your mouth in one smooth, deep motion.

A broken, guttural moan tears from his throat, raw and needy. His hands, which were loosely hanging at his sides, planted against the tile behind him, shoulders still resting against the wall. His knuckles turn white. His hips arch towards you, rutting his hips into your mouth, yielding to the sensation, as if your mouth is a gravity he cannot and does not want to resist.

You let him move into your mouth, establishing a rhythm that’s relentless, hungry, and needy. Hes a whimpering mess. Hes so loud, keening moans and words barely coherent slipping out of his mouth. His eyes are trying so hard to stay open, but the sensation is driving him wild. Your mouth feels so heavenly.

“Mmh..ah yesyesyesyesyes-” his breathing so heavy and hot, it sends a electric, warm sensation through your core. So you hollow your cheek and suck, hard.

Your head bobs, your lips creating a tight, wet seal as you move back and forth. The sounds are obscenely perfect in the steamy enclosure: the slick, wet pop as you pull off the head, the choked, heavy breaths from above, the low, continuous moan that seems to vibrate from his very core. His legs shaking as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head, your hand holding him still as you nudge the slit with the tip of your tongue.

“Stop stop stop stop-“ his hands fly off the wall, yanking your head away, “I almost fucking came,” his thighs are trembling violently, chest heaving up and down fiercely. A breathless laugh escaped him, “Don’t do that, baby. You know.. i cum.. so fast like that,” breath still heavy between his words.

“My bad, you taste and sound so good.” You muffled through your squished cheeks, his palms unknowingly holding your face tight, they are trembling with his whole body. Damn, that tongue motion got him so bad, but you need his cock in your mouth again.

“Please, kook,” you whine, your hands gently parting his away from your cheeks, “fuck my face, use my mouth.”

You move forward again, but this time you nudge his pelvis, peering up at him pleadingly. You want him to completely use you, you want him to own your mouth and fuck it till you pass out.

“Oh baby, look at you,” he’s smiling devilishly, fingers threading through your wet hair, nudging you close to him, the other holding his dick up your face, watching your lips parting obediently.

“You want it?” He teased, slapping his heavy girth against your cheek, “you wanna taste my cum, don’t you” his voice getting rough, along with the hand in your hair. Fingers tightening, as he gently rock his hips onto your mouth.

“Please.” His cock sliding back and forth your open lips from the side, laving the hard throbbing veins along his shaft. You love when he is like this; completely owning you, using you how he please. And you take it every time, always happy to be his living fuck toy.

He finally slid his cock inside your mouth in a slow, steady motion. Still sensitive from his tip, moving his hips intentionally. His other hand feeling your neck, as his cock slide in and out of your throat.

“Fuck, you feel that?”

Slap!

“Answer me.” He knows you can’t speak, but he wants to feel the vibration of you trying to let out noises with his cock down your throat. So you whimper, a very long moan just to feel his hips shake under your hands.

“That’s it, keep moaning.” Voice trembling from the sensation, his movement getting faster, rolling his hips so intensely.

His eyes are dark, droopy with lust, glazed and drunk. His mouth wide open, never shy from slipping filthy noises. Hes looking at your face, watching your eyes well up from the overwhelming sensation.

You continued to moan his name around his cock, sensing his orgasm from his heavy chest and the way he trembles, taking the lead and bobbing you head.

“Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop,” His grip in your hair tightens. “Gonna come,” he warns, his voice shaking. “Baby please... gonna cum.”

You hum in answer, the vibration drawing a broken shout from him. You increase the pressure, bobbing faster, your own need coiling tight between your legs, ignored but pulsing with every beat of your heart.

“Please… take me..” god how much you love this part, him whimpering and pleading you to take his cum, his voice getting loud while his hips rutting in tiny, uncontrolled thrusts as he reach his peak. You could cum just from the sight of it.

A hot, bitter flood spills into the back of your throat as he grinds himself deeper, his hips stuttering. You swallow eagerly, taking every drop as he empties himself with broken moans, his body bowing over you.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the shower and his heavy breathing. Then, slowly, he softens in your mouth. You pull off with a final, gentle kiss to the tip.

He looks down at you, utterly spent, his expression a mix of awe and raw hunger. He sinks to his knees in front of you, the water crashing over both of you now. His hands cup your face, kissing you so deeply, his tongue swiping against your wet lips, tasing himself on you.

“Sit on my face?”

A/N: WOW IM WET FNNDJDKDKDKD

‎"Ughhh!!!" You're very close to actually ripping all the hair off your scalp. You're even closer to the balcony of your 7th-floor apartment, and you really wanna jump.

‎You stare at Eunha, your 6-month-old daughter who's currently screaming at lord knows what.

‎You've done everything you could think of, you tried feeding her milk, but she refused. You tried to entertain her with toys, and she's still crying.

‎"What do you want, Eunha??" ‎You can't help but get louder, and it only makes her cry even more.

‎This isn't the first time it's happened. Eunha would cry like this for hours and then fall asleep. The next time she wakes up, she's as cheerful as Jimmy Fallon on his show. You don't understand the psychology behind this, or what goes through her head.

‎And this horrifies you.

‎When you decided on keeping the baby, you didn't really know you'd turn out to be so bad at being a mother.

‎But can you really blame yourself?

‎You're only 22, working a great job with lots of workload, and parents who abandoned you because of the shame you brought them when you got pregnant at 21.

‎And not to mention, the father of Eunha, a 22-year-old boy who's just as dumb as a 14-year-old one. He still refuses to believe that Eunha is here, despite knowing he was the first boyfriend you've ever had. You really don't know what you did to deserve this.

‎It was 11 pm by the time Eunha finally fell asleep. You're currently trying to finish your tasks for the day before 12 am, and you curse the company while doing it. No doubt it's a good company; it supported you financially during your delivery, accepted you for the way you were, gave you the best colleagues ever, and pays you well. But why do they have to make you work while you're on maternity leave? You could really use some time to sleep right now, but no, you have to complete this bullshit work right now.

‎Around 45 mins later, you're done for the day, like done done. So you shut your laptop and make your way out of Eunha’s room, towards the bathroom to freshen up.

‎But the moment you start washing your face, oh lord, why's Eunha crying again?!

You quickly wash your hands and run to your baby girl. She already has her arms in the air as if expecting to be picked up. You keep cooing to her, singing lil songs she likes to listen to or swaying her in the living, but nothing works.

‎"What do you want, baby? Pls tell mommy."

‎At this point, you're crying too. Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears. And you want to cry just as loud as Eunha.

‎But your emotions come to a halt when you hear your doorbell go off. "Who could that be?" you think to yourself.

‎It was midnight, on a Wednesday, and you weren't expecting anyone.

‎You quickly wiped whatever tears had escaped your eyes and put down your still crying baby in her crib as you came to your living room to check the intercom.

And woah, what's your hot neighbor doing here?

‎You jump towards the main door and unlock it as quickly as you can. Once you do, Jeon Jungkook comes into view.

‎Well... to introduce Jungkook, he's a pediatrician who works at a lavish private hospital at the end of the street, turned thirty last month, and is super duper attractive.

‎You still remember the day you moved in here at the beginning of the year. He'd spent nearly an hour helping you haul those heavy ass boxes into your apartment without complaining once. As a thank you, you'd invited him over for dinner the next day.

Definitely a mistake, because ever since then, you'd been crushing on him like some lovesick teenager.

You'd run into him in the elevator, at the grocery store, at the chemist, even once at the neighborhood noodle place. And with every conversation, he somehow became a little harder to stop thinking about.

‎Oh, did we mention he invited you to his 30th birthday at a bar? Yeah, that night was crazy. He'd assured you it wasn't going to be some wild party packed with a crazy crowd and that you'd actually enjoy yourself. Well... you did. If it wasn't for your baby girl waiting for you to pick her up from your best friend's place, things might've gotten a little more interesting than just a make-out session.

‎The tension had been there ever since that night, and you may or may not have avoided him a little. But it was for both your sakes. You weren't entirely sure you'd be able to control yourself if you ended up alone with him again.

‎But there's no reason for him to be here right now; still, you greet him with a quiet hello, and he returns it with an equally soft one.

‎Another thing you've noticed? You don't know why, but you turn so fucking awkward in front of him while he looks like the calmest, most composed person you've ever met.

Though... the piercings on his left eyebrow and lip always say otherwise.

‎"Is Eunha alright? I, actually, could hear her crying for a while now, so I thought I should check on you. In case you need any help?"

‎His concerned voice takes you out of whatever observation of you had started building about his piercings.

So you reply to him with, "Oh yeah, well I don't really know what's up with her. She's been crying nonstop, and I have tried doing everything..." You move aside, making way for him to step inside.

‎As he slips off his shoes and walks into your apartment, he catches the panic and frustration you've been trying so hard to bury beneath your voice.

‎Though he's never been inside before, he barely spares your apartment a glance. Right now, his mind is occupied with figuring out why your baby won't stop crying.

‎"When did she last eat?" he asks once he reaches her room, standing beside the crib Eunha was in.

‎"8 pm, she ate properly, even burped 10 mins later and drank some milk cause she needs that to sleep."

‎Jungkook almost reaches to pick Eunha up before looking at you as if he's asking for your permission. You nod your head, giving him that.

‎And to your surprise, the moment Jungkook picks Eunha up, she stops crying.

Her small brown eyes, still filled with tears, are now staring at his handsome face, who just picked her up.

"Hunh?" The sound slips out before you can stop it.

‎Jungkook holds Eunha close against his chest, her tiny face already buried in the crook of his neck as his large, warm hand gently rubs circles over her back. Soon he's slightly rocking her body and gently swaying her left and right.

‎Your eyeballs almost leave their sockets when you see Eunha's arms reach around his neck. She doesn't even do that to you, what the heck.

‎Your daughter's a bit too comfy with this stranger.

‎And in the next 10 mins, Jungkook is already sitting on the couch in the room with your baby, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

You stand there speechless, completely dumbfounded as to how the fuck he managed to do that. Eventually, you walk over and take the seat beside him.

The moment you're about to bombard him with questions, he carefully stands up and lays Eunha back down in her crib. The two of you walk outside her room, into the living space of your apartment.

‎"How did you do that?" You couldn't control your tongue, brain buzzing with confusion.

Jungkook lets out a chuckle as he finally looks around your well-decorated apartment. He sits beside you on the larger couch, leaving only a small space between the two of you.

‎He smiles before continuing, "That's my job, Y/N. I'm a pediatrician, remember?" You nod your head at his words.

‎"No, but still, you gotta teach me that." He laughs at your words, trying to make the environment a little lighter.

‎"Hey, it's nothing much. You just have to hold them with all the warmth and love you've got. They tend to feel that comfort."

‎You raised your eyebrows at his words, wondering if he meant that you didn't love your baby.

‎As if he immediately caught the cue, Jungkook continued, "That doesn't mean you don't love her; you're the only person who will love her the most. But infants, they need to feel it.  Because they don't really understand words or actions, so they need that assurance."

‎He turns his body towards you, his knees brushing against yours.

‎His eyes don't leave your face, quietly taking in everything you've been trying so hard to hide. The way your shoulders refuse to loosen, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap, your breathing just a little too shallow. The exhaustion in your eyes wasn't just from the lack of sleep anymore. It was the kind that had settled somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to leave.

‎Jungkook watches you for a moment, his expression softening with quiet understanding before he finally speaks. "Y/N, I can clearly see how hard you're working for her. And it must be so difficult for you to be... you know, alone in this. So, I understand what you’re going through."

‎His eyes are full of concern. Not just for Eunha anymore, but for you too.

‎You don't remember the last time someone was genuinely concerned about you. Accepting that kind of comfort from your neighbor should've felt weird. Instead, it felt oddly natural.

"Yeah, I do wish I could be better at this. I don't want Eunha to go through a bad childhood because of me.

‎Your eyes were now fixed on your hands, noticing the chipped nail polish you put on months ago.

‎"I just feel like I'm not enough for her." Your voice was going soft with every word you were speaking.

‎"You're more than enough for her, Y/N. You feed her on time, you maintain her hygiene, and you do everything you're supposed to. So don't think any of that, okay?" You could only nod your head at his words.

‎He was right; you're doing everything correctly, so why does it feel like there's still something missing? That you still can't understand your own baby.

‎"I... I don't know why... why can't I give her the comfort or the safety she needs to feel?" You ask quietly, your face slowly lifting until your eyes meet his.

‎"Maybe because you're too busy trying to be her father," Jungkook says it gently. The words are blunt, maybe even a little cruel, but not once does his voice carry judgment.

‎"You know, Y/N... when a father raises a child on his own, he naturally grows into that role. He learns how to provide, how to protect, how to stay strong for them. And mothers... It's a little different.

‎He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "There's something people call a motherly instinct. It's not something you're born with; it grows. It grows every time you hold your baby, every time you comfort them, every time you simply exist with them. And society doesn't really help either. We've been raised believing fathers are supposed to earn for the family, keep everyone disciplined, make sure everyone follows the rules. The rules they set." A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

‎"That doesn't mean fathers love their children any less. Most fathers would give up their lives for their families without thinking twice. But their love often looks different. Fathers usually try to protect their family from everything outside those walls... trusting that the mother will protect them from everything inside them."

‎His eyes settle on yours again. "But in your case... you're trying to be both."

‎Silence settles between the two of you, as he watches your face, almost waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

‎"So..." you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I'm only trying to fill that role for her. I'm trying so hard to replace what's missing... that I'm taking away the chance for her to still have a mother."

‎Jungkook slowly reaches for your hand resting in your lap; his fingers wrap around yours with surprising gentleness.

You suddenly understand why Eunha had fallen asleep so easily in his arms.

‎"Exactly. You don't have to stop being her father; you just have to let yourself be her mother too."

‎His voice is barely above a whisper, and his thumb gently strokes across your knuckles.

‎"Spend time with her without worrying about doing everything right. Let her see the love you already have for her."

Your eyes stay fixed on your joined hands and almost instinctively, your fingers weave between his as if seeking the same love.

‎God, you now feel what Eunha feels all the time. Cause you feel the same too. Your baby's exactly like you.

‎You chuckle at the thought. Jungkook notices that, "A penny for your thoughts?"

You look up to find the sweetest smile on his face. "Nothing, just little realizations."

‎Why? Why are his eyes full of so much comfort and something you can't point out? Why does he look so handsome right now? Why's he so fucking sweet?

‎You don't even notice your gaze drifting to his lips before dropping back to your intertwined hands. But Jungkook did.

‎He notices the way your shoulders have finally begun to loosen. The tension that had been wound so tightly into every muscle of your body slowly melting away beneath the silence.

‎"Y/N?" He calls your name in the softest voice.

‎"Hm?" Your eyes lift to meet his once again.

‎"You should take a break too."

‎You're too busy getting lost in his eyes to actually process what he'd said.

‎"What?"

‎A tiny smile ghosts across his face. "I said you should take a break too."

‎He lets the words settle before continuing, ‎"You're still so young. You deserve to breathe too. Try taking out time for yourself. "‎

You blink, finally hearing him this time, "How, Jungkook?"

‎Jungkook's heart tightens at the genuine question from someone who looked as though she'd forgotten what it felt like to put herself first.

‎His eyes wandered across your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes, and the exhaustion behind them.

‎But you still looked so beautiful. So tender.

‎He felt this urge to protect you from everything that's gnawing at your mind, give you the comfort you've been lacking, and all the love you deserve.

‎A loose strand of hair falls on your face, which he tucked away gently. Gosh, He's so whipped.

He can't keep his heart under control anymore, especially when you're giving him those eyes. But he needs to control, cause he remembers the last time he kissed you and how you've been subtly avoiding him since.

‎He doesn't wanna ruin this for you. He just wants to be there and provide comfort in any form you want him to.

‎"You want me to help?" he asks, his tone making it clear that he wants you to be a hundred percent sure.

‎At this point, you don't even know where this conversation is headed. All you know is that somewhere along the way, the knot in your chest had begun to unravel. You're wrapped up in this weird feeling of... solace, and you don't want to let go.

‎You couldn't form words anymore, so you settle your response with a nod.

"Can I ask you something first?

‎Jungkook nods. "Anything."

‎You hesitate, but you still voice out your question. ‎"Why... why are you so nice to me?"

‎You glance down at your hands as the question hangs between the two of you for a moment.

‎You really don't understand why he cares for you. You know that he's kind to everyone, but he still manages to make you feel special, like you are more to him than just a neighbor.

‎Though after the kiss you shared last time, you hope it's the latter.

‎A chuckle leaves him, and he shakes his head to himself. ‎"I've been trying not to be. "

‎He lets out a small sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

‎"Not like it's working, though."

‎His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your knuckles before he stills it.

‎"I don't know what happened or how it happened, but now that I think about it... I just started caring."

‎Your eyes widen at his words, and your heart races at the sight of a shy Jungkook, his ears and neck flushed red in front of you.

‎Now you feel so guilty for the fact that you've been avoiding him. Maybe it wasn't only you. Maybe what you felt wasn't wrong.

‎"That night... on your birthday..." ‎Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, but Jungkook speaks before you can continue.

‎"We don't have to talk about that night."

‎Your eyelids flutter before you continue.

‎"Still... I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I just wanted to tell you..." You pause for a moment. "That I don't regret anything that happened. It's just..."

‎Your voice trails off.

‎Jungkook lets out a quiet sigh before continuing, ‎"Me too, Y/N. But I know you've had a thousand other things on your mind."

‎His voice stays calm. ‎"The last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to carry my feelings too."

‎He shifts slightly, decreasing the space between the two of you. ‎"I'm here because I was worried about you. That's all that matters right now."

‎He offers you a reassuring smile. "So tell me, Y/N, how do you want me to help you?"

‎The apartment falls quiet again.

‎For the first time that night, the silence doesn't feel suffocating. Eunha's soft breathing drifts in from the nursery, and the weight that had been pressing against your chest for months feels just a little lighter.

‎Gazing into his starry eyes now reminds you of that night. They hypnotise you in such a way that you just want to get lost in them.

‎Jungkook's eyes stare right back into yours, and he can't help but notice your shifting gaze between his own eyes and lips.

‎But he waits for you to make the move; he wants you to do it. He wants this to be about you.

‎As if some force was pushing you closer to Jungkook, you're now only inches away from his face. His soft breath falls onto yours.

‎You look him in the eyes again, only to find him staring at you like you're the only person that exists for him.

‎That look, that was it. You couldn't think about your actions anymore as your lips touch his.

‎You move your lips over his and Jungkook immediately syncs with you.

‎Damn, why's he so soft? He smells like vanilla and tastes like coffee. You can kiss him for the rest of your life.

‎When you break away to take a breath, Jungkook rests his forehead on yours. His warm hands separate from your interlocked ones, and he holds your jaw gently. Like you're the most fragile thing, and he wants to be very careful with you.

‎Before you even process what had happened, his lips find yours again. This time, it feels more real. You kiss him back with the same effort, both of you devouring each other.

‎His tongue teased your bottom lip once, coaxing your mouth open. It slides over yours as he tastes every corner of your mouth. God, it feels like you're floating now.

‎Your hands find their way towards his hair, and you tug on a few strands to stay a bit grounded.

‎But the kiss deepened as he tongued your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips and tongue, while you let out a needy moan, which he swallowed eagerly.

‎You fiddle with his lip piercing with your tongue, and Lord knows for how long you've been dreaming about doing that.

‎You tug at the piercing, making him let out the cutest yelp, and that's probably the best sound you've ever heard.

‎Jungkook's hand from your jaw slides down towards your neck and then to your arms. You pull away from the kiss for merely a second to climb over his lap, before continuing to make out with him.

‎His palms now settle on your thighs, which land perfectly on both his sides. He grips them slightly while you couldn't help but grind over his half-hard dick.

‎He breaks away from the kiss and looks at your completely flushed face. He tucks away the strands of hair that had fallen on your face.

‎You were already out of breath, body heaving from the intense make-out session. Your hands that were caught in his hair now find their way on his chest.

‎He lifts your chin lightly to meet your eyes before he asks you, "Y/N, are you sure you're okay with what we're doing?"

‎You nod your head at his words, already leaning in to continue. But Jungkook places his hand on your chest to stop you. "Use your words and tell me if you really want this."

Your lips parted at his words as you licked your lip nervously, "I want this."

‎But he still seems unsatisfied with your answer. "You want what, darling?”

‎You feel something moving in your stomach when he calls you that. Wait, are those butterflies? How old are you? 15? Why are you getting so flustered just by his words?

You blink a few times and take a breath before continuing, " You, I want everything you can give me, Jungkook."

Your words feel final. Like you're a  hundred and ten percent sure.

‎Without wasting any more time, Jungkook kisses you again, and his hands start roaming your body. One of them traces up your spine, and the other hand finds your waist, thumb pressed against the skin.

He lets go of your now swollen lips as he presses chaste kisses down your throat. Each one is slow, tongue flicking against your pulse point. Your head falls back automatically, giving him better access.

The soft kisses didn’t last for long before his teeth scraped lightly, sucking deep purple hickies all over your neck.

“Ahh-ohh.” You let out a gasp at a particularly harsh bite, your nails digging into his shoulders. His tongue soothing the sting.

Your body arched, pressing your chest against him. Both his hands slide down to your hips slowly. Your breath hitches when his fingers slip under your hoodie, squeezing your soft skin.

He takes his sweet time bringing the fabric up; the contrast of his hands against your skin makes you shiver. His thumb brushes just below your belly button, and fuck, your eyes shut at the feeling. He pulled out the hoodie and threw it across the couch.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes running over you, drinking in the sight of your flushed skin. The way your tits heaved with each breath left him in awe.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said as he shifted you, now one of his thigh between your legs. It pressed against your core, making you squirm.

His fingers ran over your body before stopping on your bra strap, and he leaned in close, you could feel his breath hot against your ear.

"Can I?"

You manage a shaky nod, pulse thundering in your ears. With a quick flick of his fingers, the fabric comes undone.

The bra falls off, and the way he looks at you- Jesus, it makes your pussy throb. His eyes rake over your exposed tits in pure appreciation.

His hands cupped your bare tits, and you threw your head back at the feel of his warm palm. His huge hands practically engulfed you, his thumbs brushed over your nipples, and your back arched into his touch.

His finger rolled one of your nipples, and you mewled at the feeling. Your hips rocked against his thigh, and he pressed his thigh harder between your legs.

“Feels good?” he asked you while his thumb circled both your buds before tweaking them at a fast pace.

“Mhmm, ahh,” you pant, your cunt now dripping onto his thigh.

“Tell me how it feels, darling, wanna hear you.”

“So- so good, Jungkook,” you gasp. Your fingers find the hem of his crewneck, tugging impatiently. Soon the fabric joins your discarded hoodie somewhere.

He pulls you back against him, and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes you grind against his thigh once again. His hands grip your waist passionately while yours run all over his abs and the hard planes of his chest.

When his mouth claims yours again, this time it's hungrier. His tongue sucks yours in a way that makes your heart quicken, and you can't help your fingers curling around his neck to pull him closer.

Soon you break the kiss to breathe, but you can't help but stare at the view in front of you. His lips are slick and swollen, that silver ring glinting with both of your saliva. His hair is a mess from your fingers, and his eyes shine with adoration.

He leaned down, breathing hotly against your tits, as his tongue came out, brushing against the hardened peak. You squirmed pathetically over him, pushing your tits harder into his mouth.

He finally took the right nipple into his mouth, and the wet heat of his mouth made you slightly scream.

He sucked hard, his tongue swirling rapidly, and your hips bucked seeking relief, pressing against his muscular thighs.

“Jungkook.” you moaned.

“Fuckk, darling.” He moved to your other nipple, giving it the same attention while his hand focused on the other one.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. His voice vibrates against your nipple, and you bite your lower lip to contain yourself.

“I could suck these all day.” he looks at you endearingly.

“Would you like that?” You couldn't speak; his tongue lapped at your nipple before sucking hard, pulling a string of moans from you.

“Answer me, baby,” he urged.

“Yessss,” you blabbered. You pulled him closer, your tits aching due to his persistent attention. He twisted and pinched your nipple, making your clit throb painfully.

“Oh my god!” you screamed, he loved the way your nipples were all red and swollen because of him.

He kissed down your cleavage, his lips trailing over the soft skin of your tits, worshipping every inch of you.

“Just wanna make you feel good.” He groans as his hands slide down your sides towards your ass. He squeezes it hard through your silk shorts, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper.

“So soft…” he hums in approval as he continues wringing your ass.

You lift your hips for him to tug your shorts down roughly, bunching them at your thighs. His palm slides up your inner thigh, his thumb slightly brushing over your clit through your panties. The pleasure makes you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

"You like that, darling?" His voice is soft and low.

You press a hum into the crook of his neck, his thumb drawing slow circles on your clit, making your thighs shake.

He pulls your panties to the side, grazing his fingers over your folds but never letting his touch linger for long enough. Your eyes squeeze shut as you ramble incoherent words against his skin.

Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, you feel your body being lowered onto the soft mattress of the couch. You open your eyes, only to find Jungkook on his knees, shuffling between your partly spread legs.

“Will you spread your legs for me?” he blabs against your panty-clad pussy, hands already on the side of your thighs.

You did exactly what he asked you to, as he sucked a spot just above your underwear before he went up again, circling his tongue around your navel.

You felt euphoric at how he was marking you all over with his saliva. His hands then reached for the last piece of fabric on your body, and his eyes met yours.

“Are you okay? Shall we keep going?”

“Yes, pleaseee.” Your hands reached for his hair again, nails scratching his scalp, making him let out such pathetic noises for you.

He kissed your clit over the panty before he slowly slid the fabric down your body, revealing your pussy.

Jungkook stared at you as if he found the seventh heaven. Your folds were swollen, clit peeking just beneath it, and he couldn’t look away from it, his tongue coming out to lick at his bottom lip.

Your breath hitched at how sensual he looked, his flushed cheeks and doe eyes making him look cuter.

Your wetness clung to the bottoms, and he could see the way your entrance clenched around nothing. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” his eyes locked on your cunt and the way it was oozing arousal.

His lips brushed your mound, and a desperate whine escaped you. He placed a kiss against your pussy mound, “Look at you, so wet f’me…”

His finger strokes your outer lips, spreading your arousal, the sensations making you feel ecstatic. “Jungkook, pleas-unh.”

His fingers parted your folds, exposing your clit fully and blowing cool air on it. His eyes constantly checked you for any sign of discomfort but only found you sobbing out lewd noises at his action.

He spat on your pussy suddenly causing you to flinch, as he watched his saliva mix with your slickness. He parted your folds with his thumb, now exposing your clit fully.

“So fucking pretty,” he cooed.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, so he leaned in, his tongue licking you slowly from your entrance to your clit, and you cried out. He groaned against your pussy as his tongue lapped at your slit, his nose poking your clit.

“mmph-nghhhh,” you murmured curses as you bit into your hand, not being able to help yourself.

“You taste so sweet.” his tongue dived in, now entering your hole, fucking you in and out as your head whipped from side to side. He loved how you tasted, and you smelt sooo good.

He sucked on your folds, his tongue doing different motions until your arousal dripped onto his chin. His loud grunts vibrate against you, making your body quiver involuntarily. You closed your eyes tightly, lost in the feeling.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he coaxed, “Look what you do to me.”

His hands pulled you closer to him, and he pushed your knees until they touched your breasts, exposing your pussy fully in front of him.

“Jungkook- ahmm godd,” you chanted, while he dove back in, his tongue circled your clit before sucking hard and pulling a scream from you. Your hips grind against his face, chasing the pleasure.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” he urged.

He vigorously flicked your clit side to side, and you gripped tight on his hair.  “Yessss, grind on my face, ffuck-let me feel you.”

Your thighs shook violently, “jungkook i’m—” you hiccuped.

Your hips rocking faster and faster against his face, seeking relief. “I’m gonna come, Jungkook, pleasee hahh.”

He started eating you out harder, all while his fingers fucked your cunt, making your body tremble violently.

“Yeahh? Then cum for me, darling.”

His tongue replaced your fingers, thrusting back into your entrance as his teeth slightly grazed your clit.

“Ahhh-Jungkookk!” You screamed, your back arching off the couch. Your body jerked against him, as your cum hit him in the face.

Jungkook lapped you through your orgasm, not stopping till he made sure you were licked clean.

“You did so well for me, darling.” He kissed your quivering pussy softly, making you whimper.

Your hands ran through his hair again as his eyes met yours, lips glistening with your juices. He licked his lips clean, his cock still twitching in his shorts.

You lay there still trying to catch your breath, and you tried pulling him towards you. Jungkook stood up, his knees burning from staying bent for so long, as he sat beside you.

He dragged your limp body into his arms, placing your legs over his, drawing little patterns on your back. He pressed chaste kisses on your forehead, nose, and cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his ribs, face already snuggling against his chest.

Jungkook caressed your hair before you spoke, “That was probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

His body convulsed with laughter as he placed a finger under your chin to lift your face and spoke, “I’m honored, darling, though you deserve all the best orgasms in the world.”

And fuck- he feels a flood of butterflies in his stomach from the way you’re looking at him with such dreamy eyes and the shy smile appearing on your face.

He’d do anything if that meant he’d get to see that smile of yours.

You stretched your neck upward, capturing his lips in the softest kiss, making Jungkook get goosebumps all over his body.

You broke away from the kiss some time later while Jungkook continued caressing your back.

“You hungry?” He asked casually. “I can make you something while you freshen up.”

You couldn’t help but look at him in shock, your brows contorting with confusion. “But what about you, Jungkook? You didn’t get to…”

He chuckles lightly, pushing the strands of hair away from your face. “I told you, Y/N, tonight was all about you.”

‘’But Jungkook-”

“I didn’t do this just to get something in return, darling.” He cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your face softens at his words, but you still speak, “But still, I don’t like leaving you like this.”

Jungkook breaks into a smile, his eyes glinting with slight mischief. “Aww, don’t feel sad. You can give me my best orgasm ever the next time we do this, hm?”

“We’re doing this again?” You ask, voice laced with surprise.

“You wouldn’t want that?” He got worried if he accidentally crossed the line, but you reassured him with a shake of your head.

“I’d love that!” You giggled as he playfully kissed your forehead.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence; both of your hearts felt full and content as you simply breathed together, sharing the warmth of the moment.

A piercing noise of your daughter crying comes through her room as you jerk against Jungkook’s body at the sudden sound. You quickly get off his body, looking for your underwear.

You run to her in just your hoodie and your panties, picking her up from her crib. Just like how Jungkook told you and what you saw him do, you gently rub Eunha’s back. You coo at her with several ‘what happened, baby?’s and ‘I love you’s, while gently swaying her left to right.

She slowly stops crying and falls asleep in your arms. Jungkook joins you too, now wearing his own crewneck, and he’s left in awe at the sight in front of him.

“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you, darling?” You turn around to look at him, only to find him gazing at you and your daughter with so much fondness.

“All thanks to you, Doctor.” You say with a teasing smile on your face.

At that moment, neither of you knew that the other person had wished for a life just like this. So maybe the Universe is finally listening to you, and this was a start to your manifested lives.

Hence, moral of the story, keep manifesting bitches!! and do listen to everything dr. jeon tells you. Okay bye byee!!!!

Taglist:

“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”

Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.

You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.

Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.

He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”

Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.

The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.

"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.

When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.

He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.

Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.

He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.

You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.”

Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.

“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.

You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”

There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.

The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.

A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.

When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.

You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.

But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.

“Are you okay?”

You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.

The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.

He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.

When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.

He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.

You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.

“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.

Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.

In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.

“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.

You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.

Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.

You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.

It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.

Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.

If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.

One day, you get the chance.

Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.

When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.

Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.

You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.

Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.

You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”

He almost looks offended at that statement.

“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.

You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.

To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.

When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.

A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”

The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.

“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.

Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.

He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”

You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.

“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”

That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.

More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.

Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.

Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.

A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.

When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.

Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.

You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.

“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”

Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.

He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”

Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.

“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”

“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.

“Yeah.”

“I, um—I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.

He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.

Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.

“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.

“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”

“I don’t care about Owen.”

He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.

Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.

“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”

“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.

“Do I…do I make you nervous?”

For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.

The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.

You shake your head rapidly.

“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”

A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.

You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.

Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”

“….No.”

He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.

Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”

“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”

Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.

Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”

Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”

“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.

And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.

“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.

“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”

You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.

“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”

“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.

Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.

You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.

“Do you want to kiss someone?”

The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.

“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.

"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”

He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.

Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.

When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.

Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.

So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.

“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.

Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.

You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.

Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.

Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.

Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.

She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.

It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.

Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.

“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”

The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.

For now.

Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.

“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.

Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.

Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”

The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.

“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”

And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.

Your head snaps up.

It is him.

The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.

“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.

The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”

“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.

At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.

He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.

This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.

He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.

You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.

Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.

You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.

“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”

He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.

From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.

Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.

You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.

Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.

He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.

Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”

Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.

He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”

In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.

Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.

Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.

Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.

“That is has.”

You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.

Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.

You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.

Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.

“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.

When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.

She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.

Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.

“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”

“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.

Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.

He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.

Still, your heart stutters all the same.

-

Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.

So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.

He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.

You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.

During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.

He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.

Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.

Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”

Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.

Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.

For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.

By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.

He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.

By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.

When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.

Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.

Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.

He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.

Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.

The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.

“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.

Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.

“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”

“Weren’t you at the bar?”

“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.

Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.

You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.

Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.

Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.

“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”

Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.

Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.

Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.

When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.

He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.

Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.

“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.

He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.

Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.

When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.

You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.

A mistake, you realize.

When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.

Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.

Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.

Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.

Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.

Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.

“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.

By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.

“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”

You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.

He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.

“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.

“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”

It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”

But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”

Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.

At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”

Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.

Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.

“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”

Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.

That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.

The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.

Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.

“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.

He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”

You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”

“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”

Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.

Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.

You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”

The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.

Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.

“So…how’d the move go?”

“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.

He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”

“Pft, you’re barely there.”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.

Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”

When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.

He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”

The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.

Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”

Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”

He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.

Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.

It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.

“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”

“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.

“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”

A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.

However, you still join Yoongi each time.

Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.

“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.

You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.

“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”

“I have Aya!”

“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”

Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”

“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”

From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.

On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.

Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.

“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”

Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.

He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.

“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”

Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.

Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.

However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.

“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”

He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”

You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.

“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.

“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”

Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”

All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.

Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”

For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.

There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.

Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.

“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”

You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.

“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”

Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure.”

What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.

yoongi: how was your interview today you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me yoongi: yikes thats fucked yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life yoongi: touche yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though

When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.

Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.

The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.

“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”

You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.

Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.

Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.

When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.

One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.

Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.

When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.

“Yoongi?” you murmur.

The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.

“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.

You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.

He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.

The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.

“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.

“Did not.”

“Definitely did.”

You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.

Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.

You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.

Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.

“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”

You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.

Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.

Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.

The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.

That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.

“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.

“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.

“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”

“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.

You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.

“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”

"I know, it’s on my list.”

“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”

Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.

The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.

Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.

Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.

He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.

“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”

The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.

You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.

His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.

A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.

You clear your throat. “I had that.”

He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.

You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.

Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.

Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.

He thinks he’s fucked for that.

When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.

You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.

The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.

He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.

He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.

“And you’re cute.”

That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.

Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.

At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.

Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.

Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”

The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.

Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.

He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.

When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.

“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”

“—Everything okay around here?”

Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.

A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.

Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.

“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.

Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.

Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.

Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.

“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.

“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.

Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.

At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.

If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”

You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.

Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.

He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.

“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.

Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.

Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.

You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.

That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.

You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.

“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”

“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.

Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.

He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”

“What, me thinking?”

“Exactly.”

You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.

Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”

Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.

He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”

Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.

“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”

In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.

Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.

“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”

He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.

Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”

The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.

Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.

“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”

Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.

You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.

“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”

The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.

Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.

An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.

So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.

He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.

“Nah. No kid.”

Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.

Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.

A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.

“You’re bailing tonight?”

“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”

Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.

Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.

Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.

He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.

You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.

Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.

A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.

“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.

You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.

“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.

He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.

A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.

“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.

“Mhm.”

You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.

Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.

His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.

“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.

You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.

“You liked it a little too much.”

That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.

Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.

Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.

“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”

A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”

As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.

Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.

You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.

“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.

Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”

When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.

“I can wait it out.”

“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”

Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.

When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.

You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”

“I, uh, are you sure?”

He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”

Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.

You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.

“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”

Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.

Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”

You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.

Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.

There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.

If there’s anything you need, just tell me.

Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.

He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.

“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.

You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”

He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.

“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.

“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.

Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.

The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.

“Well, goodnight—”

“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”

He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.

Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.

Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.

He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.

So, you do it.

You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.

Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.

A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.

You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.

Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.

“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.

You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.

For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.

You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.

“I need you.”

Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.

He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.

“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.

“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.

As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.

“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”

Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.

“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.

He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.

Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.

The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.

It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.

“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.

You know it’s not going to last long.

Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.

Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.

He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.

He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.

“Want you to ride my face.”

You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.

A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”

“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”

As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.

“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.

“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”

You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.

He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.

Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”

Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.

He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.

Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.

“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.

When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.

You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..

Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”

At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”

He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”

“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”

You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t be gentle—”

“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.

Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.

“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.

“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.

Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.

“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”

You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.

Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.

“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.

You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.

Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.

Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.

“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”

He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.

Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.

The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.

“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.

It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.

Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.

When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.

Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.

Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.

You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.

He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.

Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.

Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.

"I don’t do hookups.”

The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.

“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”

Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.

“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.

So, you bite.

“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.

Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.

You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”

“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”

“Liar.”

“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.

"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”

“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”

Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.

It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.

“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.

You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.

He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Now, what?”

Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.

He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”

A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.

You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.

#1 "HOME SWEET HOME"? BOY, GO BACK TO SEOUL.

"Are you listening to me?"

Searching for even a shred of honesty, and summoning that classic childhood pressure the knowledge that lying was a terrible thing, something that shamed anyone who did it, — mom was always right — you were convinced you had moved past it; that you had put a final period on that chapter of your life.

It was ridiculous — perhaps something far more sweeping and drastic than the word "shameful," a term that wasn't even in your vocabulary at the time — to keep circling back, to keep dwelling on the past when you had already turned the page; besides, you weren't some hypersensitive teenager anymore.

At least, that was exactly what you kept telling yourself; well, it worked most of the time and held water — it earned a seal of quality.

Or…

Until someone mentioned his name, or said how he was doing, or until your stomach decided to act as if you were fifteen again. Instantly, you were fifteen once more — back to when you first discovered the passion growing in your heart. — Actually, scratch that "seal of quality" idea immediately; it didn't hold up, and you’d want to file a complaint.

Damn, it was cruelly ridiculous.

"I can't believe i'm talking to myself."

The bar was busy. More so than usual for a thursday, though not quite packed; just crowded enough that Juria had to raise her voice to get your attention. — Something your best friend hadn't managed to do for a little while now; almost five minutes, to be exact. — The music was loud, accompanied by the constant clatter of glasses behind the bar.

You wanted to ask why the night shifts were always the worst, but you knew it was such a stupid question — realizing it wasn't worth asking. On the bright side, you didn't work those hours, nor did you work at that establishment. You simply took advantage of Juria’s invitation — she would always manipulate you with lines like "we need to have some fun" or "lose that sour look; it doesn't suit you" — and visit your brother.

Speaking of whom, where was Jimin?

In truth, that clever woman had a plan up her sleeve — or rather, up her manicured nails; she was seizing the chance to "run into" Jimin’s friend Taehyung, who also worked at the bar. — Truly, the world was full of schemers. — The young man was far from naive; he recognized the woman’s intentions before she even reached the counter.

"What?" — Juria’s remark snapped you out of your thoughts — a welcome relief. Shaking your head and swirling the drink remaining in your glass, you leaned closer to the redhead. — "I’m sorry, Juria. Could you say that again?" — You furrowed your brows as you asked; the look was too genuine for your friend to deny.

"You’re acting strange." — Juria raised her glass to her lips, glistening from lip gloss in the dim light, while fixing you with an arched-brow stare, the look of someone who suspected something. So, she had been right. — "Seriously, honey." — The woman placed a hand on your knee in a gesture of affection.

"I'm fine, Juria." — In just one sip, you finished the drink; the burning, caused by the alcohol, went down his throat drastically and quickly. You placed the empty glass on the counter, waiting for the opportunity to drink again. — If you doubt it, if your brother saw it, he would add water. — "Did you see the photo i posted? I tagged you." — You tried to change the subject; in fact, you could return the focus to your friend's conversation.

Behind the counter, the noise of a video cracking is loud, drawing your attention; When you turn your head towards the sound, you see Taehyung observing — in other words, dedicating himself to the conversation — the scene while drying some glasses. He would take your glass if it weren't for you holding it.

"She's been like that for about ten minutes." — He shrugged as he tended to the glasses; you saw him smiling.

"Thanks for the help, Taehyung." — You said dryly, returning the same smile to the older. You certainly weren't going to leave the bartender a tip — absolutely not. He silently mouthed, "you're welcome."

"Don't tell me you're thinking about him…" — Juria leaned against the counter, looking at Taehyung in search of an accomplice — and finding one instantly. He followed her lead, abandoning the task of cleaning glasses to rest his arms on the marble surface. — "I know that look all too well."

Damn, where have you been, Jimin?

"Who?" — The question came out fast; you almost choked on your own saliva. Even with the music blaring, you caught every word and couldn't hide a peculiar — actually, surprising — reaction. Like, maybe you could have been a little less dramatic about it. — "Shit, don't even start with that."

You knew what they were up to, and it was awful; honestly, you’d rather walk on hot coals than endure the way Taehyung and Juria were in cahoots. Sometimes, you saw them more as enemies than friends. — It was a bit of an exaggeration — drastic and over-the-top — but that was how you felt; and, with the alcohol in you system, you was getting more emotional and sensitive.

"A bit of a strange reaction to a simple question, love." — The redhead tilted her head, making a funny face: eyebrows arched, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. You laughed, unable to help yourself. — Taehyung mimicked her.

"How old are you two? Five?"

Before the pair had a chance to answer her, the bar's back door opened, and Jimin appeared. It looked like he had been using his phone, as he was holding it in his hand before slipping it into his trouser pocket — likely on a break or handling something personal, which explained his absence for a while. — Upon seeing you, even though he saw you often, your brother smiled in your direction.

"I'm surprised this bar is still standing after i've been away for twenty minutes." — Jimin draped his cleaning rag over his shoulder and nudged Taehyung’s waist with his elbow. A few minutes later, a customer ordered a drink, and the older stepped in to serve them. — "Jungkook is coming back tomorrow." — What?

"I thought he wasn't coming back until next week." — Wow, Taehyung had completely left that detail out of the conversation; not that you, like, actually wanted to know. You pointed at your glass, signaling that you needed a refill; your friend got the message.

Your phone buzzed with a notification, but you chose not to check it right away. — So, he was back in Busan? After roughly four years and five months — and no, you didn't know the exact number of days — spent in Seoul taking on the responsibilities of managing the family finances, Jungkook had to settle into his new life. That didn't mean he never visited Busan, he certainly didn't neglect that part of his life, but the visits were brief, shorter than he would have liked; still, he always made a point of seeing his best friend.

The curious thing was that Jungkook never managed to see or visit you during the time he spent in Busan; it was strange — It seemed as though he was trying to avoid you; it was a choice he made of his own free will. In some ways, though, it was better that way; yet, he still followed you on social media. He would often send you small gifts via Jimin — a gesture you truly appreciated.

Jungkook cared about his best friend's little sister; he had never stopped caring about you.

"Oh, he asked about you," — Jimin said after calling your name. For the third time, you nearly choked on you drink; Juria rested her hands on her knee again, steadying you. For God's sake, couldn't that boy just stay in Seoul? — "Taehyung, did you see that cherry liqueur?"

"I think we ran out, didn't we?"

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you took the opportunity to look at a recent notification — 10:23 PM. There were several, actually, but only one bothered you; it was pretty obvious why.

mnijungkook liked your photo.

For the first time in ages, you felt something dangerously familiar wash over you from head to toe; it was unbearable, and there seemed to be no immediate solution. My God, it was the same feeling you’d had as a teenager. — Jungkook was coming back to town, and apparently, you hadn’t gotten over him at all.

#2 WHY DO YOU GET THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU FEEL ANGER WHEN YOU SEE ME?

You were exhausted; you wished you could find — or even invent — a word stronger and more concrete than "exhausted" to truly define your state at that moment. This time, you weren't exaggerating. Scheduling interviews, meetings, and a photo shoot that ran nearly two and a half hours late — compounded by the editor-in-chief deciding to change half of an upcoming article at the last minute.

It wasn't that you hated the idea of ​​working as a magazine columnist — you’d never dream of thinking that; you were grateful for the job and enjoyed working in a field you loved. But, holy shit, sometimes you just wanted to cause a scene — create the kind of utter chaos Dwight did in the fourteenth episode of The Office’s fifth season.

You just wanted to go home, take a long bath, and sleep for ten hours straight — or maybe do all three.

As you left the building, greeting the security guards stationed by the large entrance doors and reaching for your phone, you noticed messages from Juria; they were trivial. Just "did you survive?" to which you had replied, "unfortunately." You then tucked your phone into your bag and headed toward the bus stop — or, on second thought, you could take a taxi.

Then, you stopped in you tracks, as if something had suddenly startled or surprised you, which was exactly what had happened.

Holy shit.

He was leaning against a black motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket with his arms crossed, or rather, his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, leaving his tattoos exposed; there were some new ones, or maybe just touch-ups, it was hard to tell.

Did he look stronger?

He certainly seemed taller than you remembered. — Of course, it had been four years and a few damn months; you didn't perfectly recall his build. — And his hair was a bit long, not excessively so, but it suited him.

Jeon Jungkook.

"No, no." — You murmured, gripping the strap of your bag tightly, feeling a sense of unease. Why was he right outside your workplace? Jungkook should have been resting after his trip, busy, or anywhere else and not there; besides, how did he even know your work address?

Before you had the chance to process what you was seeing and what was happening — and for that matter, to curse your brother for telling his best friend where you worked — you noticed something else; or rather, someone else.

A woman was standing beside him and she was beautiful, truly beautiful. She was standing next to the motorcycle, talking to Jungkook, laughing with him, and touching his arm.

They seemed intimate, very close; you had never touched his arm like that. A deeply unpleasant, uncomfortable sensation churned in your stomach — it felt like nausea.

He was smiling at the woman, who burst into laughter — unnecessarily, it seemed forced — at something he’d said. She touched Jungkook’s arm again, and you could have sworn you saw her tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and whisper something into his ear.

"Oh, right." — You almost bit your tongue in indignation; you didn't even know why you were annoyed. There was no reason for it; Jeon was a grown man, single and very handsome. It was obvious he’d be surrounded by beautiful women who were always flirting with him. Yeah, you’d had to get used to hearing about it.

But less than 24 HOURS after arriving in the city? Wow.

You should just leave. — Yes, that was exactly what you intended to do to avoid dragging out the situation; you were going to turn your back and head home, looking for a taxi. Acting like a grown woman; you weren't obligated to watch the scene unfold. — Then, he looked up and saw you hurrying in the opposite direction, scanning the street for a cab.

Jungkook’s face lit up instantly; it was as if a star had fallen right there in the street, or as if someone had flipped on a light. A genuine, happy smile spread across his lips, possibly highlighting his lip piercing. Jungkook called out your name, practically shouting to get your attention; you didn't want to stop, but you had to.

The woman next to Jeon looked at you with curiosity and confusion, not liking being left out; she hated that she didn't continue to receive the boy's attention because of your presence. — Jungkook quickly moved away and walked towards you.

"You left earlier than i expected!" — Jungkook's voice was peaceful, very serene, and showed a good mood at seeing you. His eyes shone for you, he was happy to have seen you again; it was clear.

"What are you doing here?" — Your tone was harsher than you intended, taking Jungkook by surprise; there was no need for it.

"Wow, what a way to say hello." — He gave a humorless laugh. He furrowed his brows, trying to figure out the reason for such odd treatment. He tilted his head, a classic Jungkook habit, you remembered. — "It's been a while…"

"What are you doing here, Jungkook?" — You repeated the question. Your eyes darted toward the woman, wondering how she was taking Jungkook’s absence; to your surprise, you heard her say goodbye to him and walk away, heading in the opposite direction.

"I came to get you." — He put his hands in his pants pockets.

"Get me?" — You blinked in surprise. — "Why?"

"Because i wanted to."

You would look at him, though at times you couldn't bear the eye contact for long and would fix your gaze on an invisible spot on his jacket or his necklace; regardless, your focus remained entirely on him. You were starting to feel nervous, and fatigue was taking its toll, yet you held your ground.

"I’ve been away for a while, and i thought it would be nice to see you," — Jungkook explained, scratching the back of his neck.

There was no real need for the explanation, and he knew it, but he wanted to be clear with you, and he was telling the truth; after arriving back, the only thing he’d had to do was ask Jimin for your work address. — Well, he hadn't expected your earlier reaction, but he intended to ignore it, he’d love nothing more than to forget it.

Jungkook tried to mask his nervousness, which seemed to be mounting little by little; he wondered why, but he didn't have the patience to wait for the answer. It was probably just post-trip exhaustion, he hadn't rested as much as he would have liked; yeah, that had to be it.

You had changed. — Not that it was a bad thing, quite the opposite; it was good, really good. Jeon immediately corrected his thoughts. You were no longer the teenager, that little girl who was always glued to Jimin’s side; no longer the girl who used to tease him by sticking out your tongue or rolling your eyes or the young girl who constantly put up new posters in your room, trying to make it look edgier and cooler.

Now, you were a mature, beautiful, and incredibly confident woman; you were admirable, too, and according to your friends, and especially Jimin deeply dedicated to your work.

In fact, you were absolutely and perhaps even unconditionally beautiful. — Damn, he knew you had grown up, but he had no idea it would be like this. — Jungkook hadn't realized that the shy smile playing on your lips could have such an effect on him, or that it would make him want to keep looking at you.

It seemed Jungkook would struggle to resist the resurgence of certain feelings and thoughts, ones he had once deemed biting and devious, yet at the time, dismissed as merely fleeting regarding his best friend's sister. Jeon had promised himself he wouldn't revisit that story, that situation.

Absolutely not.

"Jungkook?" — Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts; it wasn't the first time, you had been calling him for seven seconds. He had seemed to go blank, frozen for a moment, before snapping back to reality. — "Is everything okay?" — you asked, tilting your head and rubbing your arms; you was starting to feel cold.

"Hmm…" — He acknowledged, blinking rapidly. You watched Jeon’s tongue press against the inside of his cheek, a sign of impatience, as his fingers ran through his dark hair, tidying it up. — "Shall we go? Lucky for you, the spare helmet should fit." — You walked over to the motorcycle; upon receiving the helmet and putting it on, you confirmed what he had said, it was a perfect fit. Before Jungkook started the engine, while waiting for you to climb onto the back, you hesitated.

"She isn't going to get, like, jealous?" — Upon hearing your question, the older turned his head toward you, and you could picture his furrowed brows and the pout on his lips. Jungkook wasn't stupid, let alone naive; he knew exactly who you were talking about.

"Who?" — His voice came out muffled by the helmet, but you could detect the confusion in his tone. He liked to play at feigned simplicity, innocence.

"That woman." — Ah! Jungkook smiled; you were glad it wasn't visible, but you knew he was smiling because of his eyes, they crinkled and sparkled. That man was infuriating; he drove you crazy. — "I'm serious, Jungkook."

"Are you interested?" — You hated it when people answered your question with another question. — "I don't think she'll get jealous." — He shrugged, as if it were nothing. — "She's not my girlfriend or anything like that."

Wow. — For some completely irrational, and slightly significant, reason, your chest felt lighter; no, you felt lighter. It was kind of absurd, but you didn't care; you didn't care one bit.

"Were you jealous?"

"What? Of course not." — You climbed onto the back of the bike. You weren't sure if it was right to place your hands on Jeon's waist for balance you could have held onto the sides of the motorcycle; there were other handholds but he noticed your hesitation and wasted no time grabbing your hands and placing them on his waist.

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"A little bit, come on." — He was amused. It was obvious, or perhaps he simply didn't want to hide it; either way, there was no need to. Jeon had missed teasing you; he had missed your impatience with his playful antics — he had missed you.

"Jungkook…"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go, please?"

#3 NOTHING STRANGE HERE, MOVE ALONG.

The sound of water running over concrete, accompanied by the wet, unsubtle noises of fabric scrubbing against a surface, filled the garage; someone was humming, too.

Jungkook wiped the wet cloth over the side of the motorcycle, watching and enjoying the result as the black paint regained its shine in the afternoon light. The cleaning was nearly finished; it was a relief, as only a few spots remained, and being a stickler for detail, he wanted the bike to look brand new.

Cleaning his motorcycle was, without exaggeration, therapeutic for him; Jeon held a deep affection for the vehicle. He couldn't quite explain the feeling of seeing it so well cared for, especially by his own hands. It was the true meaning of satisfaction.

"You're cleaning that spot for the third time." — Taehyung’s voice came from behind Jungkook; he was the one who had been humming earlier. Jeon tried not to detect a taunt in his friend's words, but it was impossible.

"There was a stain, Hyung." — He offered as an excuse, lying to the older. In reality, there was no stain at all. Rising from the small stool, Jungkook left the wet, dirty rag beside the bucket of soapy water.

"There wasn't." — He insisted stubbornly, like a child; the two of them acted like children, really and it only got worse when Jimin joined their squabbles. — "Tell the truth: you've got something on your mind." — Taehyung wasn't lying, and that made the situation trickier; it was a toss-up, specifically because Jungkook couldn't explain what he wanted, not even to himself.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Jungkook turned to see Jimin walking toward him and Taehyung, carrying three bottles of beer, exactly what he needed right then; he was grateful. He had been cleaning the motorcycle for nearly three hours; the long delay was due to his friends chatting away.

"How long are you staying in Seoul, anyway?" — Jimin asked, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

"A few weeks." — Jungkook shrugged, mirroring the blond man. — "Maybe a month or more?"

To be honest, Jungkook didn't want to return to Seoul; what with the corporate responsibilities, the pressure to deliver results, and the insufferable meetings with tedious, arrogant people. He owned up to his immaturity and his reluctance to fully embrace his role; he felt a need for honesty.

It wasn't that he hated the role he had to play in the financial world; a world his family had built and intended to perpetuate. — His brother had chosen not to follow that path. In fact, he had clashed with their father, causing a rift. — Jungkook hadn't been the first in line to inherit the family's financial empire, but he had become the most competent. — Following his older brother's decision, he took it upon himself to shape his father's vision.

Most of the time, Jungkook agreed with his brother's decision. If he had been in his brother's shoes, he wouldn't have thought twice.

"Will you survive?" — Jimin asked, teasing his friend. A message notification caught their attention; it was the blond guy's phone, so he reached for the device to check the message.

"Maybe." — He crossed his arms, taking a sip of his beer. Taehyung rolled his eyes at the answer; he’d forgotten just how dramatic his friend could be. Both of them grew curious about the message Jimin had received, as he was typing a reply presumably while smiling. — "Who is it ?" — He asked brazenly, without a shred of shame.

"My sister." — Ah, that made sense. Jungkook raised his eyebrows and stared at some invisible point, thinking of the girl; it had been two days since he’d last seen you, when he’d picked you up from work. — "They're rescheduling a photoshoot, or something like that," —He remarked, without many details.

"Again?" — Jungkook asked, looking skeptical; on the way to your house, you had mentioned a delay with the photoshoot for part of the article and that it would need to be rescheduled. Your boss hadn't been happy about it, and neither had you. — "I can imagine how she must be feeling." — He set the empty beer bottle down on the old garage table.

"She told you?" — Jimin raised his eyebrows, turning off his phone after replying to you and slipping it into his pocket. The tattooed man nodded, glancing at the motorcycle to check for any dirt; no, it was spotless. — "When?"

It was that simple; Jimin wasn't going to interrogate him, there was no intention or need to do so. No drama. He trusted his sister and his best friend. — After all, there was no issue.

"Yesterday." — He answered faster than expected, which was a bit unusual, since Jeon usually took a moment to reply to certain things, often because his attention was elsewhere. — "She spent about five minutes badmouthing the model's team, the ones responsible for the delay." — Jungkook laughed at the memory; you had even gotten him to criticize the team too, turning him into an accomplice. He could feel the vibrations of your laughter as you held onto him to keep from falling off the motorcycle. — "She works incredibly hard."

A dazzling smile played on Jungkook’s lips, one he didn't try to hide in front of his friends; after all, there was no malice in his words. — He recognized the effort you put into your work and had listened to all you complaints and the projects you was organizing; he’d even made you promise to tell him every single detail. God, Jungkook’s cheeks actually ached from smiling and laughing so much with you.

He enjoyed the time spent with you, however brief; something deep inside Jeon was longing for more.

"Oh," — He turned to his friend. — "..she could come by. I don't know, we could ask for something.."

"Or you could go pick her up… again." — Taehyung bit his lip in a teasing tone, playing with the tattooed boy and not worrying about Jimin's reaction, who could get irritated by his speech; but, on the contrary, he didn't care. He just poked the side of Taehyung's stomach.

"Aish." — Jungkook threw the slightly wet and dirty cloth at Taehyung.

#4 NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, IS IT THAT HARD?

Music vibrated through the walls; surprisingly, the DJ showed off his incredible work and good taste with everyone in the room. If in doubt, even outsiders could take advantage. This was great, everyone could enjoy it. — Colorful lights crossed the crowded dance floor while people danced, talked, laughed in groups or pairs spread across the room.

Oh, and they kissed, forgot to mention. As you walked, accompanied by Juria, who invited her, in other words, forced yoy to come and swore that she wouldn't take "no" for an answer. well, you would have had the patience to say all the synonyms for the word "no" but you preferred to follow your best friend — you managed to see several people kissing; probably, it wouldn't just be kisses.

Anyway, you wouldn't judge any of the souls.

"I'm going to grab something to drink." — You shouted to the redhead, who was enjoying the beat of the music; the instrumental track was truly great to listen to. It was impossible not to shout when trying to communicate with anyone, sometimes, even shouting didn't work. Luckily, Juria was still sober and heard you. — "Do you want anything?"

"No, sweetie!" — She said with a charming smile, winking at you; she was always fun to be around, and you loved seeing Juria happy like that. You also knew she would magically vanish from the small space you were occupying within just a few minutes. — "Make yourself at home." — Suddenly, before turning toward the bar, Juria gripped your shoulders to lean close to your ear. — "Be careful, because you look hot." — She whispered.

"Oh, Juria, please!" — You laughed, amused by her words and the way she winked at you once more.

On the bright side, the bar area wasn't too crowded; there were few people around, and you was relieved to find a small empty spot to order a drink without getting shoved, bumped, or having someone grind against your. —phew.

"Gin and tonic, please!" — The bartender nodded and winked at you, a friendly, innocent gesture. While waiting for you drink, you tapped your fingernails against the counter to the rhythm of the music. You didn't notice the young man standing next to you, watching you.

"Great choice," — he said enthusiastically, offering a closed-mouth smile. You looked up toward the voice and found yourself facing a handsome man, that was your first thought, tall, with slightly tousled dark hair and kind eyes. — "I’d order the same thing."

"Seriously?" — You laughed, realizing the guy was using a pickup line to strike up a conversation with you; well, it was worth a shot. — "Do you say that to everyone and just change the drink?" — Now it was the handsome guy's turn to laugh.

"Maybe."

"At least you admitted it."

“Honesty is my best quality.” — Unable to resist the guy’s cheesy line, you laughed, and he instantly smiled back, revealing his dimples. The bartender handed you your drink, along with the one he had ordered. He picked up his glass and raised it toward you, silently suggesting a toast. It was completely random, but you decided to play along. — “To a great choice.”

“To the worst pickup line ever.” — Before your glasses could clink, he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, as though you’d deeply wounded him. You could only shake your head, trying and failing not to laugh at the ridiculous display.

"Ouch.” — He narrowed his eyes and pouted dramatically, looking like a rain-soaked puppy; for a fleeting second, he reminded you of someone else. — “You really know how to be cruel.”

“And you really know how to be persistent.”

“Is it working?” — You clinked your glasses. As you took a sip, you merely shrugged in response, though if you were being honest, you were enjoying the easy banter between you.

"Maybe."

”‘Maybe’ is pretty close to a ‘yes.’”

“In what universe?”

"In mine."

At that exact moment, not even a second later, Jungkook saw you; from the other side of the party, he had a clear view of the bar and the venue’s entrance. — He knew the owner of the place, who had sent him an invitation as soon as he heard Jungkook was back in town.

Why not? — It had only been a few days since his return to the city, and he wanted to make the most of it; the invitation had seemed like the perfect opportunity. — So, he invited Yoongi along. Yoongi didn’t agree right away, but the boy from Busan had always known exactly how to convince him.

They had been there for a while now. Jungkook was grateful he had taken it easy, he hadn’t had much to drink. Back then, he had been no stranger to late-night parties and celebrations, and he still enjoyed nursing a drink every now and then, letting it bring back memories of the old days. — Since arriving at the party, he’d somehow ended up with five crumpled slips of paper tucked into his pocket, each one bearing a phone number and a tiny heart scribbled beside it.

He had no idea when they’d gotten there, but one thing was certain: none of those numbers would ever make it into his contacts.

Truthfully, he could have but he had no interest in doing so, no desire, no curiosity. — Nothing at all.

“Isn’t that the guy who went to school with us?” — Yoongi remarked, assuming Jungkook was staring at the same thing he was; a guy making out with one girl before immediately moving on to another. — “Damn,..he’s got stamina.” — He finished the last sip of his whiskey and turned toward the dark-haired man, only to find Jungkook’s gaze fixed on a completely different part of the room. — "Jungkook?"

No response.

"Jeon?" — After being ignored twice, Yoongi gave up on calling his name and followed the line of his friend’s stare instead. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. — “Ah…I get it.”

It was almost impressive. Yoongi had called his name three times without getting so much as a glance, a response, or any sign that Jungkook had even heard him. Yet the moment Yoongi muttered those two words under his breath, Jungkook finally turned to face him.

“What?” — The anger, disgust, and indignation etched across Jungkook’s face were impossible to miss. He bit the inside of his cheek and tightened his grip around his glass hard enough that, under different circumstances, he might have shattered it. Fine lines creased his brow as he kept his eyes fixed on the scene. — “Who is that guy?”

“No idea.” — Learning the name of the guy flirting with his friend’s little sister had never been on Yoongi’s agenda. Jungkook answered with nothing more than a low, gruff “Mm.” Yoongi shot him a knowing look. — “You shouldn’t even be asking that.”

"Why?"

“It’s simple, Jungkook.” — Frustrated, Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose. — “Because it’s none of your business and definitely none of mine.”

Yoongi was right. — He always was. It was rare, almost impossible, for his reasoning not to make perfect sense, and he already knew exactly what was happening without anyone having to tell him or without needing to guess but it wasn’t his business either. — And what was he supposed to do? It didn’t matter, because Jungkook wasn’t about to listen to Yoongi’s lectures or his pleas to stay put and pretend he hadn’t seen you standing there with that guy.

What the hell did he have to do with his friend’s sister’s love life?

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jungkook.” — Yoongi refused to beg, though he sounded like the angel perched on the tattooed man’s shoulder. The moment he heard, “I won’t,” he nearly swore at him with every curse word he knew. — “That’s exactly what you said before you broke a guy’s nose in Gwangju.”

“Yeah, but i was right that time.”

“You’re not right this time.”

Jungkook didn’t listen. He ignored the older friend — a level of disrespect — Yoongi would definitely take issue with and kept walking in the one direction he had no business going: straight toward you.

The guy’s name was Haein. — As cheesy as he was, he was undeniably charming, winning you over with his sense of humor and making you laugh with surprising ease. The alcohol might have had something to do with it, but let’s not dwell on that. — The conversation flowed effortlessly, light, natural, and easy, free of challenges, petty arguments, or someone constantly trying to get under your skin at every opportunity.

Haein was funny and incredibly polite, too; more than that, he seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He listened, paid attention, asked questions. He wasn’t just waiting for his turn to speak; he was actually engaged in the conversation.

“So, you’re a writer?” — Haein’s eyes lit up with curiosity, genuine enthusiasm shining through as he asked about your work. He told you he was a photographer, a profession he’d dreamed of since he was a kid; his mother had always loved taking pictures.

“I’m a columnist.” — You replied, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your half-empty glass with your fingertip. Even beneath the dim lighting, the rosy tint on your cheeks was impossible to miss, and Haein found it undeniably endearing. You caught him quietly saying it was amazing. — “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

“What? I disagree.”

“How can you be so sure?” — You asked with a small smile. — “You don’t even know what i actually write about.” — You hadn’t meant for it to come across as blunt, and thankfully, Haein didn’t take it that way.

“I don’t need to.” — Haein smiled warmly. — “The way you smile when you talk about it tells me you care a lot about what you do.”

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been genuinely interested in talking to a guy you’d just met. — Well, by now, he’d already gone from complete stranger to pleasant company; was that too much of a leap? — Everything between the two of you felt so effortless. Haein had somehow made you forget the noise and chaos of the party around you.

What would it hurt to give him a chance, right?

Apparently, quite a lot, because you were so caught up in the conversation, so genuinely enjoying yourself, that you never noticed a very familiar figure making his way toward you.

In any other situation, you would’ve much rather run into Jimin than him.

“I didn’t know you were here.” — He cleared his throat after calling your name. Unlike usual, he didn’t sound to be in a particularly good mood. His familiar voice was lower than normal, carrying a sharpness that made it seem unusually dry or maybe that was just your impression. The smile on your lips vanished instantly, as though you’d somehow been caught doing something wrong.

Haein noticed the sudden change in your expression and in your posture. The shift caught him off guard, but he couldn’t help attributing it to the newcomer who had just stepped into the space the two of you had been sharing.

Jungkook, of course.

“I didn’t know i needed to let you know.” — He clearly didn’t like the boldness in your reply, though it was to be expected. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, and his expression shifted into something that looked almost like disgust.

You didn’t mean to be so harsh with your brother’s friend; after all, the two of you had been getting along again over the past few days.

“Is he a friend of yours?” — Haein asked, adding a cute nickname derived from your name. It was endearing, and Jungkook let out a humorless laugh at the sound of it. The other noticed the tension between you two, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the tattooed man.

“Unfortunately.” — You heard Jungkook click his tongue, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. The guy in front of you quietly laughed at his reaction. Haein shifted his attention, realizing he was being stared at and he had been right. Jeon was looking at him with a lowered, judgmental gaze, and it definitely didn’t mean anything good. He could have felt uncomfortable, but he wasn’t naive.

“Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?” — Haein raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t going to put up with something like that, much less accept having his conversation with you interrupted. He actually had the nerve to challenge your friend.

“I asked first.” — Jungkook argued.

“And i’m not obligated to answer.”

“Jungkook…” — You tried to interrupt, even though you already knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Stay out of this.”

Sighing, you couldn’t believe the situation you had found yourself in. You knew both of them were incredibly stubborn and self-centered; avoiding an awkward scene out of pure ignorance didn’t seem to be an option, apparently. You wanted to find Juria — though, at that moment, you felt it would be easier to find a needle in a haystack — and leave; at least with Haein’s number saved.

Maybe not. — Even though you had enjoyed the conversation and felt comfortable around him, he was still just a handsome guy you might meet once and never see again.

“Do you always treat people this way, or did you make an exception just for today?” — Haein questioned, the corners of his lips curving into a sarcastic smile. He wasn’t afraid of whatever answer or aggressive reaction might come.

“I made a special exception just for you.”

“Look, it’s fine.” — Haein raised his hands in surrender, though the gesture was clearly playful, keeping that teasing smile and disdainful look. — “I’m going to get some air.” — He could tell this wasn’t going to end well, not to mention he already knew there was something going on between you and Jungkook. Before leaving, he gave you one last smile. — “I hope i see you again later.”

“I hope so too.”

Jungkook’s expression hardened instantly; his jaw clenched tight. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. There was also an uncomfortable sensation in his eyes, making him blink several times. The sight of Haein, — whose name Jungkook didn’t even know, — disappearing into the crowd brought him a strange sense of relief; it was weird, honestly.

He found himself hoping you wouldn’t find him again. — Not this time.

“What was that, Jungkook?” — You questioned, visibly irritated and overwhelmed. You had so many questions, you wanted to yell at him; God, you felt suffocated. — “No, it felt like i was doing something wrong.” — Your eyes moved over him, not focusing on his face, you barely cared to. The colorful lights shifted around the two of you. — “My God, even Jimin doesn’t act like this.” — You gestured with your fingers.

“You didn’t even know the guy.” — Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, crossing his arms.

“So what?”

“Oh, so what?” — You widened your eyes mockingly at his words. Jungkook could be ridiculous when he wanted to be, he somehow always managed to outdo himself. Sometimes, you wondered how you had ever liked someone like him. — “You trust anyone now?” — How was that even a question? — “Always looking for attention.” — Once again, he let out a humorless laugh.

In disbelief, your expression was pure shock; you blinked once, twice, as the music, which seemed to have grown louder and the floor vibrating beneath your feet became impossible to tolerate like it had been before.

“Excuse me?” — Jungkook didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. He seemed completely normal as he stared at you in that ridiculous way, almost like your brother.

No, not like Jimin. — Jimin didn’t usually look at you like that. Sure, he scolded you sometimes, like any normal sibling would, but this was different.

“Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

“Someone with common sense? Trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“I don’t need you to stop me from doing anything.” — You still couldn’t believe this version of Jungkook. All you could think about was the shame burning in your chest.

“Of course not.” — He cleared his throat. — “You always know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” — He raised his voice, his anger evident, his composure slipping. Jungkook could have stepped closer instead of making her feel the need to shout over the music, but that was his choice. The sarcasm in his voice was so obvious that it made you freeze, pressing your body against the counter. — “He was a complete stranger. Did you even think about that?”

“You were once a complete stranger to me too, Jungkook.”

You had hit his ego; that was a point for you.

Before, it had only been teasing, a way for the two of you to mess with each other, but now it had turned into arrogance, careless words, and no filter whatsoever. You had been showing this side of yourself since Jungkook’s return, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned. And as your attitude grew worse, it was clear you had no intention of stopping; well, neither did Jungkook.

“It’s completely different.” — He rolled your name off his tongue in a resentful murmur, rolling his eyes and letting his gaze settle on the crowd for a few seconds; a girl caught his attention and winked at Jungkook.

It wasn’t, and he knew that.

“No, that’s not the problem.” — Your throat was starting to itch; it felt dry, and you wanted to order another drink, this time something stronger. You were sure that if you asked for one in front of Jungkook, he would either knock it to the floor or drink it right in front of you, probably. — “You’re never going to see me as a grown woman, damn it.” — What a relief.

Jungkook fell silent, accepting your words. He felt a pang of desolation and anger; it wasn’t difficult to recognize the discomfort in the conversation, you had never been very good at hiding your emotions. He could have simply stayed quiet, leaving you alone with your hurt, or finally gone back to the guy you had been talking to; no, Jungkook didn’t think twice.

“Because you don’t act like one.” — He shrugged, raising one eyebrow while lowering the other. — “Maybe you won’t anytime soon.”

Those words hit you hard, like a punch; a pain so miserable, filled with overwhelming sorrow. Disappointment and anguish walked hand in hand, you hadn’t expected that. You never expected to hear the man you had loved so much as a teenager, the feelings still lingering in your chest, never truly overcome, say something like that. In the silence that existed only between you and Jungkook, you couldn’t believe it.

Staring at him with glistening eyes, but not from emotion, from disappointment, you felt a ridiculous sting. You wanted to get away from him, away from that place; you no longer worried about Juria. She could handle herself, and a simple message from you saying “going home ;)” would be enough.

You had never felt so stupid.

“Okay.” — Your voice came out so quiet. Jungkook shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music and the noise surrounding you, but somehow, impossibly, he did.

He realized the mess he had made — he promised himself Yoongi could actually kill him — but it was too late. Jeon called your name, his voice a little gentler, almost like he needed a pair of puppy ears drooping to match it. — “No, Jungkook.” — He tried to get your attention, reaching out and touching your arm, wanting to step closer and apologize, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter anymore.

You refused to feel his touch, rejecting Jungkook’s attempt to get closer to you. You began to feel nauseous, a strong repulsion building in your stomach, disgust and anger toward him. Your chest was racing, and you could no longer endure all the noise and the crowd around you. At that moment, you weren’t thinking about finding Haein to try to lift your mood, continue where you had left off, and distract yourself. You just wanted to go home; you shouldn’t have gone out in the first place. That was the truth.

And so, you left; without looking back, without giving Jungkook a chance. He remained standing there, not saying another word, not daring to stop you; watching you disappear among the people in the room. It didn’t take long before Jeon could no longer see you.

For the first time that night, unlike what had happened in Gwangju, Jungkook felt exactly as he deserved to feel: like a complete idiot.

#5 GIRL, YOU MUST BE FROM THE OTHER SIDE.

Jungkook cruelly hated the bitter feeling, the pure misfortune that was growing in his chest; it was something fierce and overwhelming at the same time. That feeling, in the very few times he had experienced it, had followed him before but never like this, never with this intensity. He had ruined everything.

Fuck, he had really fucked everything up.

It had been five days since what happened at the party; five days of ignored messages, declined calls, and changes to your work schedule. Obviously, a lot had happened. — Well, he couldn’t really complain, after all, he had neither the moral high ground nor any dignity left. — For five days, he ended every conversation asking himself how many times someone had to type "i’m sorry" before the words completely lost their meaning.

Jungkook had tried. — In fact, he was still trying.

“She’s still hurt, Jungkook.” Or, “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Fuck.

Thinking back on the messages from his best friend, Jimin had repeated those words three different times. He wanted Jungkook to keep facing just how ridiculously he had behaved that night. After finding out what had happened, your brother greeted him with carefully restrained hostility, weighing everything between you and Jungkook.

Jimin knew, better than anyone, what was really going on with his best friend. Honestly, Jungkook couldn’t talk to Jimin the way he normally did anymore; the only person who ever saw this remorseful, melancholic version of him was Yoongi.

The only piece of advice he had actually followed — after ignoring countless others — was to find some way, any way, to talk to you. Still, Jungkook finally worked up the courage to ask Jimin something important; something that involved you.

And so, Jungkook stood in front of your front door, desperately wishing to put an end to the feeling weighing on his chest. He hadn’t expected that thought to sound so selfish. The truth was, he wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice. More than anything, he wanted to see you.

As he rang the doorbell, he felt a knot form in his stomach. It was strange, sending a slight shiver through him. Anxiety and nervousness settled in; he knew he was in the red zone. He lightly tapped the tip of his shoe against the ground while waiting for someone to answer.

Jungkook wanted to check his phone, but he knew that would only make things worse, and he was grateful he’d left it on Do Not Disturb. No one came to the door, so he rang the bell a second time. He wasn’t impatient; for you, he could have waited until the end of the next day if he had to.

Were you really going to avoid him forever?

While the doorbell rang, you were in the kitchen. You had gotten out of the shower not long ago and were looking forward to resting after another exhausting day at the magazine. — The new head of the photography department was awful. — On top of disrupting your team’s meeting, she had deleted several files containing photos and product previews for one of the company’s campaigns; she was a complete nightmare.

By the second ring, you were already at the front door, wondering if it might be Juria, you had grown used to the redhead dropping by unexpectedly or Jimin. To be sure, you looked through the peephole. — It was him.

Jungkook was standing at your door.

Tragic, and so utterly pitiful. — You had learned to recognize his name flashing across your phone screen and ignore it before reading a single message; when that wasn’t enough, you temporarily muted his contact. — On the bright side, it had worked but seeing him there was different. — You knew Jeon had stopped by your workplace a few times, including the day he first came back, because your coworkers kept mentioning him. This was so much harder; in the end, it seemed you weren’t going to get rid of Jungkook anytime soon.

After five days of trying to get your head straight.

“What are you doing here?” — You opened the door just enough to see him through a narrow gap. Funny, it felt like a pathetic case of déjà vu, because those were the exact same words you had said to him that day.

Jungkook stood frozen, swallowing hard. For a second, neither of you said a word. You looked exhausted, worn down and not because you were sleepy, but because of him. That hurt far more than he could have ever expected or imagined.

“We need to talk.”

“No.” — The answer came instantly, as if it had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for days, without a trace of hesitation. Jungkook took a deep breath and bit down on his lip piercing, an unbearable habit, both for himself and for anyone watching him. He said your name like a plea, the regret in his voice genuine, but you refused to give in. — “You already said everything you wanted to say, remember?”

He wished he had the chance to forget it all, to erase what had happened, to erase the fact that he had hurt you.

“I didn’t.” — He shook his head in denial. You remained unmoved by Jungkook’s words, refusing to give him the chance to explain himself or say what he needed to say. Why hadn’t you just closed the door? — “Please.” — You opened the door a little wider, not to invite him in, but to make it clear that he needed to leave. — “I want to apologize.”

You remained silent, allowing Jungkook to continue, but he expected more, and that frustrated him. He was genuinely trying, and Jungkook had never been good at trying when it came to things like this. He was doing everything he could not to appear vulnerable, preferring to hide behind anger instead. He knew it wasn’t the best choice.

“Did you come here to apologize, or to prove you were right?”

“Fuck, no.” — Jungkook rested his tattooed hand against the door, applying just enough pressure for you to notice. He wanted to come in, but he didn’t dare ask. He looked genuinely remorseful. He hated feeling this way, as if he needed your attention, your hand to steady him. — “I was angry. I didn’t mean to…”

“That doesn’t change what you said.” — Your voice was so strained, unable to hide the frustration behind it. You kept your eyes on him, catching every little movement the older man made. You hated the fact that, even in the middle of your anger, you still found yourself admiring him. Jungkook quietly whispered, “I know,” his gaze dropping to the floor. — “Then why did you say it, Jungkook?”

Jungkook hated the way you said his name now. It bothered him like burning embers dragged across his skin; he had never imagined it could affect him like that. He had never imagined the two of you would end up in a situation like this. Your voice, once so gentle and soft, now carried a fragile blend of indignation and sadness.

Why? — That was the question. the only one. And Jungkook hated it because there wasn’t a simple answer, because the truth was humiliating: because he had seen another man looking at you like that; because he had felt something he neither wanted nor should have felt; because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else getting to know the parts of you he had always wanted to know himself.

“Because i care about you.”

“That doesn’t justify anything, Jungkook.”

“I always tried to ignore this shit. You were younger, you still are, you’re my best friend’s little sister, and i knew i shouldn’t have been looking at you that way."

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening with shock and anguish. Jungkook blinked several times, the hand resting on the door pressing harder against it while the other ran through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. His voice was steady, and somehow, that made it worse.

“Then i left, and you grew up, i kept pretending nothing had changed. That’s it.”

You stared at him in stunned disbelief, your expression caught somewhere between shock and confusion. You had never expected to hear a confession like that or those words from him. Your face betrayed an emotion that was impossible to read.

Part of Jungkook worried about how you were taking it, while the other part no longer cared. He just wanted to let out what had been trapped in his chest for years. — Neither of you had imagined this conversation would ever happen. — Honestly, you struggled to believe it was real, that Jungkook’s words were true instead of some cruel illusion. You didn’t know what to expect anymore and yet you didn’t feel like he was lying.

Why hadn’t you just slammed the door in his face and carried on as if none of this had ever happened? It would have been so much easier.

“Are you telling me that…”

“I’m saying you drive me crazy. You confuse the hell out of me.” — He wasn’t joking. Jungkook looked so serious, so resolute, that it made you swallow hard and open the damn door a little wider. — “You get under my skin.”

“You’re so arrogant.”

"I know."

“You hurt me, Jungkook. Do you really think you can just show up here and fix everything?” — With the door open, he could get a broader glimpse of the entrance to your home. It was small and cozy, the kind of place that radiated warmth and safety. It reminded him of you. Jungkook’s eyes swept over the room before returning to yours.

“No.” — He answered immediately. — “I don’t.” — For the first time, perhaps in all the years you had known Jungkook, you saw something different in him; fear. Not much, but enough. He was carefully choosing his words when, in truth, he wanted to tell you everything without a single filter or restraint. — “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

The silence between you and Jungkook was cruel, painfully so, merciless. — Your stomach churned, leaving you feeling strangely unsettled. You didn’t know what to say; you couldn’t think of anything. Funny, considering you had always been ready with a sharp remark or something to provoke him. You parted your lips, hoping to say something, to answer him, but closed them again almost immediately.

Jungkook took two slow steps forward, crossing onto the tiled floor of your entryway. He was so close now. He seemed like an entirely different man from the one who had argued with you at the party.

Less defensive, more honest. He was still stubborn, still proud but, at the very least, he was honest.

“Then why does it feel like you’re angry at me?” — You asked, unable to keep the sorrow out of your voice. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. It felt as though you were the one who should be ashamed.

The question caught him off guard because you had noticed; of course you had. You had always noticed everything about Jungkook, though it was never something you took pride in. Before answering, he let out a humorless laugh.

“I’m angry at myself…” — Your name left his lips with the same gentleness as always. Ever since he’d met you, there had always been a quiet tenderness in the way Jeon said your name, and you had always loved that about him. — “I spent so long trying to keep all of this under control… and in the end, all i managed to do was hurt you.”

As his words faded, your gaze dropped to Jungkook’s lips for a single second, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, of quiet openness.

Just one second, yet the two of you noticed it, and that was more than enough. — The same hand that had been resting against the door came up to cradle your face, the cool metal of the ring on his index finger brushing against your skin. — He held you so carefully. — His fingertips moved slowly across your cheek, as though asking permission to be there. Jeon waited for you, giving you every chance to pull away if that was what you wanted. His breath began to mingle with yours, and he made no attempt to rush, not a single movement; he kept waiting for the slightest sign that you wanted him to stop.

But, perhaps to Jungkook’s surprise, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him back; quite the opposite. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, exhausted from fighting your feelings any longer, you gave him all the permission he needed and so, Jungkook kissed you.

At first, it was hesitant. Just the faintest brush of lips, almost shy but the moment you gripped the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt and fully returned the kiss, all the distance the two of you had created over the past few days melted away, as though it had never existed.

Jungkook kissed you with unmistakable care, savoring every second, wanting to commit the feeling to memory. Your lips moved together slowly, unhurriedly, while your tongues met in a gentle, intimate kiss that gradually deepened. At the same time, both of your hands instinctively searched for closeness, for the comfort you had been denying each other for far too long.

Jungkook’s hand remained cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking your skin, while his other hand rested on your waist, pulling you closer. You could still feel the remnants of his anger lingering beneath the surface, intertwined with something else entirely, raw desire. Even so, he deepened the kiss with unmistakable care, silently showing you that, this time, he wasn’t trying to control anything.

The need to pull away from each other was almost cruel, but neither of you could complain. Silence settled between you for a few seconds, no, for a few long minutes. You were both stunned, especially you, not because of the kiss itself, but because of its intensity because of everything you were trying to process all at once. — He rested his forehead against yours, your breathing still uneven as the two of you silently tried to find your rhythm again.

You had never imagined finding yourself in a situation like this.

That didn’t mean you disliked it or that you had anything to complain about. — You had allowed yourself this moment; you had let him kiss you, let him touch you and part of you wanted more. — Jungkook had spoiled you already, and that wasn’t your fault.

He took your hand, his fingertips tracing slow circles across your palm before lacing his fingers through yours. The contrast in the size of your hands was impossible not to admire. A shiver ran through you, catching you completely off guard.

The closeness between the two of you felt so new — almost too new — and strangely unfamiliar. At the same time, it felt like something that should have happened a long, long time ago.

Of course, despite the small hesitations on both sides, your steps naturally carried you farther into your home. Whatever was about to happen didn’t belong out in the open or where your privacy could be invaded.

Without paying attention to where he was going, Jungkook kissed you again with unmistakable urgency. He felt addicted to your lips, to the taste of your mouth, as though he were committing the most beautiful of sins. He kissed you with longing and hunger. Shrugging off his leather jacket, he let it fall to the floor as if it hadn’t cost a fortune, then slipped off his shoes.

His hands never left your body; for the oldest, it was simply impossible to let go of you.

“Jungkook, fuck it…” — You mumbled between the wet kisses, the kind that created an unpleasant mixture of shared breaths and saliva, trying to scold him. He was desperate, completely out of control, and could only understand his own desire; you couldn’t really blame him, he had dreamed of this. — “Ggkie…!” — Jungkook liked that nickname and had never hidden it; it had been a long time since the last time he heard it. It wasn’t difficult to notice the way his lips curved into a quick smile as he whispered, “my beautiful”.

The leather belt joined the other pieces and accessories from the clothes Jungkook had discarded on the floor; he liked practicality, simple and straightforward. It was enough for the moment, he needed to breathe and keep himself composed, or at least try to. Jungkook’s large, tattooed hands grabbed your thighs before giving them a small tap and signaling for you to make a little jump, and not that it was difficult, of course, he lifted you onto his lap; your legs wrapped around his waist, fitting perfectly against him. Through the thin, delicate fabric of the shorts you were wearing, you could feel his arousal. It didn’t bother you, not even a little, but it sent a few sensations through your body and made you crave more closeness.

You could actually stain, wet the tip of Jungkook’s pants; the thought itself managed to fascinate you. It was bizarre.

“Please…” — He breathed, biting his lip as he looked at you with half-lidded eyes, completely overwhelmed by the moment. Jungkook felt almost ridiculous, like a teenager experiencing something for the first time, and he knew it. — “Don’t tell me your bedroom is too far away.” — His words came out quickly; he didn’t have the patience for anything beyond what was necessary.

Shaking your head, you guided him toward the room while he carried you, his steps following your directions.

Thinking about it, he had never been inside your home before; this would be his first impression. Even though he had seen and liked some of the photos you had taken in different parts of the house, that didn’t really count. — There was a first impression for everything.

Jungkook’s somewhat blind, heavy, and clumsy steps led him to the room he was looking for. He would have liked to admire your room, to take in every detail; perhaps, in the future, he might have the chance to see it more leisurely and with your permission. — The tattooed man laid you down on your bed, hovering over your body; Jungkook’s lips moved away from yours, etting them rest, given the visible swelling and redness and trailed down your neck. Licks, light sucks, and bites, which took her by surprise, were left upon your skin; you was no fool and realized that Jungkook wanted to leave marks on you. — Not to mention the older one’s leg moving between your thighs, specifically, his knee making contact with your intimate area, covered only by your shorts; the movements were light, slow, and torturous for you.

Every moan disguised as a sigh brought a wicked smile from Jungkook's lips.

"I used to dream about this, you know?" — He murmured, his voice hoarse and tinged with a hint of desperation; it was dry. Jungkook swallowed hard. — "Fuck, i dreamed about it so damn much…"— He didn't lie, there was anger and truth in his words; there should be shame, but he didn't know the feeling.

That didn't mean he didn't feel the courage to tell you all the things he'd ever thought about doing to you or about you.

His hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, signaling you intent to take it off and do exactly what he wanted. Since you was at home, there was no need to wear a bra or anything of the sort, it was a feeling of freedom; well, Jeon was certainly grateful for that. — He swore he noticed a trivial smile on the man's lips, similar to someone receiving a gift.— Jungkook's face moved away from yours, leaning down to the level of your breasts and it wasn't long before his mouth latched onto one of your nipples. He was sucking it hard, he was hungry, he wanted to taste it; Jungkook always paid extra attention to boobs, he didn't want to consider it an obsession, even if it seemed like it.— His tongue flicked against the sensitive tip of your nipple, the wet, incredibly loud sounds echoing through the bedroom; you knew your panties were soaked, and you could have come from that alone.

Fuck, you could cum — easily — with Jungkook sucking on your tits.

You didn't even notice that, with his hands free, Jungkook gripped the waistband of your shorts, along with your panties, and wasted no time pulling them down to the middle of your thighs; it was only temporary, as he was soon going to toss that garment onto the damn floor. Jungkook kept kissing your nipple, his chin slick with saliva, while you were delirious with pleasure, running your fingers through his dark hair; a silent plea for more. It was something you had always dreamed of.

With quick, practiced movements, the middle and ring fingers of the bastard’s left hand parted your pussy, making sure to touch the entrance, which was already soaking wet. He teased the idea of ​​penetration, pressing just the thick tip of his middle finger against the opening and sending a spasm through your body. — It had been quite a while since you’d had sex; you couldn't even quite recall the last time but you were certainly grateful for the state you were in now. — Jungkook’s finger slid in easily; you were well-lubricated, and even with your nipple in his mouth, Jeon was salivating.

"Uhuh…" — He grunted, tugging at your nipple before releasing it with a wet, dirty snap, then licked and played with the sensitive, saliva-soaked tip; — "You were really waiting for this, weren't you?" — He wanted to wring that confession out of you, even though he was in no position to judge right now. You had always wanted him, always. Jungkook bit his lip, unable to suppress the smile forming; his face was flushed, matching the color of your own lips, lips you had bitten yourself. — "My beautiful girl." — He kissed the swell of your tits. — "Come on, lift up a little…" — He gripped your thighs to steady you, and you obeyed, making room for him on the bed as your head rested against the headboard.

As intended, he removed your shorts and panties and tossed them aside, not caring where they landed. Jungkook left you completely naked, at the mercy of his presence. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of shyness — not in a negative or derogatory sense — before the man you had been in love with since your teenage years. Your legs drew inward slightly, your knees touching for a brief moment.

"Don't be shy, princess." — He whispered sweetly as he moved closer to your thighs. Jungkook’s gaze was affectionate yet tinged with desire and lust; he locked onto you effortlessly, without even trying. — "That doesn't suit you." — He clicked his tongue, parting your thighs and letting his eyes drift down to the wet sheen of your pussy. — "That’s not the girl i know."

You would like to hate this man.

"Remember we haven't seen each other in years." — You summoned the strength and the sheer will to try and counter his remark; you were right was true and very obvious. Jungkook laughed, at the same time, trailing short kisses down your inner thigh. You always had some answer on the tip of your tongue, the difference is that, in the past, you would struggle to try to talk, finish a bold sentence for whoever was provoking you.

"Of course, Aegi."

In that very instant — or rather, mere seconds later — Jungkook’s head was nestled comfortably between your thighs. You could have smothered him, and for Jeon, that would have been a dream come true. The tattooed man’s lips, accentuated by his piercing, and his tongue roamed over your pussy with an animalistic hunger, sucking your clitoris firmly but without excess or any hint of brutality. Jungkook reveled in the taste, kissing your pussy; it was filthy, delicious, and uninhibited. At times, he would suck on one of your folds, give it a gentle tug, and let it snap back with a loud pop. His tongue continued its up-and-down movements, grazing your opening.

You had goosebumps; waves of heat and tiny electric shocks rippled through you, it was surreal. You knew you weren't being dramatic or exaggerating, yet you felt on the verge of unraveling. Electric tingles shivered across your stomach and deep within your core, while your breasts ached with arousal, pure, unadulterated desire; seeking relief or attempting t you squeezed your still-damp, hypersensitive nipples with your fingers. Then, you felt your clitoris being gently sucked and tugged.

"Ngh,. Jungkook!" — You pressed the handsome young man's head between your legs; he felt the pressure you were exerting, yet made no move to stop it. Jungkook was kissing your pussy ravenously, as if he hadn't tasted it in years, driven by a hunger he wanted to satisfy; it seemed as though he wanted to devour you whole. — "Just like that, please…!" — Jungkook’s ears burned hot and red, flushed by the sound of your moans and the way you spoke his name, always with a soft, whimpering plea at the end as you called out for him.

"So delicious." — He growled between licks and quick sucks; even the tip of his nose was smeared with saliva and your juices. Jungkook found himself addicted even to your scent. — "Oh, princess…" — A laugh rumbled in his chest as he sucked your clitoris. — "You're going to let me eat you again, aren't you?" — Yes, yes, of course. Of course you’d let him.

In your desperation, you couldn't string together a coherent sentence; you could only utter Jungkook’s name, the one thing filling your mind and the only thing you could say out loud. Deep down, you wanted to match the filthy words he was directing at you, but you lacked the breath and the experience for it; still, you agreed with everything. Jungkook could do whatever he wanted with you.

He didn't use his fingers at all —even though he wanted to like hell — because, of his own accord, Jungkook wanted and preferred to eat your pussy. Using only his mouth and tongue seemed more fitting for an apology, too. Suddenly, he felt his scalp heat up and sting from a sharp tug of your hands, and your hips ground against his face; it was clear you was close to coming in Jungkook's mouth. Your body was trembling, a sensation akin to freezing, and spasms began to set in; your mouth gave voice to moans and the name of your brother's best friend.

You came in Jungkook's mouth.

Jungkook’s chin, lips, and nose were wet and likely glistening in the room's dim light and the angle at which he was positioned. He inhaled deeply to catch your scent. Without hesitation, he ran his tongue in one long, continuous stroke across your pussy and sucked on your clitoris once more; you nearly kicked him, involuntary spasms were to blame. Even though you couldn't see his face clearly, you knew you were smeared all over that damn man’s face. Naturally, he would be licking his lips to savor every last drop.

It all happened so fast. — In truth, you were in a daze; you hadn't fully regained your energy. — Jungkook was shirtless, revealing the countless tattoos scattered across his arm; one colorful design looked like a painting that extended up to the start of his shoulder, he had covered up some of his other tattoos with that specific one. You longed to touch them, to trace them with your fingers. He had also stripped off his pants and underwear; it was a level playing field now. — How the hell had he taken them off so quickly?

"I don't have any, ah.." — Jungkook murmured with a little shyness in his voice. Over your body, he distributed kisses on your neck, a few quick licks and you felt like you were in heaven, you knew you deserved it. — ".,no condom, i didn't know that.." — He hadn't known you two would end up having sex after the apology.

Shit, you felt the hardness, in addition to the weight, and pulse of Jungkook's cock passing, lightly, into your pussy; specifically, his glans scraping his folds. He was so big, not to mention thick; it was ridiculous to try to compare it with your casual affairs.

"Don't worry," — You soothed the oldest. You would take the pill, but you really should have accepted the box of condoms Juria wanted to buy for you; damn it all. — "Ggkie." — Your lips fit on Jungkook's lips, you were addicted to his mouth. You liked the way he caressed your tongue with his; it was similar to licking a lollipop. Your tongue was sucked, and you could moan with it.

As he kissed you, Jungkook penetrated you slowly and carefully. — He knew you weren't a virgin, thanks to a conversation he’d had with Juria while waiting for your brother to go out, and he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy and curiosity that had pierced his chest. — Every inch slid inside you little by little; it was a maddening, exquisite torture that left you craving more. The burning sensation was undeniable yet bearable, and you could feel every ridge grazing your warm, yielding walls; wet, squelching sounds echoed from where you were being filled. Your walls heated his cock and pulsed around it as Jungkook moved his hips, thrusting deeper into you.

At times, your teeth clashed against Jungkook’s lips—and his against yours, too. It was a desperate kind of kissing. You felt so small; his large, sturdy frame loomed over you, while your hands roamed over his muscular, tattooed arms, leaving faint scratch marks on his skin. — Damn, he was huge; in every sense. — You dug your fingernails into his shoulders, feeling him shift the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Are you going to take a piece out of me, sweetie?" — The false pity, compassion for himself, was easy to detect in Jungkook's voice. His wounds were stinging as the sweat mingled with them, yet he wouldn't dare complain or ask you to stop.

In response, your moans were a gift to Jungkook’s ears; his name escaped your lips amidst gasps and ragged breaths. Your furrowed brows and closed eyes betrayed the pleasure washing over you. You could feel his thick, prominent head striking that special spot inside you so deliciously, it was utterly delightful, magical. — That wet sound, so visceral, yet so pleasurable, echoed between your bodies, filling the room.

Shit, Jungkook growled, slamming his hips against yours with greater force.

"You can handle it, sweetheart." — Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against yours and your cheeks; he was sweet. He always had been with you. — With every thrust, Jungkook’s cock stretched you further, settling deep into your warm, yielding walls. — "Like that…"

Jungkook’s hands, gripping your thighs, spread your legs a little wider to create new space, allowing for deeper thrusts that drove you to the brink of madness. You could feel his heavy balls slapping against your skin, keeping rhythm with the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding. Your legs trembled and quivered around Jungkook, and you moaned wildly for him as a sensation of burning, tingling, and fluttering heat rose in your stomach. — It was obvious. — Jungkook groaned and growled as he realized it, continuing his thrusts without breaking the rhythm, whispering a mix of sweet nothings and filthy talk laced with profanity.

So, you came. — Your body kept trembling; you felt cold and hot at the same time; not to mention the few small tears that threatened to fall and eventually did, wetting your cheek. Jungkook’s name escaped your lips in a low, almost inaudible murmur, yet he heard it. — The older kept moving his hips, maintaining the same rhythm, fighting against the way your walls tightened around and vibrated against his cock.

"Gongjunim," — Jungkook murmured as he kissed you completely clumsily, sucking on your lips and tongue. — "You're so good to me." — He bit your chin, chuckling mischievously; his low growl vibrated through your body. — "You always have been, haven't you?"

Jeon’s breathing grew ragged, and his moans, along with the force and speed of his hips, seemed to burn against your senses; the sound of the headboard banging might have embarrassed you, had you cared. Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours again, keeping his eyes open to admire you despite his blurred, hazy vision; he looked wild, yet godlike. Amidst those final hip thrusts, and driving deeper with satisfaction, Jungkook came inside you, filling you completely with his seed.

Even after a short while, roughly two minutes and a few seconds, Jungkook remained inside you; he could feel your pussy tightening around him at times, and he loved the sensation. — He was heated; who could blame him? — All the while, he kissed and caressed you with tenderness and affection. Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of Jungkook’s kisses against your skin and the rhythm of your breathing.

"It's funny…" — Your voice was weak and a bit dry; you might look for water in a moment and it caught Jungkook's attention. Those dark, brilliant eyes, looking a little sleepy at the moment, gazed at you with curiosity.

"What?" — He asked, planting a lingering kiss on your forehead.

"…that i spent years trying to forget you…" — Your words came out as a whisper, something secret. — "…and it took just a few minutes to ruin all my pitiful effort."

Jungkook’s lips curved into a smile, making his piercing glint in the dim light; it was a pleasant, affectionate, and genuine smile. The classic smile that always greeted you whenever he saw you. It was an adorable and slightly peculiar confession in Jungkook's eyes; he chuckled at the words and pressed his lips to the tip of your nose.

She turned her head, finding him much closer than she expected, his arm resting casually on the counter, his eyes locked on hers like he already knew her answer.

“Depends on who’s asking,” she said, matching his tone.

His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a dare. “Taehyung.”

He didn’t offer a hand. Just a name, like it was enough.

The bartender appeared, and without looking away from her, Taehyung ordered something—something expensive, judging by the slight raise of the bartender’s brow. Then he turned the glass toward her instead of himself.

“You strike me as someone who could use something stronger than… whatever that is,” he said, nodding at her drink.

Normally, she would have bristled. But there was something about him that made her lean into it instead of away.

One drink became two. Two became three. By the time they were leaning in close, shoulders brushing, his hand resting dangerously near her thigh, she’d stopped wondering why her pulse wouldn’t slow down.

When he finally said, “Wanna get out of here?” it wasn’t even a question.

They didn’t speak much on the walk to the hotel. The silence wasn’t awkward—if anything, it was charged. Y/N’s heels clicked against the pavement in quick rhythm, but Taehyung’s steps were slower, confident, like he knew exactly where this night was going and didn’t need to rush.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, his hand was already at her waist, pulling her in until her back met the mirrored wall. His breath was warm against her ear when he spoke.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want me to ruin you all night,” he murmured, his tone low, dangerous.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t get the chance to answer—his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. His hands roamed like he had every right to touch her, sliding over her hips, gripping the curve of her ass through her dress. She gasped into the kiss when he squeezed, and he used the opening to lick into her mouth, deep and claiming.

When the elevator dinged, he pulled back just enough to smirk at her swollen lips. “Room 804. Move.”

She barely remembered the walk down the hall before they were inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

Taehyung was on her instantly, spinning her so her back hit the door, his hands braced on either side of her head. “You like giving control away, sweetheart?”

Her pulse jumped. “Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.” His hand slid up her thigh, dragging the hem of her dress with it. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and his grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.

The dress was gone before she could think about modesty, pooling at her feet while he drank in the sight of her. He didn’t bother hiding the hunger in his eyes as he pressed her against the door again, his thumb grazing her already-damp panties.

“Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “So wet for me already. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she said again, her voice breaking slightly.

“Not good enough.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

That earned her a kiss so deep it stole the air from her lungs. He pulled her toward the bed, stripping off his own jacket and shirt on the way. His body was lean, toned, and every movement screamed cocky self-assurance.

When she reached for his belt, he caught her wrists, pushing her down onto the mattress. “Uh-uh. You don’t touch unless I say you can.”

He knelt between her thighs, dragging her panties down slowly, like he wanted her to squirm. When he tossed them aside, he spread her knees wide, his gaze dark and heavy as it roamed over her.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The words made heat pool low in her belly. She obeyed, and he smirked like she’d just handed him the win. His fingers were on her first—slow at the start, teasing—then rougher, curling deep until her back arched off the bed.

“Such a good little thing,” he murmured, watching her writhe. “You take my fingers so well. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.”

When she was a mess beneath him, he finally freed himself, the sight of him making her mouth go dry. He didn’t rush, just stroked himself lazily while looking her over like she was something he owned already.

Then he was over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else.”

And he was right. The thrust was deep, hard, making her cry out. He fucked her like he had something to prove, his hips snapping against hers, each thrust punctuated by filthy praise and taunts—telling her how tight she was, how perfect she felt, how she was made for him to use.

When she clawed at his back, he caught her wrists again, pinning them above her head. “Stay still. Take it. That’s all you have to do.”

Her moans filled the room, mixing with the slap of skin and his ragged breathing. He bent down to bite her neck, licking over the mark after. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes—oh god—”

“Do it. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

When she did, it was intense, shattering, her body tightening around him in pulsing waves. He fucked her through it, groaning when he spilled inside her, his thrusts finally slowing.

He kissed her once more—slow this time—before pulling back, that smirk returning. “Told you. Ruined.”

Y/N woke to an empty bed.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the dent in the pillow where his head had been. The sheets smelled like him—clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker she couldn’t quite place. The memories from last night flashed back in sharp, heated fragments: the elevator, his hands, his voice in her ear telling her exactly what to do.

Her thighs ached in the best way.

Rolling onto her back, she caught sight of the clock. Late. She groaned, dragging herself up and finding her dress crumpled on the floor. There was no note. No phone number. Just the echo of his smirk burned into her brain.

By the time she slid into a booth at the little café near her apartment, her best friend, Mina, was already there—iced coffee in hand and a knowing grin on her face.

“You’re late,” Mina said, eyes dropping to Y/N’s oversized hoodie and messy hair. “And… you look like you just rolled out of bed. From someone else’s bed.”

Y/N bit her lip, sliding into the seat. “Okay, so… I might have had a night.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice even though the café wasn’t crowded. “Met him at the bar. Tall, hot, this stupid cocky smirk that should have been illegal. He bought me a drink and—” She stopped, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Mina, it was… the best sex of my life.”

“Oh my god.” Mina covered her mouth, then dropped her hand. “Details. Now.”

Y/N looked around once more before continuing. “He was… rough. But perfect. Said all the right things, like he could read my mind. At one point—” She paused, shivering at the memory. “At one point he looked at me and said ‘open up for me, sweetheart’. And I did. Like instantly. I didn’t even think.”

Mina fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, keep going.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch him unless he said so,” Y/N admitted, smirking a little. “And when I came, he—god—he told me he wanted to feel me fall apart around him. It was filthy. I loved every second of it.”

Mina shook her head, grinning. “So when’s round two?”

Y/N’s smirk faded just a little. “That’s the thing… when I woke up, he was gone. No note. No number. Nothing.”

Mina raised a brow. “Mysterious. Maybe he’ll pop up again.”

Y/N stirred her coffee, trying to hide how much she hoped so. “Yeah… maybe.”

But even as they switched topics, she knew she’d recognize that smirk anywhere—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find him, or if she should run the other way if she did.

The sizzle of garlic in the pan filled her small kitchen, the scent curling warm and familiar through the air. Y/N moved lazily between the counter and the stove, wooden spoon in hand, humming faintly to herself. The TV was on in the living room, volume low—background noise she barely paid attention to most nights.

“…in other news, police are still investigating the underground street racing gang suspected in a string of high-end car thefts across the city…”

She half-listened, tossing the pasta into the pot, steam clouding up in front of her.

“…the group is believed to be highly organized, with members able to bypass advanced security systems in minutes. Authorities have yet to identify any suspects, but earlier this week, surveillance audio captured what they believe to be the gang’s leader…”

Her hand froze on the spoon.

“…the voice was recorded whispering something to himself while working to unlock a car. Investigators say it could be a personal quirk—possibly a code phrase. We warn viewers, the clip is faint but clear.”

She turned toward the living room without meaning to, her brows knitting together as the reporter continued.

And then—

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t grainy enough to hide the tone. That deep, low rumble. The way the word sweetheart curled at the edges, dripping with command.

Y/N’s whole body went rigid, the steam from the stove curling around her as her mind stuttered.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

But the moment it hit her ears, her body remembered. The weight of him above her. The heat of his breath against her ear. That exact same line, whispered while she lay beneath him, trembling, her back arching into his touch.

Her knees felt unsteady.

The anchor kept speaking, explaining how police hoped the clip might lead to tips from the public, but she barely heard a word. Her heart thudded in her chest as they played it again.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

She stumbled toward the couch, grabbing the remote with shaky fingers, rewinding. Playing it again. And again. Every repetition sent a sharp shiver down her spine.

It was him. It was Taehyung.

She sank onto the couch, her dinner forgotten in the kitchen, the only thing she could hear was his voice filling the quiet apartment—over and over—until it was impossible to deny the truth.

The man who’d given her the best night of her life was the leader of a gang the police couldn’t catch.

And she knew that voice better than anyone.

The garage smelled like motor oil and adrenaline. The hum of a stripped-down Nissan idled low in the background, the hood up, exposed wiring glinting under the harsh white lights. Taehyung was crouched beside it, a smudge of grease on his forearm, his focus razor-sharp on the delicate lock bypass he’d been perfecting.

The metallic click of the door opening announced Jimin before his voice did.

“They got your voice on tape,” Jimin said flatly, stepping inside.

Taehyung didn’t look up right away, just kept working, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Cops get lots of things on tape. Doesn’t mean they know what they’re listening to.”

Jimin leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “This time, they’re playing it on the damn news.”

That made Taehyung pause. Slowly, he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let me hear it.”

Jimin pulled out his phone, scrolling, then hit play.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The voice—his voice—rolled out into the garage, low and intimate even in the grainy recording.

And Taehyung froze.

Because he remembered saying it. Not here. Not to himself over a lock. But to her. Weeks ago, her knees open under his hands, her eyes glassy with need, the little breathless yes she’d given him right after.

Heat flared low in his gut, memory slamming into him so hard it stole his breath.

Her soft gasps as he slid into her. The way she squeezed around him, so fucking tight it had him gritting his teeth. The sight of her arching under him, mouth falling open as she obeyed every filthy word he gave her.

He hadn’t been able to hook up with anyone since. Not for lack of trying—he’d had offers. But every time he touched someone else, it felt wrong. They weren’t her. They didn’t make his control slip the way she did.

He tossed the rag onto the bench and grabbed his jacket.

Jimin blinked. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” Taehyung said, already heading for the door.

“That’s it? You’re not even gonna—”

“Lock up the garage when you’re done,” he cut in, not slowing.

Jimin’s voice followed him out. “You’re not telling me something.”

Taehyung didn’t bother answering. He was already in the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life. His mind wasn’t on the job, or the risk, or the cops—it was on Y/N. On the way she’d looked up at him that night. On the sound she’d made when he told her to open up for him.

And if she’d seen that news clip…

He pressed harder on the gas. He needed to see her.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came.

Y/N froze halfway through brushing her teeth, the sound echoing through her quiet apartment. No one came by this late. No one except—

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t need to look through the peephole. There was only one person who would knock like that—three firm raps, a pause, then two more.

She pulled on her robe, tying the belt tighter as she stepped into the hall. And there he was.

Taehyung stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, hood up, shadows hiding half his face. But his eyes… she’d know them anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low but steady.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You know why I’m here.”

She crossed her arms, the robe tugging tighter across her chest. “Do I?”

His gaze sharpened. “I know you know it’s me. It’s all over the news.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “The second I heard it… I knew.” She swallowed, fingers tightening on the robe belt. “It was you.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“But I’m not going to tell anyone,” she continued. “I don’t care what you’ve done… it’s not my business. But it means we can’t—” She hesitated, the words catching. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe, or defiance. Then he stepped closer, close enough for her to smell the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.

“You really think I’m going to walk away that easy?” he murmured.

Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, pulling a sharp gasp from her before she melted against him. Her hands were at his chest, meaning to push him back—but instead, they curled into his jacket as his tongue slid against hers, his body crowding hers into the doorframe.

She kissed him back. Hard. Like she’d been starving for it.

When she finally broke away, breathless, her hand pressed lightly to his chest—not shoving, but holding him there. “You have to stop coming here.”

He didn’t move for a beat, eyes locked on hers, lips curved in that infuriating smirk. But when she stepped back, he let her go.

She turned, retreating inside without looking back, the door clicking shut between them.

In the dark of her bedroom, she lay staring at the ceiling, heart still pounding.

What the hell was going on in her life?

----------------

The night air was thick with gasoline, smoke, and bass-heavy music that rattled the cracked pavement. Y/N stood near the edge of the crowd, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, watching the chaos unfold.

Mina had dragged her here, bright-eyed with her new boyfriend in tow, gushing about how “street racing is way more fun than it sounds.” Y/N had almost said no. But maybe, she thought, it was time to put Taehyung firmly in the past. Maybe she could meet someone new tonight. Someone who didn’t vanish after wrecking her self-control, and definitely someone who wasn’t a walking red flag.

Engines roared at the starting line, headlights flaring against the dark. Y/N let her gaze wander over the lineup—sleek bodies of metal and chrome, paint jobs that gleamed under the scattered floodlights.

Then one particular car rolled forward.

It was impossible not to notice. Low to the ground, jet black with tinted windows that hid the driver completely—until the glass began to roll down.

Her stomach dropped.

Taehyung.

----------------------

"You and Joon really should make up, you're just spoiling the good mood, it's our first day here." your friend said.

"I know but he started it." You rolled your eyes.

Your friend sighed, "Just go make up with him, we both know you can't stand not talking to him for an entire two weeks."

"I can't believe he has this power over me." You rolled your eyes once more, annoyed that your friend was right.

Your friend laughed, "You know it's because you love him like crazy."

"I do, but his stubbornness is really a pain in the ass." You groaned, reluctantly getting up from the bed.

Your friend looked satisfied that you were finally going to talk things out with Namjoon.

"Now go, before I push you out of that damned door." your friend teased, giving you a light push towards the door.

With a huff, you finally left the hotel room, mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you were about to have with Namjoon.

The club music pulses through the air as you step inside, scanning the crowded space for Namjoon. After a few minutes, you spot him leaning against the bar, nursing a drink while Hoseok animatedly talks next to him. Taking a deep breath, you make your way over.

ge turns, his face unreadable for a moment before his eyes soften just slightly. He sets down his drink.

"Oh hi. Did you finally come to yell at me some more?" His voice is light but there's an underlying tension as he crosses his arms. Hoseok immediately makes an exaggerated exit, mouthing 'good luck' at you as he slips away into the crowd.

You glare at Hoseok as he scurries away, leaving you alone with Namjoon.

"I didn't come here to yell at you, I came here to talk," you say, trying to keep your voice level.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Really? You've been giving me the silent treatment all day, so pardon me if I don't believe you."

You can't help but roll your eyes at his response.

"Oh, please. You weren't exactly being a saint yourself, you know."

Namjoon lets out a scoff. "Me? You're the one who overreacted in the first place over something stupid."

"Overreacting? You're the one who started it!"

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, but the anger is still bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You completely disregarded my opinion and brushed it off like it was nothing. Is it so hard to respect what I have to say for once?"

Namjoon's jaw tenses as he looks down at his drink, swirling the ice cubes before meeting your eyes again. His voice drops to that careful, measured tone he uses when he's trying not to escalate things.

"You're right. I should've listened better. But you shutting down and giving me the cold shoulder instead of talking to me? That hurt too." He runs a hand through his hair.

You're taken aback by the hint of vulnerability in his voice. It's rare for Namjoon to express his feelings so openly, especially when you're angry.

"I just... I needed some space to cool off. But you have a knack for getting under my skin sometimes, you know that?"

Namjoon lets out a dry chuckle. "Oh, believe me, the feeling is mutual."

A small smirk tugs at your lips despite yourself. "Yeah well... you're lucky I think your dumb face is cute."

Namjoon finally cracks a real smile at that, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. He reaches out to gently flick your forehead. "And you're lucky I put up with your dramatic ass." The warmth in his eyes makes your heart do that stupid little flip it always does when he looks at you like that.

The bass from the club speakers thrums around you both as he nudges your shoulder. "Wanna get out of here? I know a quiet beach nearby where we can actually hear each other talk."

You can't help but smile back, the anger you felt earlier already starting to fade. You nod in agreement.

"Yeah, that sounds nice."

Namjoon finishes his drink in one gulp and sets down the glass, gesturing for you to follow him. He leads you out of the crowded club and into the cool night air.

The walk to the beach is quiet, but it's a comfortable kind of silence. You walk side by side, your shoulders brushing against each other occasionally.

The beach is deserted, save for a few scattered boats in the distance. The sand feels soft and cool under your feet as you and Namjoon walk along the shoreline. The waves crash gently in the moonlight, creating a soothing soundtrack.

You let out a sigh, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. It feels like a world away from the club and your argument.

Namjoon stops and drops down onto a dry patch of sand, patting the spot next to him. "Come here."

You sit down beside him, the warmth of his body next to yours a comforting contrast to the cool night air. He puts his arm over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer. For a few moments, neither of you speaks. You just watch the waves roll in, lost in your thoughts.

Finally, Namjoon breaks the silence. "I am sorry." His voice is soft.

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"And I'm sorry too," you admit. "I should've talked to you instead of shutting you out."

Namjoon lets out a breath and nuzzles his nose into your hair. "We both messed up, huh?"

You nod slightly. "Yeah... we do seem to get into a lot of arguments for two people who supposedly love each other."

Namjoon snorts at that, but his grip on your shoulder tightens just a little.

"Love doesn't mean everything is going to be perfect and easy. We're gonna argue, we're gonna piss each other off. But we also know when to apologize and when to make up." He rubs his thumb over your shoulder absentmindedly. "I just don't like it when you give me the silent treatment."

You lift your head to look at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "And I don't like when you dismiss my opinions like they're unimportant. We both have things to work on."

He rolls his eyes, but there's a fond smile on his lips. "Yeah, yeah, we're both stubborn jerks. We're a match made in heaven."

A laugh bubbles out of you, the tension finally completely fading.

"Heaven? More like hell. We probably drive each other insane most of the time."

Namjoon laughs too, the sound deep and rich in his chest beneath your ear. "But you wouldn't have it any other way."

You can't deny it. Even with all the petty arguments and stubborn disagreements, there's a reason you've stuck together for this long.

"No, I wouldn't," you admit.

Namjoon presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. "Good. Let's go to our room. It's been a long day, and I want to rest."

You nod in agreement, standing up and brushing the sand off your clothes. Namjoon takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. You start to head back to the hotel, the cool breeze pleasant against your skin.

As you walk, you can't help but feel a warm affection for the man next to you. He might drive you crazy sometimes, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

When you arrive back at the hotel, the lobby is mostly empty. The elevator ride up is silent, but it's a comfortable kind of silence this time. Namjoon's thumb brushes lightly against the back of your hand, a small gesture of affection.

As soon as you enter your room, Namjoon kicks off his shoes and practically collapses onto one of the beds. He groans and stretches his arms out, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned skin.

Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, eyes already half-closed as he pats the space next to him without looking. "Come here angel," he mumbles, voice rough with exhaustion.

You can't help but laugh at his needy tone. But you oblige, slipping out of your shoes and climbing onto the bed next to him. Namjoon immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. He buries his face in your hair, his body warm and solid against yours.

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling your body relax against him. All the stress and tension from the day seem to melt away in his arms. Namjoon's hand rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers tracing invisible patterns against your skin.

You close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace.

Namjoon's voice is a low rumble against your ear. "I love you, you know."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, even though you've heard them countless times before.

"I love you too," you reply, your face still buried in the crook of his neck. "Even when you're a pain in the ass."

Namjoon laughs softly, squeezing you tighter.

He pinches your side playfully at that. "Look who's talking, Miss 'I-give-the-silent-treatment-for-fun'." His words are teasing but the hand stroking your hair is achingly gentle.

You can feel him press a sleepy kiss to your temple as he settles deeper into the pillows. "Now sleep. We're making up for lost time tomorrow - breakfast on the balcony, then that hiking trail Hoseok and Jimin won't stop raving about." His voice is already slurring with exhaustion.

The last thing you register before drifting off is the way his fingers instinctively tighten around your wrist - like even in sleep, he's making sure you won't go far.

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting warm golden stripes across the tangled sheets. Namjoon stirs first, blinking sleepily at the unfamiliar ceiling before his gaze lands on you still curled against his chest. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face as he carefully extracts his arm from beneath you, trying not to wake you.

But the moment his warmth leaves your side, your brow furrows in protest. With a sleepy grumble, you blindly reach out and grab a fistful of his shirt, dragging him back down with surprising strength for someone half-asleep.

Namjoon chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest as he lets himself be pulled back into the cocoon of blankets. "Guess we're sleeping in then," he murmurs, tucking your head under his chin with a contented sigh. Outside, the sound of waves crashing and distant seagulls creates the perfect lazy morning soundtrack.

You let out a content huff as you settle back into his arms, your head resting over his heart. You can feel it thumping steadily underneath you, a soothing rhythm that almost lulls you back to sleep.

Namjoon starts to run his hand through your hair, his touch gentle and almost absent-minded as he absently plays with the strands.

He breaks the comfortable silence, his voice soft and gravelly with sleep. "...We should probably get up before the others start banging on our door demanding brunch." But he makes no actual move to get up, perfectly content to stay tangled in the sheets with you.

You nuzzle deeper into his chest with a sleepy whine, tightening your grip on his shirt. "Five more minutes," you mumble against his skin, your voice thick with sleep.

Namjoon lets out that deep, rumbling laugh of his, the one that vibrates pleasantly against your cheek.

The sunlight shifts across the bed, warming your legs tangled with his. Neither of you moves. Outside, the faint sound of laughter floats up from the pool below—probably Jin and Jungkook already causing chaos. But here, in this quiet little nest, time feels deliciously suspended.

Namjoon's fingers trace idle patterns along your spine. "...This is nice," he murmurs, almost to himself. You hum in agreement, already drifting again to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The vacation can wait. Right now, this is exactly where you both want to be.

You're drifting off again when Namjoon's voice cuts through the drowsy haze.

"Hey."

His fingers under your chin tilt your face up, and you crack open your eyes, blinking against the morning light. And then your brain catches up—because god, he looks unfairly good. Tousled hair, warm eyes, sleepy smile. He brushes a thumb along your jawline, his touch sending a flutter through your stomach.

"As much as I am loving the koala impression right now," he teases, "We might need to actually get out of bed at some point."

You grumble again, wrapping yourself even more tightly around him. "But... warm."

Namjoon snorts, patting your ass indulgently. "Yeah, that's true. But I think the others are getting impatient."

Your protest turns into a reluctant sigh as his words sink in. You know he's right. The thought of getting up seems about as appealing as jumping into a lake during winter.

Namjoon gently disentangles himself from your grip, rolling out of bed. He stretches, the muscles in his back flexing under the white T-shirt he slept in. You don't bother hiding your appreciative stare.

Namjoon catches you staring and smirks, stretching a little more dramatically just to watch your eyes follow the movement. "Like what you see?" he teases, running a hand through his messy bedhead.

You throw a pillow at him with a sleepy laugh. "Stop showing off and help me get up, you conceited ass."

He dodges the pillow easily and grabs your ankles, yanking you toward the edge of the bed with a yelp from you. Before you can retaliate, he swoops down to press a quick, laughing kiss to your lips. "There. Now we're both up. Happy?"

You feign annoyance but the effect is ruined by the broad grin that spreads across your face as you push yourself upright. "You're a pain."

You're just about to swing your legs off the bed and then he wraps your legs around his waist.

Without warning, Namjoon scoops you up off the bed, hoisting you into his arms effortlessly. You let out an undignified squawk, clinging to his neck.

"Jesus, a little warning next time," you gasp, even though a thrill runs through you at how easily he handles you.

He laughs, shifting you into a more comfortable position against his chest. "But where's the fun in that?" He starts walking toward the bathroom, carrying you like you weigh nothing.

"Besides," he continues, "I like the noises you make when I catch you off guard." He punctuates the statement by giving your ass a playful spank.

He sets you down on the edge of the bathroom counter, standing between your legs and tilting your chin up to look at him.

Namjoon's expression softens as his thumbs brush along your cheekbones, his voice dropping to that quiet, intimate tone that still makes your pulse stutter after all this time. "You look beautiful in the morning light." He leans in, pausing just inches from your lips - close enough that you can feel his breath mingle with yours. "Even with the drool mark on your cheek."

You swat at his chest, but he catches your wrist mid-air, pressing a laughing kiss to your palm before finally, finally closing the distance.

"Just one kiss.." he whispered. "After that, we'll clean up and have breakfast."

His lips barely brush against yours, light as a feather, and you almost whimper at the teasing. You reach up to grip the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he leans just out of reach with a knowing grin.

"Ah-ah." He grabs hold of your wrists, pressing them down against the counter.

Your breath catches as Namjoon pins you in place, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin material of his T-shirt. His eyes roam your face, his gaze lingering on your wide eyes and parted lips.

He leans forward, bringing his mouth close to your ear, his voice a low murmur that makes a shiver run down your spine. "If I start kissing you properly now, we won't be leaving this bathroom any time soon."

You're torn between wanting to smack him and wanting to melt right then and there. "Maybe I don't care," you manage to retort, proud that your voice doesn't waver.

Namjoon's grip tightens slightly, almost possessive, and it sends another jolt through you. His eyes darken as a smug smile curves his lips. "And as much as I'd love to take you right here against this counter..." He gives your thigh a light squeeze, making you shiver involuntarily. "...Not now."

A huff escapes you at the teasing, but there's no hiding the way your body reacts to his touch. He knows he has this power over you and he uses it shamelessly.

"Fuck you." you grumble, but there's no real heat in your tone. Namjoon chuckles, finally releasing your wrists to step back. He pats your thigh lightly. "Oh, I will."

time skip.

You and Namjoon finally make it to the hiking trail Hobi and Jimin have been raving about, and you have to admit, the view is stunning. Verdant mountains frame an endless blue sky as far as the eye can see, and even though it's a bit humid, the breeze feels refreshing against your skin.

Namjoon lets out a low whistle. "Okay, I'm starting to see why they couldn't shut up about this place. It's incredible."

"Yeah, it really is." You take a moment to just soak in the beauty of the landscape before digging your phone out of your backpack. "I should probably send Hobi and Jimin a picture. They'll never believe we actually made it out of bed."

Namjoon laughs and slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a quick selfie. You take a few shots, trying to capture the breathtaking view behind you.

You send off the pictures with a quick caption to the group chat before putting your phone away and turning your attention back to Namjoon. He's gazing out at the horizon with a thoughtful expression on his face, one arm still slung around your shoulders. You nudge him with an elbow.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, taking in his contemplative expression.

Namjoon exhales slowly, his grip on your shoulder tightening just a fraction. "How I almost ruined this entire trip over something stupid." His eyes flicker with uncharacteristic vulnerability before he looks back at the view. "I don’t want to waste another second of it arguing with you."

He turns to face you fully, the mountain breeze ruffling his hair. "From now on, let’s just... enjoy it. Together." There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch, the same look he gets when he’s composing something important.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the rawness in his voice. You know how hard it is for him to open up, even to you. You step closer, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair in what you hope is a soothing gesture.

"Hey," you say softly, "we've had stupid fights before and we've always made up. This one was just a little longer than usual, that's all."

Namjoon covers your hand with his, leaning into your touch like a cat seeking warmth.

"Yeah, but... I don't know. It just felt different this time." He lets out a humorless laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I guess it made me realize how much I hate fighting with you. And how much I hate going to bed knowing you're pissed at me."

The earnestness in his voice hits you hard, and you can't help but wrap your arms around his waist in a tight hug. He buries his face in your neck, his breath warm on your skin.

"I hate it too," you confess quietly. "I hate not being able to just talk things out like we usually do. It's like... a part of me is missing when we're mad at each other."

Namjoon's arms tighten around you in response, his embrace practically squeezing the air from your lungs. "Me too. It's like this weird emptiness that's... it sucks."

He pulls back just enough to place a soft kiss to your forehead. "Promise me we won't let it happen again. No more dumb arguments without talking it out. No more silent treatments."

You nod fervently, looking up at him with a determined expression. "Promise. No more stupid fights. No more ignoring each other."

Namjoon's expression softens when he sees how serious you are, his gaze searching your features as if he's making sure you mean it. Finally, he leans in and brushes a tender kiss along your jawline before murmuring against your skin.

"Good. I hate it when you give me the silent treatment anyway. Drives me crazy."

You can't help the small grin that spreads across your face at his admission. "Oh, yeah? Does it drive you crazy?"

You reach up to run a hand over his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt in a way you know is more taunting than comforting. Namjoon’s eyes darken ever so slightly, but he doesn’t miss a beat.

"It does,” he says evenly, hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Makes me want to find ways to get your attention back on me."

You try to keep a straight face, but a shiver runs down your spine at his words. Before you can reply, he grips your waist tighter and pulls you closer, his body suddenly flush against yours.

He lowers his voice to a murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. "And when you're all quiet and sulky..." His hands slide under your shirt, fingers tracing light patterns against your bare skin. "God, you look so hot when you're mad."

Your brain practically short-circuits at the sudden contact, the feeling of his hands on your bare skin sending goosebumps across your flesh. You try to scoff, but the breathy sound that comes out only serves to make Namjoon smirk smugly.

"Can we keep walking?" you murmur, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your gut. Namjoon leans down, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear.

Namjoon's grip on your waist tightens, his lips dancing over the skin just below your ear as he lets out a low, smug chuckle.

"Trying to get away, angel?" His fingers lightly skim the waistband of your pants, dipping just below it to brush against the bare skin above your ass.

The sensation makes your knees weak, and you barely bite back a gasp. You're fully aware of how affected you're becoming, but Namjoon is clearly enjoying himself too much to back down.

You try to keep your voice steady as you speak, but your words come out as a breathy whisper. "We're in public, Joon."

Namjoon's hands slide completely under your shirt, his palms flattening against your stomach as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. His breath is hot against your neck.

"We're in the middle of the mountains, no one's around." His hands slide higher, grazing your ribs. You swear you feel his lips curling into a smirk against your skin.

But despite the heat flaring in your gut, you try to keep a grip on rational thinking. "Someone could see us."

Namjoon seems unconcerned, his hands still exploring under your shirt, his fingers teasing the underside of your bra. His voice is a deep rumble in your ear. "Then let them see." He brushes your skin with the barest graze of his knuckles, sending electricity pulsing through your core. "Fuck, this sports shorts..."

You swallow hard, trying to get a handle on your breathing as Namjoon toys with the waistband of your shorts. It's getting increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. You grab his wrists in a futile attempt to stop his hands from wandering. "I don't want anyone to see us."

Namjoon huffs, clearly amused by your feeble attempts to stop him. He nuzzles his face into your neck once more, his lips grazing your sensitive skin. "So you want me to stop?" His hands still, lingering just above your waistband.

His voice is low and taunting, but you know Namjoon well enough to know he's testing your resolve.

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, torn between the thrill of the danger of getting caught and the desire coursing through your veins. But you manage to force out a reply. "Yes. We’re in public." You turn your head slightly to glare at him.

Namjoon's hands slide back up to your sides, fingers grazing your ribs through your shirt. He sighs disappointedly but there's a hint of a smirk on his face. "Fine, if you say so."

You try to regain some semblance of composure, straightening your shirt where it's rumpled from Namjoon's wandering hands. You ignore the throbbing ache between your legs, willing it to go away. "We should keep going." You can't quite keep the huskiness out of your voice.

Namjoon's grin widens, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you. But he obediently steps back, the glint in his eyes showing he's far from finished with you.

"Lead the way, angel.”

You can feel his gaze burning into your back as you start walking again, the air thick with palpable tension. You keep your eyes straight ahead, determined not to let him see how flustered you are. And yet, you can’t help the way your steps falter occasionally, your mind buzzing with memories of Namjoon's hands on your stomach, your waist, your chest.

The silence between you is charged, the sound of your feet against the gravel the only thing cutting through the tension.

The walk seems to stretch on for ages, each step a painful reminder of the desire coursing through your veins. But you refuse to look back at Namjoon, knowing that one look in his eyes would be enough to shatter your resolve.

After what feels like an eternity, Namjoon finally breaks the silence, his voice cutting through the air like a gunshot.

"You alright back there, sweetheart?" His tone is casual, almost innocent, as if he hadn't just reduced you to a mess a few minutes ago. You try to keep your reply nonchalant, even though your heart is beating out of your chest.

"I’m fine, why do you ask?" You don't dare look back at him but you can feel the heat of his gaze boring into your back.

Namjoon lets out a low, knowing chuckle, but he keeps his voice light. "Just checking. You've been pretty quiet."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to snap back and tell him exactly what he’s doing to you. Instead, you force out a scoff. "Can't a person enjoy the scenery in peace?"

Namjoon's footsteps quicken, closing the distance between you. "Oh, you're enjoying the scenery, huh?" His tone is low and amused. The smug bastard seems to be having way too much fun with this.

You can feel his presence right behind you, the heat radiating from his body making you shiver.

"Yeah, the mountains are beautiful." You manage to get the words out without your voice cracking, though it's a wonder considering how dry your throat suddenly is.

Namjoon's hand brushes against the small of your back, the touch almost scorching even through the fabric of your shirt. You inhale sharply, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

His voice is barely above a whisper, right by your ear. "They are, but I think I prefer something else right now."

His other hand finds its way to your hip, pulling you back against his chest. His breath is warm against your neck. "You say we're in public... but I remember you said you wanted to try exhibitionism."

Your brain stutters for a second, struggling to process his words past the fog of desire clouding your thoughts. You remember that conversation, but you never expected Namjoon of all people to bring it up.

His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin. His chest is pressed against your back, and you can feel his rapid heartbeat matched with your own.

His next words are more than a little smug. "You're thinking about it, right? Admit it."

You swallow hard, torn between the urge to give in to the fire burning in your core and the knowledge that anyone could see you right now.

"...Maybe." You reply grudgingly, your voice coming out breathy betraying your efforts to keep a level tone.

Namjoon's hands slide under your shirt again, hot against your skin. His mouth brushes the shell of your ear. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" His hands slide higher, thumbs grazing the underside of your bra. "Being out here, out in the open. Anyone could see us." His hips grind against your ass and you can feel his growing hardness pressing into you. "Anyone could see how affected you are."

You can't stop the moan that escapes your lips at the sensation, hips bucking helplessly back against his.

The feeling of him, hard against your ass makes your legs weak, and you stumble forward a little. Namjoon's hand on your waist steadies you, his grip firm.

His nose brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, a quiet laugh against your ear. "I was right, huh?" He sounds far too self-s satisfied, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

His hands slide higher, palming your breasts through your bra. "Tell me angel."

Your mind is swimming, the feel of Namjoon's hands on your nipple making you squirm. But you manage to bite back another moan.

"Maybe." You repeat, your voice cracking at the end.

Namjoon's hands leave your breasts, sliding back down to your waist. His hands feel almost possessive gripped on your hips.

"No, no, no." He tsks, his hands tightening the grip. "I think we should try being more honest with each other, don’t you agree?" His thumbs dig into your hip bones. "Be honest with me."

Your mind is too overwhelmed to come up with a sassy reply. So, instead you nod, trying to find the will to speak without moaning.

"Yes." You manage to choke out.

Namjoon's hands trail over your stomach, his touch lighting up every nerve in your body.

"Good girl." His voice is a low purr in your ear, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "Now tell me... what are you thinking about right now?" He gives your shorts a tug, pushing them lower on your hips.

The feeling of the fabric sliding over your skin sends a shiver through you, the night air suddenly feeling cool against your overheated skin. You let out an involuntary gasp, feeling the goosebumps rise all over your body. Your brain struggles to form a coherent thought.

"I'm... I'm thinking..." You struggle to speak, feeling your shorts being pushed halfway down your thighs.

Namjoon's hands slide back over the bare skin of your ass, squeezing possessively. His voice is a low murmur against your neck.

"I am listening angel." he murmured.

You can barely form a sentence without moaning, your brain hazy with want.

"I'm thinking that... that someone... could see us." You manage to gasp out. Namjoon's hands still on your hips, his fingers twitching against your skin. "And fuck.. that makes me so wet.."

You can almost feel the smug smirk against your neck.

"Good, we’re being honest with each other." His hands slide lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your panties. "Keep talking."

You have to concentrate to keep your knees from buckling, your legs shaking as Namjoon's hands pull your soaked underwear down your thighs.

"I'm... I'm thinking that.. " you whispered.

Namjoon's fingers trail teasingly up the inner part of your thigh, his words almost a taunt against your ear.

"Use that dirty mouth of yours, baby."

You can't stop the soft whine at his fingers barely grazing over your clit. Your hips try to grind down on his fingers for some relief, but his other hand grips your hip, holding you still. "Fuck..” you breathe out helplessly.

You can feel Namjoon's smile against your neck. "You're dripping." He murmards, fingers brushing against your folds. "Just look at you. Such a mess already.." His fingers slide through your folds with ease, teasing your opening.

His voice lowers into a growl, low enough not to carry. "Tell me baby, you like this right? out here in the open, where anyone could see us, where you're so exposed... so free."

Your legs feel weak, your whole body trembling as Namjoon's fingers toy with your slit. You clench your eyes shut, focusing on the sensations.

"God... Yes." You whine, your voice already breaking. "I liked it."

Namjoon's fingers withdraw from your soaked folds, and you can hear the sound of his zipper being undone. "Turn around."

You obey immediately, turning around to face him. Your eyes rake over his face, taking in his flushed cheeks and the way his jaw clenches. His eyes dart behind you for a split second, looking at something behind you.

His hands grip your thigh, the roughness of his palms sending shivers up to your core. "Bend over."

It's an order, and you obey eagerly, leaning forward to grip your hands against the rough bark of the tree in front of you. Your legs feel like mush almost immediately, but you manage to stay put.

Namjoon stands behind you, his hand running up your leg. “Spread them more.” His voice is dark and commanding. Your legs move, spreading further apart.

You hear the sound of Namjoon spitting, and a moment later, the head of his cock prods against your leaking slit. You let out a gasp, feeling him press against your entrance, just barely spreading you.

"You're so wet." Namjoon lets out a low groan.

You whine at that, unable to deny his words, but before you can reply, he pushes inside of you with a powerful thrust. Your moan echoes through the night air, the sudden stretch of your walls around him making your hands grip the bark of the tree tightly.

The feel of him inside of you is overwhelming, and you try to muffle your mewls in your sleeve, your legs almost giving out. You feel his fingers dig into the skin of your thigh, keeping you upright.

He starts a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep and hard. He leans forward, covering your body with his, his chest pressing against your back. He growls near your ear, voice low and rough. "You'd let me do anything. I could bend- Oh fuck, someone is coming."

Your body freezes, dread sinking like a stone in your stomach. You manage to peek over your shoulder, not able to see anything from this angle. Someone is nearby. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, your whole body tense.

But Namjoon holds you in place, not slowing his pace for a second.

His hands grip your waist, keeping you pressed against the tree as he continues to piston his hip, not giving you a chance to adjust to the new angle. "They're coming closer."

You can hear the steady crunch of footsteps on the gravel trail, moving closer to you guys. You try to pull away, but Namjoon holds you firmly. "Shhhh."

His hand clamps over your mouth, effectively muffling your moans as you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You can't make out the conversation, but you can hear the deep timbre of a male voice and a soft laugh.

Namjoon doesn't slow down for a second, his pace unrelenting as the voices get louder.

The voices draw closer, and you can make out the words of the men's conversation now. It's two guys, seemingly lost and trying to find their way to the parking lot. They're only a few meters away, on the other side of the tree you're pressed against. They turned the corner now, and they see you.

Your body goes taut as you watch the two guys notice the two of you, their conversation faltering and then stopping entirely. They stand there, frozen in surprise. Your body shudders helplessly, the adrenaline coursing through your body.

Namjoon doesn't stop his movements, not even now that the men are standing just a few feet away from you.

Their eyes go wide, and you can see one of them nudge the other, whispering something. Their gazes are firmly locked on you and Namjoon.

Namjoon he leans over you, voice rough in your ear. "Look at their eyes."

You take a peek over your shoulder in their direction, and sure enough, the two guys' eyes are locked on you. You can see their Adam's apple bob as they swallow.

One of them opens his mouth, as if to speak, but whatever words he was going to say seem to get lodged in his throat.

"They want you baby. They want to be me." Namjoon murmured, his pace still consistent as the men gawk at you.

You can see one of them move awkwardly, as if trying to adjust his pants. You bite down on your lip, the heat in your stomach growing as their gaze roams over your body.

"Yeah, that one there. He can't take his eyes off you." Namjoon huffs a laugh, sounding almost amused.

One of them is definitely still staring at you, his eyes locked on your legs.The other one has now noticed, too, staring at the two of you with open interest. It's one thing thinking someone could stumble upon you, but the fact that they're watching you?

Namjoon lets out a low, possessive growl in your ear. "They're staring at you angel." He bites down on your neck playfully, and you barely suppress a gasp.

The two men continue staring, mouths open as they take in the scene in front of them. One of them whispers something to the other. You can't make out the words, but you can tell they're both enthralled by the show.

Namjoon's hands grip your hips tighter, possessively. "They're not even trying to look away. What do you think they're thinking right now, sweetheart?"

You can practically feel their gazes burning into your back.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, the mixed emotions inside of you almost overwhelming.

"God... They're still watching." You choke out, your voice hoarse.

Namjoon's fingers dig into your skin possessively. "Yeah, they are. Because that's all they can do—watch." He punctuates each word with another deep thrust.

One of the men lowers his hand to his pants, trying to adjust the bulge in them.

You swallow hard, watching as the man's hand lingers for a second longer than necessary. He looks away when he realizes you're watching.

Namjoon's voice is smug against your ear. "He's hard, just for you."

Sure enough, the other man's hand has drifted down to his pants now, trying to do the same as his friend.

Your body is taut as a bowstring, the situation both mortifying and exhilarating. "Are they.. are they touching themselves?" You manage to whisper.

Namjoon's hands tighten on you. "Yeah, they do." The roughness in his voice tells you all you need to know about how he feels.

The two guys are still standing there, unmoving. The first one drops his hand down again, palming himself through his pants again.

Namjoon lets out a low growl, the possessiveness in his tone all the more apparent now.

"They want you more than anything right now, don't they?" He pulls you back, making you take more of him.

You nod desperately, words eluding you. The men seem to be transfixed, their eyes glued to your body. The first one gives up, his hand rubbing his bulge shamelessly now.

Namjoon lets out a low laugh, the smug satisfaction evident in his voice. "They can't help themselves." He thrusts into you harder, the roughness of his voice betraying his control slipping.

Your eyes are still locked with the second guy, his hand now mimicking his friend. His eyes are dark, and you swear you can see his tongue dart out to lick his lips. You let out a strangled gasp. "Oh god, they're... Oh god."

Namjoon lets out another growt, hands gripping at your waist possessively. "Yeah, look at them. You drive them crazy, angel. I bet they'd do anything to be in my place right now." His voice is rough but reverent.

The second guy is practically undoing his pants now, his hand visibly squeezing his bulge. You can feel yourself dripping around Namjoon's cock, the thought of them watching you making you clamp down around him.

You're starting to lose control of your body, hips bucking involuntarily against Namjoon's. You're on the edge of coming.

A low, guttural sound rumbles from Namjoon's chest. His hands hold you in place, almost possessively. "They want you so badly. They'd give anything to touch you, to be inside you."

You can't stop your head from rolling back on his shoulder, your hand moving to grip his thigh. "Oh god... They look... So good."

The man's other hand is squeezing the base of his cock now, the veins on his forearm standing out. His eyes dart back up to yours, and the sight of him sends a shiver up your spine. His chest heaves as if he's panting. He stares at you for a few seconds before looking away again.

Namjoon's voice drops to a deep growl in your ear. "They're desperate, angel. Desperate." He punctuates the last word with a hard thrust. "They're aching for you."

You moan aloud, no longer caring if they hear you. The man's breaths are getting heavier, his hand moving faster. "Oh god." You breathe out, struggling to stay upright.

Namjoon's hands grip your hips tightly, possessively. "Yeah, they're desperate for you. All they can do is watch you get filled over and over again, getting what they'll never have." His voice is rough, possessive. "Because you're mine."

Those words send a shiver down your spine, making you clench around his cock even tighter. The guy's hand jerks faster, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Oh god, Namjoon... " you manage to gasp out. You can feel his grip on your hips tighten to almost painful levels at your words.

Namjoon's pace is relentless, his grip on your hips unyielding. "Yeah, angel?" He pants out, voice low and rough. "You close?"

You nod desperately, your hips bucking against him. The tension in your stomach is almost unbearable. "God, yes. I'm close." You manage to get out.

The guy lets out a strangled noise, his hips twitching with each stroke. His eyes are locked on you, almost glazed over.

You can feel Namjoon's grip on you tighten possessively. "Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?" He whispers in your ear, voice rough and uneven. He leans forward slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts.

Your eyes flutter closed, your fingers clawing at the tree trunk in front of you. "Oh god, yes. I'm gonna come." You manage to gasp out in a whimper.

The guy is now letting out breathy moans, his hand working faster and faster. His eyes are locked on your face, almost pleading.

Namjoon's grip on your waist is almost bruising as he increases his pace, his thrusts growing more erratic. "Yeah, come for me, angel. Let them hear you." His voice is raspy, rough with desire.

Your head rolls back on his shoulder, your neck exposed and bared to him. "Oh gods, I'm coming." You moan out, your voice echoing through the night air.

The guy's hands move away from his cock, clenching into fists at his sides. He lets out a low, strangled sound, looking close to tears. His eyes are still locked on you, watching.

Namjoon lets out a deep groan at your words, his hands holding you in place. "Oh, God, you're so good to me." He pants out, voice rough and uneven. "That's it, come for me."

Your body is wound up so tight, and the sight of the man's desperation sends you over the edge. You come with a gasp, legs shaking wildly as the orgasm washes over you. It takes all of Namjoon's strength to keep you upright, his hands gripping your hips.

Your knees almost give out, your body going limp against Namjoon's chest. His hands hold you up, his grip on your hips a little painful.

"Good girl." He murmurs, his mouth against your ear.

You're still trying to catch your breath, your body wrung out and boneless. You can feel Namjoon's rapid heartbeat against your back, his body trembling ever so slightly.

You slowly turn your head, making eye contact with the second guy. He looks wrecked, his breathing heavy and raspy.

His eyes are still locked on you, his gaze dark and intense. But he doesn't move, his body taunt like a bowstring.

You hear Namjoon chuckle darkly behind you."Your fantasy comes to life angel."

Your mind is a mess, still reeling from your orgasm. You struggle to form coherent thoughts, your face heating up under the guys gaze.

"Oh god." You murmur, burying your face in Namjoon's neck. He lets out a low laugh against your ear, his grip on your hips tightening possessively.

"They left. Look at me angel. " Namjoon murmurs, pressing a soft kiss top of your head.

You lift your head up, still feeling a little dizzy. Your neck is still slightly sore from Namjoon's grip.

You look around, and sure enough the two guys are nowhere to be found.

Namjoon leans forward, his chin resting on your shoulder. "So how was that, sweetheart?" He asks, voice nonchalant.

You're still trying to process what happened, trying to control your breathing.

"Surreal." You manage to say, your mind conjuring up the image of the two men watching you. "That was... insane."

Namjoon lets out a low chuckle, his breath hot against your neck. "Surreal huh? Did you enjoy it?"

His hands slide up your waist, his fingers tracing patterns over your shirt.

"I did.. You?" you murmured

He presses a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear. "You want the honest answer angel?" He murmurs against your neck.

You shiver at the sensation, goosebumps running down your spine. "Yeah." You murmur, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

His hands continue to roam over your body, seemingly unable to keep them to himself. "Then, I loved it." He murmured, voice smug. "I loved the way they were looking at you, how desperate they were. But most of all..."

You can't help but shiver as his hands grip your hips possessively again. "Yeah?" You whisper, your mind still reeling from everything that just happened. "Most of all?"

Namjoon's mouth brushes against the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. "I loved the fact that they'll never have what I have.." His hands give your hips a squeeze. "You."

time skip.

You're lounging on loby, mindlessly scrolling through your phone with your friend. Namjoon is out with his friends.

"Hey." Your friend Minsoo says suddenly, catching your attention. "Is it just me or have Namjoon's friends always been lowkey hot? Like Jimin.. Fuck I wish he fuck me."

You nearly choke on your ice cold water, your phone dropping to your lap. "What?" You sputter out, trying to process her words. She's not wrong. "Jimin? Since when?" you laughed.

Minsoo rolls her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed." She crosses her legs, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I've always had a thing for him. Ever since I first met him. He's just so… Ugh." She lets out a sigh, fanning herself dramatically. "He's so hot."

You raise an eyebrow, a grin spreading across your face. "I didn't know you had a crush on him."

Minsoo rolls her eyes again, shaking her head.

"Don't get that smug look on your face." She huffs. "I've had a thing for him since you introduced us."

Your smirk widens. "Well, well, well look at that."

Minsoo playfully swats at your shoulder. "Shut up." She huffs, a hint of pink spreading across her cheeks. "It's not a big deal."

You can't help but chuckled, shaking your head. "It is a big deal if you've had a crush on him forever and never said anything."

Minsoo rolls her eyes again, a defensive edge to her voice. "What's the point of saying anything? He's your boyfriend's friend. You know how weird friendships can get when feelings are involved."

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Not really. My and Namjoon's friendship didn't change at al—"

She interrupts you. "No offense, but you two were practically made for each other."

You can’t argue with that. It's a fact. But still, you can't help but poke at Jill just a little bit more.

"But Jimin could still be interested in you." You can't help but tease.

Minsoo scoffs, shaking her head. "I seriously doubt it. Have you seen the guy? He's gorgeous. He could have any girl he wants."

You laugh at Minsoo's self-deprecating comment, shaking your head. "He is gorgeous. But I think you're underestimating yourself."

She looks at you skeptically. "Oh really?" Sarcasm laces her voice.

You nod, leaning back against the couch. "I'm being serious. You're pretty, smart, funny, and you're successful. He'd be stupid not to be interested in you."

Minsoo huffs, trying to downplay it. "It's easy for you to say, your boyfriend is literally a god among men."

You can't help but smile at the compliment. But you also can't resist the opportunity to needle your friend a little more. "You have a point. But Jimin could still be into you, ya know?"

Minsoo rolls her eyes again, but a small smile plays at the edge of her lips. "Let a girl dream, okay?"

You laugh, shaking your head at Jill's stubbornness.

"You're missing my point, Minsoo. It's not just about looks or successes. It's about what you can offer." You say softly.

"You're smart, witty, funny. You have a heart of gold. Those are things he can't just find anywhere."

Your friend lets out a sigh, her defenses seeming to lower slightly. "But what if I'm not his type?"

You can't help but roll your eyes at Jill's insecurities. "Minsoo, who cares about types? Types are stupid."

She looks at you skeptically. "You're only saying that because Namjoon is basically your ideal type."

You shrug, a small smile playing at your lips. "True. But I didn't fall for him because he fit my type. I fell for him because he's him."

Jill sigh, still unconvinced. "God, you're such a sap."

You throw a pillow at her, laughing. "And you're such a cynic."

She dodges the pillow easily, sticking out her tongue at you. "I'm just realistic."

You let out an exaggerated huff, crossing your arms. "Realistic my ass. oh perfect fucking timing. They're coming, I can hear them."

Minsoo's expression changes instantly, her eyes widening and her body going tense. She smoothens out her clothes, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh god, I look like a mess." She mutters, trying to fix her disheveled appearance.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "You always say that." You murmur.

Minsoo shoots you a panicked glare. "This time I actually do." She says frantically.

The sound of Namjoon’s deep voice echoing through the foyer suddenly fills the space. Minsoo instantly straightens up, trying to look composed.

You can hear the rest of the guys laughing and chattering but Namjoon's voice stands out the most, your heart skipping a beat as usual. Minsoo is practically vibrating next to you.

"I look fine right? I don't look like I just rolled out of bed or anything right?" She asks, still attempting to fix her hair.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. "You look fine. You're overthinking."

Minsoo doesn't seem convinced, still messing with her hair. "I should've worn something fancier. I look so basic."

You roll your eyes again. "You look great. Stop being ridiculous."

Namjoon and Jimin walk into the lobby. Minsoo immediately goes stiff, her cheeks turning a bright red as Jimin’s eyes land on her.

"Hello beautiful ladies." Namjoon murmured and smiled.

Minsoo is practically malfunctioning next to you, her eyes locked on Jimin. "Hi." She croaked out. You have to resist the urge to facepalm.

You exchange a glance with Namjoon, trying to hide your smirk. He raises his eyebrow slightly, clearly finding the situation amusing.

"I am so sorry Jill. It’s okay if we leave you alone with Jimin, right? We need to go back to the room with Y/N." Namjoon smiled.

Minsoo's eyes flickered away from Jimin to Namjoon, her face red.

"Y-yeah, it’s fine." She stutters out, still avoiding eye contact with Jimin. You exchange another glance with Namjoon, this time unable to hold back your smirk. He gives you a subtle nod, clearly enjoying the situation.

Namjoon wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

"Great. I'm going to borrow her, then." He murmured.

Jimin's eyes flicker to Namjoon's hand on your waist, a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face for just a split second. He quickly schooled his expression, turning back to Minsoo.

Minsoo manages to drag her gaze back to Jimin, her cheeks still flushed. She tries to summon a casual tone but fails miserably.

"S-sure, go ahead." She manages to squeak out.

Namjoon nods, then steers you away from the couches, hand still possessively on your waist.

As you walk away, you can feel Jimin's eyes on your back, and you can practically feel the tension between him and Minsoo from the distance.

Namjoon guides you down the long corridor, his grip relaxed but still possessively on your waist. He glances at your face, a smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Lets go baby." he murmured.

You try to act nonchalant, but you can't help the way your heart races as Namjoon’s hand rests possessively on your waist, the weight of it both comforting and exhilarating. You shoot him a sidelong glance, trying to appear unaffected.

"Going somewhere?" you ask casually, though the effect is ruined by the breathiness of your voice.

Namjoon doesn’t miss the hitch in your voice, his smirk growing wider.

"Just taking you private pool." His hand slides lower, possessively grabbing your hip, pulling you a little closer.

Your heart skips a beat in your chest, the possessiveness in his grip making your knees feel weak. You clear your throat, trying to hide the effect his touch has on you.

"Private pool, huh?" You murmur, feigning disinterest.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, the smug smirk still on his face. He stops in front of a door, turning to face you. His hand on your hip tugs you even closer, leaving barely any space between your bodies. "I hope you're wearing your bikini."

Your heart is pounding now, his proximity making it hard to think straight. You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence as his fingers dig into your hip possessively.

"Yeah, I am." You manage to get out, your words coming out breathy.

His other hand reaches up to push a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your earlobe. His thumb brushes against your neck, feeling the rapid pulse throbbing beneath your skin. His gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, a smug glint in his eyes.

"Good, cause I have a feeling it won't stay on for long."

He lets go of you and opens the door, revealing the private pool.

You try to regain control of your hammering heart, stepping inside the room. The pool is lit up by the bright moonlight filtering through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room.

Namjoon follows you in, closing the door behind him with a click. The sound echoes through the room, and you feel goosebumps break out on your skin.

Namjoon's eyes on you are heavy, his gaze scorching hot. You can feel his eyes roving over your body, burning through your clothes. He steps closer, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches out, fingers grazing your waist. His touch sends a jolt through you, goosebumps erupting on your skin.

"Let me take it off this shirt." he murmured

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers slide under your shirt, his hands skimming along the bare skin of your waist. His fingers move higher, grazing the sides of your breasts, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

You nod, your mouth dry, unable to form words. Namjoon's hands slide up your body, gripping the hem of your shirt and peeling it off.

You stand there in your bikini, feeling exposed under his intense gaze. Namjoon's eyes rake over your body, a possessive heat in his eyes.

Namjoon's fingers trail over your belly, his eyes following the path his fingers take. He steps even closer, his body pressed up against yours. His hand moves up, over the swell of your breasts, fingers grazing over your skin. His touch is tantalizing, barely there, and it's driving you crazy.

"Let's dive in baby," he murmured. ''Come on.''

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your skin burning from the intensity of his touch. You nod, unable to form words, and let him lead you to the pool. The cool water feels good against your overheated skin as you step into the pool, the water reaching your waist. Namjoon follows suit, the water splashing around you.

''Cold?'' he murmured.

You shiver, the sudden drop in temperature a shock to your overheated skin.

"Yeah, a little." You reply, your voice trembling slightly.

Namjoon smirks, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him.

"You'll warm up, don't worry." He murmured, his hands sliding over your back, pulling you flush against his chest.

Your breasts press against his chest, your skin sliding against his.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close. His hands slide up your back, his fingertips gliding over your spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His fingers find the strings of your bikini.

His fingers deftly untie the strings, the top of your bikini falling away and leaving your breasts exposed to him.

Your nipples harden in the cool air, your breath hitching in your chest. He cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing them.

A moan escapes your lips as he cups your breasts, his hands rough but gentle. His fingers teasingly graze your nipples, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. They pebble under his touch, your nipples stiffening.

“God, you’re perfect.” He murmured, his fingers continuing to tease your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

Your legs spread instinctively, making room for him as he places himself between your thighs. His hands slide down your thighs, squeezing your flesh. He grabs your bikini bottom, pulling it to the side.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, your hands gripping his arms for support. His fingers pinch your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He lifts you up. You sit down on the edge of the pool.

"Spit on my hand baby." he murmured.

You nod, reaching down and collecting saliva in your mouth. You then spit into his waiting hand, your face flushing red at the dirty act. He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Good girl." He murmured, his hand moving down to his shorts.

His fingers grip the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down just enough to free his cock. There's already a bead of precum forming at the tip, and he uses your spit to slide his hand up and down his length. He lets out a low groan, his eyes locking with yours.

He keeps his eyes on you, his hand working himself. The sight is mesmerizing, his cock hard and thick in his hand. He lets out a low groan.

"You make me so hard." He murmured, his hand tightening around the base of his cock.

You can only watch, your mouth dry, mesmerized by the sight of him. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your legs spreading wider. You're so close, you can almost feel how hard he is, how hot and hard he is for you.

You reach out, your hand grazing over his cock. He lets out a groan, his head falling back at the slightest touch.

“God….” he moaned. "Need you."

His grip on his cock tightens, his breaths coming in quick pants. His eyes lock on yours, dark with desire. "Get in the pool."

You swallow hard, your throat dry. You nod, getting up from the edge of the pool. You step into the water, the cool liquid embracing your body.

Namjoon follows close behind, his hands immediately finding your waist. He pulls you to the shallow side of the pool, pressing your back against the edge. The roughness against your skin makes you shiver.

Without a word, he pulls you up, wrapping your legs around him. He holds you up against the edge, his hands gripping your ass.

"Hold on." He murmured.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your grip tight. He hikes you up higher, aligning his cock with your entrance. And then, with one swift thrust, he slides into you.

Your head falls back against the edge of the pool, a gasp falling from your lips. He fills you up completely

He lifts his head up, his eyes dark with desire. He takes your mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth. He swallows your moans, his hands moving to the back of your head to hold you in place. His hip snaps up, hitting that spot deep inside you.

Your back arches, your thighs clenching around him. You claw at his back, the pleasure coursing through you almost overwhelming. It’s intense. You pull away from his mouth, your breaths coming in short pants. He doesn’t stop his movements, his pace relentless.

“Too good." You gasp out.

He lets out a guttural groan, your words sending shivers down his spine.

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I’m filling you up?” he murmured.

Your nod, unable to form words as he continues to move inside of you. He’s hitting that spot each time, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time. His pace is relentless

"Yeah, god, want you.. all of you…. god, more." You gasp out, the words just a jumble of moans and pleads.

“Yeah baby?” He murmured, his grip on your hips almost bruising.

"You want more?” He punctuates each word with a hard thrust. “Is this not enough for you?” He asks, his tone low and rough. “Or do you want me to give you everything I’ve got?"

His words go straight to your core, his grip, and the roughness of his tone sending shivers down your spine. Your nails dig into his back, trying to hold on.

"Everything," you beg. "Everything, please."

He lets out a deep growl, his movements growing more urgent. He pushes deeper, harder, the pressure building up inside of you. It’s too much, too much, but not enough.

He leans forward, his head dropping to your ear.

“You want everything, huh?” he murmured. “Turn around."

You nod, your body too weak to do anything else. You turn around, your hands gripping the edge of the pool. Namjoon doesn’t waste any time. He grabs your hips, pulling you back towards him.

Without any warning, he slams into you from behind. You let out a strangled cry, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against the edge of the pool. He sets a ruthless pace, his hands holding you in place.

His hips slam into yours with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the pool.

Your body is completely at his mercy, the pleasure too intense to process. His grip is bruising on your hips, holding you in place. And yet, you want more. You push back on him, desperate for more.

“You wanted everything,” he murmured. “You’re getting it.”

His words are like a switch, turning you into a wanton mess under him.

He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back. His hands slide up your waist, trailing up your body to your breasts. He cups them in his hands, squeezing them roughly.

“You like that, huh?” He murmured, his fingers pinching hard on your nipples. “Like how I’m using you.”

You can only moaned in response, the roughness of the edge of the pool against your chest adding another layer of sensation. The water splashes around you, the sound echoing in the room. You can feel him everywhere, inside you, behind you, all over you.

It’s too much and you’re going to lose it soon

“Oh god, I’’m gonna- ah-“ you cry out.

His hand shoots up, grabbing your jaw and turning your head to the side. His mouth crashes into yours, his tongue invading your mouth. Your hands come up, grasping at his hair as he kisses you.

His tongue muffles your moans, but they were just replaced by the sound of the water sloshing around you as he continues to pound into your from behind. It fills the silence, his hips pushing against your ass, his skin sliding your skin..

You pull away from his mouth gasping for air, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

“Not yet.” He murmured, his hands tight around your waist.

His pace is brutal, his hips slams into yours with a force that sends waves of pleasure through you. He’s gripping you like his life depends on it and you feel like you’re going to break. But you wanted this.

"You asked for this, didn’t you? You wanted me to give you everything." He murmured, his voice low and rough in your ear.

You nod, unable to form any words.You feel him thicken inside you, his pace picking up even more. He’s close, you can tell by the way he’s panting in your ear. And yet he doesn’t stop.

“Open your mouth baby.” He murmured, and you clench around him at his words.

You part your lips, opening your mouth obediently. His fingers slide into your mouth, filling it up. You suck on them, your tongue swirling around them as if it was his cock. You moan around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them. It’s filthy. It’s dirty.

"God," he growled, his fingers still in your mouth. "You need your mouth full don’t you? You need something to keep you full."

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any more intense, you feel him slide a third finger into your mouth, filling your mouth even further.

You moaned around his fingers, the sounds coming out muffled and obscene. You could feel your clit twitch and throb at his words. You needed him everywhere, you needed more. You tried to push back against him, your body crying out for more, for release.

“God, you’re so loud.” He groaned. “You’re going to get us caugh. Do you want someone to watch you again? huh?"

His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to look ahead. And there, in the far corner of the room, was a mirror.

You could see everything. You couldn’t look away. You could see the way you were bent over, your back arched and your ass up in the air. You could see his hips slamming into you from behind, the way his cock was covered in your juices.

You could see his face, dark and almost feral as he stares back at the mirror, his eyes fixed on yours face. Your face burned with humiliation and it only turned you on even more to see yourself like this.

“Seeing this turns you on, doesn’t it?” He murmured in your ear. "seeing yourself like this." Your hands scratched at the edge of the pool, your mind going blank as the pressure built up inside you.

His fingers pull out of your mouth, leaving you panting and gasping for air. His hands settle on your hips again, his grip tight as he pounds into you from behind. You could feel his balls slapping against your clit, the sensation driving you insane.

”God I’m close,” he groaned, his pace becoming even more unforgiving. His fingers dig into your hips, his hands holding you in place. You could feel him grow even harder inside you, the pressure almost too much to bear.

“Me too,” you managed to gasp out, your voice wrecked.

"You’re gonna take it all, aren’t you, huh? Take every last drop." He murmured, his pace becoming even more relentless. "God, fill you up so pretty. " he murmured, his grip on you tightening. "Come with me."

And with that, you’re tipped over the edge. A loud moan tears through your throat as your orgasm hits you, your body trembling and clenching around him.

He lets out a low groan, his fingers digging even deeper as he follows close behind. His hips still as he fills you up. His hand clenches around your jaw, “You’re so good to me, baby." He murmured. A shiver ran through your body as his words sunk in, your skin on fire from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through you.

You collapse boneless on top of the edge of the pool, you panting for air. Namjoon slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty and drained. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. His chest is resting on your back, his breaths coming in short pants against your skin. No one says anything for several moments. The only sounds in the room were the soft slapping of the water, as it splashes around you, and the sound of your uneven breaths.

Then, finally, Namjoon lets out a low groan and straightens up. You feel his hands on your waist, turning you around to face him. You look up at him, and finds him looking down at you with a small smile on his face. His hair is messy, sticking to his forehead in damp clumps. His cheeks are tinged red, his lips red and slightly swollen. He looked absolutely wrecked. You’ve probably looked worse.

He reaches one hand out, pushing your hair out of your face. His hand cups your chin, tilting your face up. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You okay, angel?" He murmured, his hands running up and down your arms. You nod, unable to form words still. He smiles at you, his other hand reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Told you you'd warm up." He murmured, his grin turning smug. He reaches down, lifting you up bridal style. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling too boneless to protest.

“You’re terrible, that was so dirty.” You groaned, burying your face into his neck. Your legs still felt week, your legs still shaking around his waist.

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Just the way you like it, baby.” He murmured. He steps out of the pool, his arms still holding you up. The cool nighttime air hits your heated skin, causing goosebumps to pepper your skin. Namjoon lets out a low whistle at the sight of your naked body.

He carries you over to a nearby bench, sitting you down gently. He kneels down between your thighs, his hands running up and down your legs, chasing away the cold.

“You good? Need an ice pack for that perfect ass?” he murmured jokingly.

You laugh, shaking your head. "God no." You murmur, still feeling too boneless to move.

Namjoon chuckles, his hands still running up and down your legs, warming you up. He stands up, picking up your discarded bikini top from the ground. He hands it to you, a small smirk on his face.

You groan, reaching out to take the bikini from him. You put it back on, struggling a bit to hook it back together. Namjoon watches you with amusement, his eyes lingering on your exposed skin as you fumble with the straps.

He chuckles, his hands sliding up your back to help you put the top on properly. His fingers graze your back as he hooks up the straps, sending goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“You’re so cute, it’s almost painful.” He murmured, reaching out to help you when you struggled with the strap, his fingers grazing your skin.

You stick your tongue out at him, trying to hide the fact that you were secretly preening at his words.

“Fuck off.” You huffed.

“So rude.” He murmured.

You roll your eyes, trying to act nonchalant. “You love me.” You murmur, your breath hitching in your chest as his fingers trail over your skin. He chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Damn right I do.” He murmured against your skin.

Something about the way he said it, the possessiveness in his tone, has your stomach doing flips. You try to shake off the feeling as Namjoon sits down next to you on the bench.

“Come here.” He murmured, reaching out to pull you onto his lap. "Hug me."

You let out a small 'oomph' as he pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck like usual.

Namjoon lets out a satisfied hum, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, his fingers running up and down your back, tracing your spine.

After a few moments, Namjoon speaks up. “I hope we didn’t traumatize anyone.” He murmured. His tone is light, a hint of humor underlying his words.

You let out a small chuckle, lifting your head from his neck to look at him. "You know we did." You joked.

Namjoon lets out a low chuckle. "I love you, angel." He murmured, his hands running up and down your back.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. "I love you too." You murmur against his skin. His hands slide up your back, reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of your neck.

He lets out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you. You feel his nose nuzzle into your shoulder, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

“I wanna just stay like this forever.” He murmured.

"You'd get sick of me." You murmured, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

Namjoon shakes his head, his hands sliding up to cup your face. He pulls back to look at you, his eyes soft.

"No, I wouldn’t." He murmured, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. "Never."

You feel your heart flutter at his words, your stomach doing flips. His gaze is unwavering, his eyes searching your face, as if he's trying to commit every feature to memory.

You take in his face too, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers. "Never?" You murmur, your voice soft and vulnerable.

Today was brutal: six hours of vertical maneuvering equipment drills, followed by three hours of hand-to-hand combat training that left your knuckles raw and your legs trembling.

Levi stares at you from across the mess hall. He hasn’t touched you all day—which isn’t abnormal, since he likes to keep a professional distance during the day, even though he shares your bed at night. The Scouts know, because how could they not? They see the way you interact everyday, the subtle shift in his gaze when you enter a room, how his orders to you carry an undercurrent of protectiveness that he extends to no one else. You’ve seen Hange smirk more than once when Levi had wordlessly refilled your water canteen before his own.

Now, he pushes the door open to his private quarters. Here, he’s yours, and you are his. Ranks dissolve. You become one.

“Strip,” he says, locking the door. His eyes have already begun their slow descent down your body. “You’re filthy.”

You peel away the sweat-stained uniform, watching as he does the same. He hangs his jacket, but his eyes never leave you. When you stand before him in nothing but the candlelight, skin flushed and marked with the day’s bruises, his expression softens.

“Come here,” he murmurs. You cross the small space between you, your breath hitching as his hands frame your waist. His thumbs trace the bones of your hips protruding against your skin, mapping the damage of the day. “You pushed too hard on the southern ridge today.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper. You don’t know what it is, but being this close to him after hours of forced separation—the captain barking orders across the training grounds while you drilled until your lungs burned—ignites a liquid heat low in your belly.

“It’s not fine,” he counters. He walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. The mattress is firm beneath you as you sink down. Levi follows, kneeling between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, parting them. “But you performed well. Better than well.”

His breath ghosts against your inner thigh. You shift slightly, your fingers gripping his bedspread. The anticipation inside you coils tight, sharpening your senses until you can hear your heartbeat.

“You’ve been good today,” he says as he presses your knees wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. Those grey eyes, usually so cold and assessing in the field, burn now. “So spread your legs so I can fuck you with my tongue.”

You obey, the words sending a shockwave through you. You let your thighs fall open completely. Levi doesn’t hesitate—he never does, not when he’s dead set on a decision. He leans in, his mouth finding your cunt. 

His tongue traces your folds, intent on drawing out every possible response. He licks you slowly, then swirls upward to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves, circling, then retreating and diving to your sex again. 

“Levi,” you gasp. Your hips tilt toward his mouth involuntarily. One of his hands slides up to grip your hip, holding you steady.

Control. He always needs to control. Even here, even with his mouth on you and your taste on his lips, he’s your captain—demanding your surrender. And you give it, willingly, completely. Your head falls back against the mattress as he increases the pressure, tongue flicking in rapid strokes that have your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands.

He doesn’t rush. He builds your pleasure layer by layer. He brings two fingers up to press against your entrance, teasing before sliding deep. He pumps and curls in a rhythm that matches the working of his mouth. The dual sensation shatters you. All you can feel is the wet heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, and the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.

Your release builds like a tide. When you cum, it crashes through you with such a force that your back bows off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat that you barely recognize as your own. Levi doesn’t relent, prolonging the spasms with gentle licks until you’re trembling and pushing at his shoulders with weak hands.

He rises then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight of him—kneeling between your legs, face flushed, lips swollen and glistening—sends a wave of heat through your already-spent body. You watch breathlessly as he sheds the remainder of his clothing.

“Turn over,” he commands. “Hands on the headboard.”

Your muscles protest, but you obey, crawling to the middle of the bed and pushing to your knees, gripping the wooden slats of the headboard. You feel completely exposed. You feel the mattress shift as he moves behind you, his hands gripping your hips.

He enters you in one smooth thrust, filling you so completely that your breath catches. Your forehead drops against your knuckles. The stretch burns perfectly, a sweet ache that has you pushing back against him, desperate for more. Levi groans, a low sound that vibrates through his chest. For a moment, he stills, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

This. This is what he needs after today—this surrender to intimacy and rapture.

Then he moves, and all coherent thoughts disappear. He sets a fast rhythm, each thrust pushing you forward against the headboard. He’s relentless, angling his hips to strike that deep, perfect spot inside you with every stroke. His hands are rough on your waist, pulling you back onto him with force that will surely leave bruises come morning.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “You feel—so—”

You push back to meet him, your knuckles blanched against the wood. Your exhaustion from today has transformed into something more primal. A need to be claimed. Marked. Owned by a man who commands soldiers but trembles when he’s inside you.

Levi’s hand snakes around your hip, finding the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. You sob his rank and name in broken alternation—“Captain, Levi, please”—until the world whites out. 

Your second climax rips through you violently. Your inner walls clamp down around him. He curses, his rhythm faltering. Three more deep thrusts and he buries himself all the way, his body pulling taut as he paints your inner walls. His teeth find the space where your neck and shoulder meet to muffle his own raw cry.

Silence crashes down, broken only by the sound of your mutual ragged breathing. He falls forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress for a moment before he shifts. He withdraws carefully and pulls you down with him. You lie against his chest, trembling, listening to the slowing thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

Levi’s fingers trace idle patterns along your spine. Then he tilts his head, his ear cocked toward the wall that separates his quarters from the general shared quarters corridor. A wicked smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think they heard us?” he asks. His hand slides down to grip your ass. “Maybe we should give it a second round. Louder this time, just to be sure.”

You laugh, the sound muffled against his collarbone. You wonder if they did hear. And perhaps, if they did, you wonder if they know that their immaculate, terrifying captain is currently tangled in the sheets with you, planning to wreck you all over again.

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