➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

Jeongguk, 26 Investigative journalist at Golden News Network Less than a mile away To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only). 

“Your profile is dog shit,” Seokjin deadpans. The cringe settles into the downward turn of his lips as he swipes through his best friend’s Tinder account. “You’d be bitchless if you weren’t hot.” 

“Jin, watch your mouth.” Jeongguk shoots a deadly glare toward the older man. “There are children around.” 

From the kitchen, Jeongguk cranes his neck to take a peek into the messy living room where his adopted daughter sits, criss-crossed, in front of the television. Minji is too distracted by her weekly cartoon updates to even notice the crude language. 

“Minny, don’t sit too close to the TV,” he sends his daughter a stern yet gentle reminder. “Your eyeballs are gonna fall out of your head if you do.” 

A frown etches itself onto Minji’s face as she scooches back on her knees. 

Jeongguk returns his attention to the dinner he’s preparing tonight. A pot of homemade tomato sauce simmers on the stovetop. 

In the back of his mind, he wonders if his dating profile is as terribly unappealing as Seokjin says it is. Otherwise he wouldn’t have so many notifications, right? ー Messages from girls, asking if he could be their daddy too. Jeongguk’s bio is short and straight to the point. He’s not that ugly, or so he thinks. Being a journalist is a respectable occupation with steady income. So what could be so bad about it? 

Is it the fact that Jeongguk isn’t even his real name ー nothing but a fake persona to help him with his investigation? Maybe it’s because his adopted daughter doesn’t have a striking resemblance to him, and his pictures look like a shady scam. 

But there’s no way that they can see through Jeongguk’s facade. After all, he’s the best spy in the agency. His specialty is deceit. It’s foolproof. There’s no reason not to believe him. 

“I think they’re really into the whole dad thing,” Jeongguk nods, focusing on the sliced onions in front of him. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeate through the air.

“Really?” Seokjin says in feigned disbelief. He leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable. “It’s not because of the video where you’re deepthroating a deep dish pizza? Just for that, I would have gotten on my hands and knees to suck your di-.” 

“Can you seriously watch your language?” Jeongguk cuts him off before pointing a knife in his direction. 

Kim Seokjin may be his closest colleague, but that’s exactly where he draws the line. Seokjin is nothing more than Jeongguk’s informant. His job is to get the latest intel on all of his targets, and that’s it. He’s not here to fool around or make friends.

“We took that video in Chicago. Doesn’t it show that I’m well traveled?” Jeongguk asks with genuine curiosity. He remembers reading an article about how women love that sort of stuff. 

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s gonna be a long, long night,” he mutters to himself. His best friend is beyond the point of fixing, but at least he makes a good househusband. 

Jeongguk wipes his hands against his frilly apron before dipping a wooden spoon into the pot. He inches the tomato sauce closer to his pursed lips as he blows on the piping hot confection. It could use more parsley. 

Just when Jeongguk thought he could distract himself with cooking, he suddenly remembers the pressing problem that occupies all of his brain space: he is in desperate need of a wife. The constant reminder is taped to the front of the fridge 一 a letter from Minji’s prospective elementary school. 

Dear Jeon family,  Congratulations! Your child’s preliminary results indicate that he/she has passed the entrance exam at Hwa Yang Academy. Our institution carries a prestigious reputation, accepting only the nation’s brightest students. Due to your child’s outstanding academic score, we invite you to the second phase of admissions where a family interview will be conducted. Please have both parents and child present at Yeon Hwa Hall on the first of May, promptly at 10am.  It is our good fortune that you chose to apply to Hwa Yang Academy. We look forward to welcoming you and your family to our renowned institution.  Sincerely,  Department of Admissions at Hwa Yang Academy

The fact that Minji received an interview at the top school in the nation is amazing beyond belief. Everything is going according to plan. The only problem is that Jeon Jeongguk is, in fact, bitchless. 

“Remind me again, why do you need to get Minji into that school?” Seokjin furrows his brows. He’s never seen his best friend this stressed. The way that Jeongguk is willing to jump through hoops makes him feel as if he’s never wanted anything so bad in his life. 

Jeongguk clenches the wooden spoon in his hand, threatening to give himself a splinter. “I have to get access to Hwa Yang,” he says, like it’s do or die. “There are families with infinite amounts of political power there, including the prime minister. The big boss suspects that they’re planning a rebellion, and I need to get close to them to expose their secrets. Obviously I can’t even touch the elite without pretending to be one myself. So I need this family to be as perfect as it can be.” 

“You think you can prevent a whole rebellion and save the country if you go to a few parent association meetings? Bake a batch of cookies like a soccer mom?” Seokjin’s questions are sarcastic, but he’s not wrong. He needs to infiltrate the prime minister’s inner circle, befriend him, and uncover his government secrets. But doing so would be impossible without first securing a wife and earning acceptance into the school. 

“If it comes down to making a paper mache volcano, I’ll do it.” The determination in Jeongguk’s eyes is unwavering. 

“You really expect to get through the admission interview with a fake wife? I can’t even get a single date, but you think you can get married by the end of the month?” Seokjin laughs at the expense of his own heartache. 

“Maybe the mommies would like you more if you weren’t so de-looshe-in-ull,” Minji chimes. 

Has she been listening all along?

“Delusional?” Seokjin scoffs, fueled with exasperation. Lately, he’s had thoughts about being a kinder person, yet a part of him still believes that he deserves the last word in every conversation. “Where did you learn about that?” he queries, balling up his hands. 

“Appa,” Minji replies, pointing at the man in question. 

Seokjin winds his fist back as if he’s throwing a punch across the room, but he listens to the screaming voice in the back of his head. The one that tells him he’s much too pretty to get pummeled today ー that his face would look better if Jeongguk’s fist wasn’t imprinted on the surface of it. So instead of starting a fight with a five year old girl, Seokjin folds his knees against his chest, cursing under his breath. Maybe he can be the bigger person. 

“So why can’t the agency send another spy operative to play house with you?” Seokjin asks, resorting to a life of civility under Jeongguk’s roof. He forces a smile through gritted teeth and returns his attention to the dating app in the palm of his hands, half-listening to his best friend. 

“Well, a bunch of police officers arrested our agents. There’s only a few people left on the team. Haven’t you seen the news? The government is cracking down on espionage.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw. “They use women as their scapegoat, filling up some stupid quota for incarceration.” How can men be so ignorant and simple minded?  

Ironically, Seokjin flashes his phone in front of Jeongguk’s face. “Swipe left or right, what do you think?” Yep, the minds of men are pretty simple, and Seokjin definitely didn’t hear a single word that came out of Jeongguk’s mouth. 

Y/N Daycare teacher at children’s municipal library 1 mile away Critics review: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Loves her emotional support characters, and will only ever love her emotional support characters”  “Can’t cook to save her life, but she can top off your ramen with a fried egg”  “Pros: loving and down to earth, great with kids. Cons: doesn’t know her own strength, hates mushrooms, has a quirky laugh” 

“You know what? I’ll swipe right. You’ll get more matches if you do,” Seokjin suggests with a determined nod. 

Jeongguk stares at his informant in disbelief, jaw slack. There’s no way this stupid app is going to land him a wife by the end of the month. 

“What do you think about this guy?” 

“Hard pass. I mean, look at his photos. His whole personality is about working out.” 

“Okay, then what about this one?” 

“Nah, he looks too stuck-up. I don’t think he can take a joke.” 

“How about her? She’s pretty, right?” 

“She doesn’t even have a bio! What if she’s a catfish?” 

From the way your coworkers appraise these people, they act as if they’re the ones looking for a partner. Because as a matter of fact, it’s your phone in their hand, swiping away on your dating app. 

It doesn’t matter if there are library books that need to be stowed away or paperwork to be filed. They pay no mind to the clock indicating that there’s 30 minutes left in the work day because finding you a significant other seems to be their only priority. 

“Sujin, stop being so picky. At this rate, y/n isn’t going to get a date if you swipe left on everyone,” Yumi whines. 

“Why did you make a profile for me anyways? I don’t need to be in a relationship.” The sound of your widely unpopular opinion makes the two girls look up with big, round eyes. 

“Aren’t you ever lonely?” There’s a hint of pity that lingers in Yumi’s voice. 

You find it quite offensive that she would think that. As much as you’d like to keep your job, you would also like to rip the rug out from beneath Yumi’s feet until she falls flat on her face. But the reality is, you really need this job. So all you do is shake your head and grit your teeth. “No, not really.” 

“Life is soo much more romantic when you have someone to love.” Sujin’s unblinking eyes make you wonder if she’s being held hostage against her will. Is her boyfriend tapping into her phone, listening to all of her conversations? 

“y/n, you’ve never been in a relationship before. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something?” There’s a pout that rests on Yumi’s lips. Her tone leaks with faux sympathy. “Hobi just got married, and Nari’s having a baby. We’re all grown up, and I don’t want you to feel left out, especially at my engagement party next weekend. It might bring out some… bitter feelings.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, reminding yourself that you should definitely not push Yumi down the stairs at the end of your shift. “I think I’ll be content on my own.” 

“Here, look through the app for a little while. Maybe you’ll find someone that you like. Just give it a chance, okay?” Sujin hands the phone back to you. “You should really think about it. San tells me he’s been worried about you.”

Your expression falls upon hearing your younger brother’s name. Of all people, San should know that you value nothing more than your independence. 

“He just wants you to be happy ー for someone to take care of you.” 

Some part of you believes that Sujin is projecting her opinions and throwing your brother under the bus. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you assure her. “I can be happy on my own.” 

Nowadays, many people come to believe that a wedding ring is the solution to everyone’s misfortune. Supposedly, it’ll keep you safe from all things cruel in this world. They don’t seem to realize that there are problems that run much deeper than being single. It’s as if something must be inherently wrong with you if you’ve never had a partner, let alone a first kiss. 

You have to admit that sometimes, their words can hurt like knives. It’s damaging to your self-esteem if you really think about it. Because surely, everyone wants to be loved and to be desired ー to be chosen. How nice would it be to lie in bed, held and comforted by something other than the warmth of your own body?

If you were to have a relationship, perhaps you could go to bookstores together and read for hours on end. The two of you could laugh and sing at the top of your lungs, dancing like fools in the dim light of the bathroom with toothbrushes tucked between molars. You could listen to ballads on the radio and finally resonate with the lyrics, plastering a goofy, lovestruck smile on your face. If you were in love, you could share childhood memories, and even the mundane details would be tucked away for safekeeping. You’d know one another's biggest fears and greatest vulnerabilities. Even when you reveal the ugliest parts of yourself, they would choose you over and over again. 

If there was just one person to run their fingers across all of your curves, your dips, your scars, only to tell you that you are still the object of their affection, then perhaps you would give love a chance.

But having thought about love your entire life, and never yet to experience it, you’re certain that you’re better off on your own. Ever since you were a little kid, it’s always been you, yourself, and your grief. You’ve harbored yourself in your own bones for decades, so who knows you better than you know yourself ー truly and completely unfiltered? With your mind and wit so sharp, who will find you lovable when they discover there’s a blade where your heart is? 

If you were to find a partner, there is simply no way that you can continue the life that you have. You could never return to them at the end of the night, bloodied and bruised, with no questions asked. Surely, it’s not an easy pill to swallow when you tell them that you're an assassin. There’s no sugar coating that. 

Much like being a daycare teacher, being an assassin is just another job. You started living this secret identity because it earned enough money to take care of your younger brother after your parents had passed away. It put food on the table and cash toward your bills. Money would roll into your bank account by the thousands. At 18 years old, that type of money was unfathomable. But now that San is old enough to take care of himself, there’s really no need to continue this lifestyle. 

Yet you pursue the chase because there’s a certain thrill that comes from seeking justice and vigilance. These monsters no longer hide beneath your brother’s bed. Instead, they lurk between the shadows ー among the alleyways and abandoned parts of town. They prey on those who are weak and exploit them for all that they are. 

If the law enforcement team is never going to uphold their end of the social contract, you have to be the one to act first and eliminate them. So with every job completed, you can be certain that the world is safer one hit at a time. 

But to continue being an assassin, you have to keep this secret under wraps. You’ll be forced to hide under a life of normalcy, as nothing more than a naive and innocent daycare teacher at the local library ー a background character in the story of others. In all honesty, you prefer to keep your secrets tucked away. Because to be loved is to be known, and you simply cannot let that happen. 

Some people aren’t made for romance, and maybe you’re one of them. Nobody shall ever hold your heart in their hands without pricking their own flesh. 

Despite all that is said and done, some part of you thinks that there’s no harm in checking out the unpromising dating app. Curiosity gets the best of you as you mindlessly swipe through all of the profiles. However, everyone you’ve come across is either too shallow, too arrogant, or too boring. 

A defeated sigh slips past your lips until you come across a certain profile. You look closer at the photos, inspecting each one with great care. There are only so many pictures: one of him and his dog, a second one of him shoving a Chicago deep dish down his throat, and another with a young child. Tattoos litter across his sun-kissed skin, and piercings scatter his handsome face ー beautiful in the most unorthodox ways.

His bio reads: “To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only).” 

Have you seen this man before? Could it be… him? 

The longer that you stare at his profile, the more concerned you become. At this rate, you’ve created an entire fantasy about a relationship with this stranger, and now you’re planning the dinner menu for your wedding. But there’s no way that you’d actually consider swiping right and messaging him, right? You don’t even want a boyfriend! This man could be joking for all you know. 

When the clock strikes the hour, a chime resounds through the air. You shake your head, finally coming to your senses. You slip your device into your pocket, forgetting about the man who lives in your phone. 

Jeongguk. His name is Jeongguk. 

“Appaaa!” There’s a piercing cry that slices through the air as the little girl begs for her father’s affection. From behind the bookshelves, the curious librarian pokes her head between the gaps to catch a glimpse of the commotion. 

“Don’t let go, please, please, pleeease!” The young child slips her tiny hand into her father’s, shaking it back and forth with a sense of urgency. 

Jeongguk stands frozen in place. The apples of his cheeks darken into a rosy hue. It’s a little embarrassing to be that parent ー the one who can’t control his child’s outbursts in the middle of a public space, let alone a library, an academic sanctuary that promises peace and quiet. 

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Jeongguk crouches down to meet his daughter’s innocent expression. “Minny, I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I ask that you give me ten minutes, okay?” His voice is firm and assertive. It’s a little rough around the edges, but it can’t be helped. He speaks in a way that commands attention from the room. This is the only way he knows how to demand respect from his subordinates. 

“I just need to pick up a few things. We can go home afterwards, so be a good girl until then,” Jeongguk bargains. “You can go to the playroom, and the nice librarian will take care of you.” 

Minji squeezes her tiny hands into fists, and she dies on the inside. Tears form in the corner of her eyes. Even the slightest change in her father’s tone makes her believe that she’s done something wrong. Her worst nightmare flashes before her eyes. 

Would her father abandon if she were to misbehave? Or worse, would he dare to return her to the orphanage she was adopted from? What if her biggest fear comes to fruition? After all, it’s not uncommon for parents to realize far too late that kids are too difficult to handle. Then, they’re left hoping and praying for some kind of return policy for their own flesh and blood. 

Minji’s eyes become glossy at the thought of it, unlocking a hidden memory from the past, but she refuses to let herself falter underneath his piercing stare. Yet no matter how hard she tries to keep the tears at bay, her emotions get the best of her, and her resolve crumbles into smithereens. After all, she’s only five years old. 

It appears that the authoritative approach only works in the combat room, but perhaps not with a five year old girl. So Jeongguk lowers his defenses and drops to his knees. He wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, and she sniffles even harder when he comforts her. 

There’s something about the little girl’s demeanor that reminds Jeongguk of himself when he was younger. Perhaps it’s the need for her father’s approval ー the desire to please and put others above herself. Maybe it’s her tenacity for standing tall and strong despite the dull ache in her tender heart. 

“You can let it all out,” he reaffirms. A beat of silence passes by while he caresses her cheek, allowing the tears to fall. “You ’kay now?” 

Minji reluctantly agrees with the slow nod of her head, but she avoids her father’s strong gaze, staring down at her shoes, sullen. When the warmth of her father’s hand disappears, another sniffle racks through her body. 

Normally, Minji is never one to throw a tantrum, but what does Jeongguk know? Just when he thought he had a hang of the whole “parenting” thing, he’s thrown into a loop. In spite of Jeongguk’s confident demeanor, he genuinely doesn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone a daughter. 

In his past ten years of being an undercover spy, he has diffused nuclear bombs and hacked into government files, but nothing has ever prepared him for being a single parent. Yet as a man and a father, he needs to do better. He needs to be better. The least he can do is try.

Jeongguk raises a hand between their bodies, extending his pinky for her to interlock, pledging his vow. “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes, I swear.” He reassures his daughter before planting a kiss on the crown of her head. He crosses his fingers, silently praying that she won’t cry again. 

A dribble of snot falls from Minji’s nose. Her eyelashes are soaked. A dramatic hiccup heaves through her tiny, five-year old body. 

Jeongguk can feel the venomous judgment of everyone around him. They must think that he’s utterly unfit to be a father, and they would be right. 

They would wonder: What kind of child causes a scene in public, screaming, crying, and begging her father not to abandon her? How can he send her to the playroom where there’s nothing but disgusting germs and snotty kids? Is he seriously going to hand off his responsibilities to a total stranger in an underfunded public institution? 

They can easily write Jeongguk off as a villain ー a big, scary man with piercings and tattoos. They could hurl accusations at him with no regard as to where they land. All it takes is a quick glance and a first impression (a false one at that). Obviously, they would think he’s someone who’s not built for child rearing because of the slits in his eyebrows and the gel in his hair. There must not be a gentle bone that resides in his big, burly body, but for that, they would be wrong.

The worst part about this whole “father” situation is not necessarily the judgment of others. He is familiar with scrutiny, and he knows it all too well. Rather, it’s that Jeongguk was never particularly fond of having children of his own. Some people are not cut out for fatherhood, and that’s simply the truth of the matter. But that doesn’t mean he won't do his best. He can’t let Minji down. He won’t. 

As if Minji could read his thoughts, she raises her arms, begging to be picked up. Her sniffles have long died down. 

Jeongguk takes a deep breath before caving into her wishes and hooking an arm around her knees. Minji’s grimy, little hands cling around his neck, and an inaudible, celebratory noise escapes from her lips. 

Minji nuzzles her head beneath her father’s chin. She chatters about the incomprehensible things that only five year olds would understand. She is an enigma beyond her father’s own understanding, but he is determined to learn the ins and outs of this child no matter what it takes, even if it kills him. 

After Jeongguk had finally dropped Minji off at the library’s playroom, he peruses the non-fiction shelves in search of answers. 

How the hell is he going to raise a child? 

He thumbs through all of the top-rated parenting books available, skimming through the blurbs, trying to absorb enough information to pass judgment on them. Because if he’s going to follow parenting advice from someone else, they better be successful in their trials. Jeongguk doesn’t want to be the one to fuck up his own child’s brain chemistry.

There’s a sudden tap on his shoulder that helps Jeongguk to escape from the existential dread of fatherhood.

“Excuse me, sir.” A soft voice sounds from behind him. Your breath catches onto the nape of his neck.  

“How did this woman sneak up on me without me noticing? Maybe I’m losing my touch.” Jeongguk wonders, shocked by his carelessness. Because from behind, he didn’t hear the fall of a single footstep. The air was still and undisturbed until he felt your presence a moment too late. Normally, he would have surveilled everyone within a mile radius before they could even think about approaching him. But you managed to do it so effortlessly. He’s never met a woman so stealthy. 

“I think this belongs to you.” Your voice interrupts his stream of consciousness. 

The man before you turns around, and surely, he is a sight for sore eyes 一 a little intimidating to say the least. There’s a silver ring that protrudes from his bottom lip, contrasting against the subtle pink. Even more metal resides against the surface of his skin, a piercing on either side of his eyebrow. There’s a scar that sits on his cheekbone, and you can’t help but wonder how it got there. 

You’ve only ever admired this stranger from afar. Most days, he never fails to browse the children’s manhwa section with a talkative child latched onto his leg. Up close, he looks like a tough guy, but the moment he sees his adorable daughter clinging onto your dress, the hard look in his eyes softens. A dimple carves itself into the curve of his cheek. 

“Who do we have here?” His typical inflection changes into something slightly more playful. But he uses it to mask his exhausted state.

“Appa, appa! Miss y/l/n is so pretty, don’t you think?” Minji says enthusiastically. 

A flame ignites beneath the surface of Jeongguk’s skin. He grows flustered under the little girl’s stare.

Your eyes widen. You’ve never been considered “pretty” by conventional standards. It’s not often that you hear those words, if ever, really. 

“Minji, everyone has their own opinions, but you shouldn’t push your beliefs onto someone else,” you begin as a form of damage control. “I’m so sorry, but she ran up to me, saying she lost her father. She seemed so distressed, and I thought she was going to burst into tears if she couldn’t find you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk has never known peace before. Minji is just as sneaky and conniving as her father; she’s a filthy liar just like him. 

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t apologize. Her attachment issues have grown by the day,” Jeongguk replies, shaking his head. He wears a bashful smile, cheeks tinged with pink. “Minny, do you remember what I taught you?” He crouches down to pick his daughter up by the waist, squeezing her sides. 

“Don’t sleep with wet hair otherwise I might get hippo-pot-a-therm-ia?” Minji recalls, butchering the pronunciation. 

Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “No, the other thing.” 

“Minny doesn’t have to eat anything that she doesn’t want to?” 

“I never said that.” A look of disapproval crosses her father’s features. 

“Drawing mustaches on sleepy people is wrong unless it’s Seokjin samchon?” 

He scrunches his nose, nodding his head from side to side as though he’s contemplating. “Well… yes, but no. Try again. The thing about beauty.” 

“Oh! Beauty is something that comes from the inside!” Minji’s eyes light up upon recognition.

“Exactly, it comes from inside.” Jeongguk reminds her. He presses his pointer finger against Minji’s sternum for emphasis. Upon his touch, a sweet giggle falls from her lips. 

“But you do think it’s true, don’t you?” Minji asks once again, persistent. “Miss y/l/n is really pretty.” 

The blush on his cheeks grow a shade darker. “Minny, of course I think she’s pretty. I thought we talked about this.” Although he lowers his voice like it’s a secret, you can still hear every single word. 

Minji giggles to herself, hiding her face behind her hands. 

Jeongguk has always known your face, but never your name. “Miss y/l/n, right?” 

It sounds odd to hear your title from a grown man, but you laugh it off with a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what the kids at the daycare call me. It’s just y/n though.” 

Jeongguk readjusts his daughter in his arms before reaching for a handshake. “I’m just Jeongguk.” It doesn’t strike how little his name means to him. Of course it’s just an alias for the sake of the mission. He picked it on a whim, but it suits him more than he had thought. Jeon Jeongguk, pillar of the nation. The lie tumbles out of his lips so naturally, and he doesn't have to think twice. 

His eyes lower into crescent moons as the corner of his lips curve into a smile, something akin to fondness. A shallow dimple finds its way onto his cheeks. 

Dammit. He’s cute. 

You reach forward, cupping your hand around his in a reverent greeting. He holds you gently as if there’s a butterfly that had landed on the tip of his fingers. It contrasts against your strong grip. 

Observant as ever, Jeongguk notices that there’s no sign of a ring on your hand. He digs through the arsenal of intel that’s locked up inside his brain. Thanks to Seokjin’s sticky fingers, he managed to spend an entire weekend studying the most recent census information, getting to know the profiles of everyone in the city (just in case). There has to be some information about you stored in his head. 

“y/n… Where did I see that name before?” He thinks to himself, mentally sifting through all the files he’s read. “Ah, I remember now. File #901: y/l/n, y/n. Never married, never divorced. Orphaned at the age of eighteen. She has one younger brother. Both of them have clean records ー never been in trouble with the police, never even received a speeding ticket.”

“Jeongguk…” you murmur his name as if you’re testing the waters. “I know. I’ve seen you around before.” 

Minji might have accidentally let it slip that he’s the man who's been her appa ‘for a very long time.’ She never seemed to mention that she’s adopted. Instead, she continues to describe her father as someone super handsome and very single. 

“Really?” Although he’s noticed you plenty of times before, he’s surprised that you recognize him. Jeongguk doesn’t like drawing attention. He supposes that lately, it’s been difficult when his daughter attracts a lot of eyes. 

“Most of the time, you wander through the aisles, half-dead like a zombie, with a cup of coffee in your hand.” You lean forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “You really aren’t allowed to bring drinks into the library, but my coworkers let it slide because they think you’re handsome.” 

Perhaps you’ve overshared because Jeongguk stares at you blankly, taken aback by the news. 

“Here’s another secret.” You beckon him closer once again, speaking barely above a whisper. “You should be careful about reading parenting books. You’ll end up stressed about what to do if it doesn’t work, and you’ll feel like a failure by the end of it.”

His eyes widen in surprise. He had hoped that the parenting books would put an end to his sleepless nights. “What do you think I should do then? I don’t know how to deal with this monster right here.” He ruffles Minji’s hair in endearment. 

“Hey!” Minji shouts in defense of herself.

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t read any parenting books. It’s just trial and error,” you shrug. “As much as you don’t want to hear it, there’s really no right answer.”

Jeongguk drops his shoulders, slightly disappointed. The defeated look on his face is a feeling you can sympathize with. 

“But if it helps, I think it’s important that children need a little bit of softness every now and then, especially because the world is so cruel.” You flash him a gentle smile, urging him to lighten up on his daughter. He needs to stop pretending that raising a child is anything like the military or the spy academy. 

Upon hearing your conversation, there’s a mischievous sparkle that appears in Minji’s eyes. “Miss y/l/n, do you wanna be my eomma?” 

You stare blankly at her, blinking as though you are processing her question. The words die on your tongue, yet you cock your head to the side, meeting the little girl’s gaze. “Y- your eomma?” you reiterate, startled. 

“Pleaseee? I’m so lonely with no eomma,” Minji pouts, melodramatic as ever. She puts her hand on her forehead as if she’s feigning an illness. 

“Jeongguk, do you happen to be looking for a wife?” 

“Is this your way of asking me out?” He leans forward, inclined to hear your proposal. 

You wonder if this is a bad time to mention his Tinder profile. It could be a little awkward knowing that you’ve also made an account on that wretched app. There’s nothing inherently embarrassing about wanting to find love through modern dating, but why is it so hard to admit it?

You weigh your options in your head, but Jeongguk beats you to it. 

“Because if you did 一 ya’ know 一 ask me out, I would have said-” His words are cut short. 

“You know what? I’m sorry if I was being too forward-” Mentally, you want to smack yourself on the head.

Jeongguk didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend, let alone a wife. He has no idea that you’ve seen his Tinder before. You never even swiped. You never matched. 

After you found his profile, you tucked your phone away and refused to open the app again. The blissful state of not knowing is better than playing the waiting game. Will he swipe, will he not? Will he message you and jumpstart some epic romance? 

You decide to tell him the truth and swallow your pride before coming across as a complete weirdo wrapped up in her delusions. 

“It’s just that… the other day, my friends made a dating profile for me because they’re worried I’ll be single for the rest of my life. I came across your account, and I thought you looked familiar. So I just wanted to know if you’re actually looking for a wife because I swear, I’ll do it.” 

Jeongguk has never been this close to making a breakthrough, and he thinks he’s half in love with you. “Are you being serious?” he wonders as a precaution. “Don’t lie to me because I really need this to be a dream come true right now.” 

His daughter reaches forward to pinch his cheeks. Jeongguk winces at the pain, and he’s certain that this moment is real. 

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” Your face is devoid of any banter, eyes fixed on Jeongguk as if you’re genuinely offering yourself to him. “Why do you need a wife? Tax money? Green card? Ex who won’t leave you alone?” 

“It’s complicated,” Jeongguk begins. 

“Trust me, I know it's complicated when I see it.” There’s a challenging look in your eyes, urging him to continue. 

“Well, the other day, Minny passed the entrance exam for Hwa Yang Academy. Now, the  board has to conduct an interview with the family, but they said they would want both parents to be there.” 

“You can’t tell them that you’re a single father?” 

“I think it’ll hurt her chances of getting accepted,” he explains. “I want my daughter to attend a good school. Her late mother would have wanted the same thing for her.” 

“Appa said lying is wrong, but he’s so good at it,” Minji thinks to herself. 

“Do you really think that I’m fit for the role?” You’ve never really had a penchant for acting or playing pretend. Lying, on the other hand, that is your strong suit. 

“I don’t mean to be too forward, but I think you’re perfect.” Jeongguk speaks his truth without any hesitation. He looks at you with such sweet and delicate eyes. “You seem to be great with children, and Minny adores you already.” 

You eye him as if you’re considering his offer, but you’ve already made up your mind. “I’ll do it, but only if you do a favor for me too. Are you free next weekend?” 

“Next weekend?” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. It’s starting to make sense why you agreed to do this in the first place. You need something in exchange, quid pro quo. 

“My friends are throwing an engagement party. They’re worried about me all the time because I’m single, but I thought I would lay it to rest if I told them I finally had a boyfriend, or at least someone I’m talking to.” Your speech gets faster and faster with every word that comes out of your mouth. “I know it sounds crazy, Iー” 

“I’ll do it.”

You stare blankly at him, unsure if you heard correctly, but a smile continues to creep onto the corners of your lips. “You will?” 

Jeongguk reaches forward, gently taking your hand in his. “It would be an honor to be your boyfriend,” he says, even if it’s just pretend. “And an even bigger honor to be your husband.” 

“y/n!” 

You don’t hear your name being called relentlessly until your co-workers are shouting for your attention. Their words fall upon deaf ears. 

As usual, they had been gossiping about their boyfriends and their weekend plans. You checked out of the conversation the moment Yumi opened her mouth and uttered her fiancé’s name, resisting the urge to gag. 

You look up from your lap, slightly too distracted. There’s a small, maroon stain and a rip in the skirt of your dress. It’s not easy keeping your clothes in pristine condition when you’re constantly running toward danger. You’re lost in thought, wondering how much the tailor shop will charge you for sewing it back together. 

“What are you doing this weekend? There’s a new episode of that drama you like, right? Are you going to order delivery again?” Yumi assumes. “You know, you should step outside from time to time. Maybe you’ll find a nice person to date if Tinder doesn’t pan out.” 

“Actually, I have plans after work,” you announce before returning to inspect the damage on your dress. 

“With who? Did you meet someone on the app?” The cadence of Sujin’s voice is airy, shocked in disbelief. 

“I’m meeting up with some guy.” You try not to make it a big deal, but these girls always blow it out of proportion. “I didn’t meet him from the app though.” 

“You’re seeing someone? Who?! You can’t just drop the news and expect us not to ask for the details!” Sujin shouts. 

“He was at the library the other day, and he asked me out. He’s the one with the tattoos ー y’all would recognize him if you saw him,” you explain. “Minji is his daughter.” 

“The guy with the coffee?” Everyone collectively gasps upon connecting the dots. “Him? How did you manage to pull that?!” 

Ouch. That hurts. 

“I would dump my fiancé in a heartbeat if the coffee guy could blow my back out,” Yumi confesses. 

How could she be so shallow? She was just talking about how much she loved her fiancé. Is he really that disposable? Besides, is Jeongguk nothing more than the coffee guy? A pretty face who’s made for a one night stand? You’re starting to think that people don’t actually value their relationships. They just want a partner for the sake of having one.

There’s a sudden chime that resounds through the air, pulling you out of your thoughts. The service bell at the front desk had been struck. It’s odd considering most people exited the library by now, knowing that it closes in ten minutes. 

You all poke your head through the doorway to catch a glimpse of the patron. Their eyes widen in surprise when they see the coffee guy standing at the front desk. He stands tall and proud with a military stance, a head above everyone else. There’s a bouquet of pink camellias resting in his hand in place of his typical americano. 

“Jeongguk? I thought we were meeting at the cafe.” Perhaps you remembered the details of the conversation wrong.  

When you speak his name out loud, all the girls shift their gaze to one another. Could it really be true that you’re seeing a man? 

“I thought it would be nice if I could surprise you, and we’d walk there together.” He flashes a smile that sends an arrow straight through the heart (and through those of your coworkers). For a second, you think that Yumi might just faint. 

He’s handsome as ever, just as you recall. But today, there’s something that’s slightly out of place. There’s a bandage that rests on the bridge of his nose. It’s pink with Sanrio characters plastered all over it ー Hello Kitty and My Melody. There’s something about it that makes him even more endearing. 

You try to stifle a giggle as you shoot him an apology. “Sorry, can you hang around for a few more minutes? I have some things to do before closing.”

“Take your time, angel.” Jeongguk says. Crinkles begin to form at the corner of his eyes as the curve of his lips overtake him. 

You have to admit that the pet name made your heart flutter. He plays into the role of a sweet boyfriend pretty accurately. It’s all part of the act. 

Sujin closes the door to the office. The girls break into squeals. They playfully hit your shoulder in disbelief, elbowing your sides. “I can’t believe it! y/n is going out with a man?!” 

“And he’s hot!” 

You shake your head before returning to your work station, ignoring their cheers. But you can’t help the subtle smile that reaches your lips. Maybe the girls will finally leave you the fuck alone. 

“I’m so sorry for the wait.” You apologize as you approach Jeongguk, looking like a disheveled mess after an 8 hour shift. Your blouse is slightly wrinkled, and you’re certain there’s residue left behind from all the marker stains the kids had carelessly drawn on you. Your arm is full of stickers, and you’ll have to remember to peel them off later. 

In the daycare, Jeongguk is propped on top of a bean bag chair that is much too small for his body. There’s a manhwa that rests in his lap. It’s the one his daughter can’t stop talking about. 

“I got here ten minutes early anyways.” He places the book on the table before clambering to his feet. “Oh yeah, and these are for you.” He passes the bouquet of camellias. 

You raise your hands, not really sure how to accept the gift. You’re not the type of girl to receive flowers, love poems, or pretty things. Nobody has ever pursued you in that way. All you ever receive are cursory glances and awkward smiles, but never anything as beautiful as this. 

He inches the flowers a little closer to you, urging you to take it. 

You pull the bouquet to your nose, taking a whiff of the sweet scent. “These are really pretty. Thank you for that.” You motion for him to wait just a moment longer as you place the flowers into a vase. 

Through the porthole of the office door, you can see the girls squeal and jump around in unison. 

“Are you ready? Should we head out?” Jeongguk’s lips curl into a boyish smile. 

You nod, sharply turning your heels in an attempt to hide the fluster of your face. Before you could take a step forward, you’re pulled to a halt. There’s a tug on your arm that spins you around. Jeongguk’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you close. 

“Wait one sec,” his breath fans across your face. “You have some chalk on your cheek. Can I-?” He raises his hand, tentatively learning forward. 

Heat rushes to the surface of your skin, yet you nod your head, giving into his request. “Is this part of the act?” you wonder out loud, low enough for Jeongguk to hear. 

“Only if you want it to be.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. 

As he leans forward to wipe the dust off your cheek, your throat dries. You freeze, attempting to avoid his gaze. You’re not certain whether you’ll explode upon gazing into his dark brown eyes. 

Instead, you keep your sight locked straight ahead. It’s a terrible idea considering his strong chest is right in front of you. The top two buttons of his white collared shirt are undone, and the space between his pecs are exposed, a necklace dangling in between. There’s a chance that you might die staring at it, so you accept the risk of embarrassing yourself and glance at his visage instead. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” Jeongguk says, dusting off the chalk. 

A wave of butterflies swarm in the pit of your stomach, and your mind goes blank. You have no idea how to respond to such a compliment, and you’re unable to when your throat constricts. Your body warms, hyper aware of his palm on your cheek and the one wrapped around your wrist. Your one free hand that is not occupied by his clasp shoots up, hovering over the bandage plastered on his nose. 

“What happened here?” The words splutter out of your mouth, trying to say something. Anything. Perhaps your anxiety would be less noticeable if you could just act natural ー If you could stop standing there without a single thought in your head. 

“Bumped into a wall,” Jeongguk chuckles. It’s a blatant lie. He could never be this clumsy. In actuality, he had failed to duck during a sparring match with another spy at the agency. Fuck Kim Mingyu and his stupidly beefy arms. “Minny picked the bandage for me.” 

“You mean you didn’t choose to wear the Hello Kitty? I think it suits you.” As soon as you graze the bridge of his nose, his laughter turns into a dramatic groan. Soft murmurs of ‘ow, ow’ fall from his lips. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry!” You apologize. 

His other hand gently grasps your palm, pulling it away from his sprained injury. Maybe your dating profile was right when it mentioned you don’t know your own strength. 

“Don’t worry, let’s just hope that Minny is okay,” Jeongguk remarks. “She insisted on wearing a matching bandaid because ‘if appa’s hurt, then Minny’s hurt.’ Kind of like a voodoo doll.” 

Subconsciously, the thought of Minny wearing a matching bandage despite being perfectly fine forces your lips into a smile. 

“Should we head out now?” Jeongguk leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I hold your hand? Give your friends a real show to watch?” It’s as if your hand wasn’t already in his. 

You nod your head, suddenly remembering that this is all an act. You’re reminded of the girls crowded around the office door, peeking through the small window to catch a glimpse of the action. 

Jeongguk’s hand glides down from your palm and between your fingers, lacing them together. A breath hitches in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You can hear the high pitched screams from behind when the girls are convinced you’ve stepped far away enough. But it isn't as loud as the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. 

The two of you make your way to the cafe, walking side by side, hand-in-hand, occasionally bumping shoulders when you walk a little too close. 

“How was your day? I realized I never asked you what you do for work, and I don’t really know much about you in general,” you chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I thought we would at least have our first kiss by now if we were married.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your tone, one that Jeongguk easily recognizes because his informant, Seokjin, is nothing but shits and giggles. 

“We would have done more than kissing, but we can start slow.” The corners of his lips curl into a playful grin. His words make you freeze, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. 

With your hands linked together, Jeongguk is pulled back by your halted movements. He turns to face you, displaying his pretty eye-smile. “I’m a journalist,” he says. “I write investigative articles when they don’t ask me to cover silly politics.” 

Although it’s not completely true, it’s not totally false at the same time. He writes exposé articles based on the intel he uncovers from his spy missions. The articles that he writes are written under an anonymous name, obviously so he can’t be tracked for exposing highly classified information. Nobody should ever know that he’s digging into the lives of corrupt politicians. Jeongguk might never see the light of day if word gets out. 

“My routine is pretty consistent,” he explains. “I did some research for my article, wrote a few thousand words in my drafts before deciding to scrap the entirety of it, and I picked up Minny from kindergarten. I asked my friend to babysit her while I’m away tonight.” 

Jeongguk wants to scrub his tongue after admitting that Seokjin is his “friend.” 

“What about you? How’s your life at the library?” Jeongguk asks. 

You describe the events that spiraled today as the two of you head inside the coffee shop and place your orders. “Well, the girls seemed convinced that we’re on a date,” you chuckle. 

Jeongguk gasps. His hand clenches against his chest as if he’s wounded by your words. “You mean to tell me this isn’t a date? I thought we had something special.” He feigns exasperation. “You are my wife, after all, aren’t you?” 

You don’t care to admit how amusing it is to hear the word wife coming from him. Despite the smile that plays on your lips, you shake your head no.

“This isn’t a real date,” you explain in denial. Nobody has ever asked you out, and you’ll be damned if the first time is just pretend. “But I guess this is good practice, especially when the stakes are higher for the interview.” 

“Hmm… practice.” A crinkle forms between Jeongguk’s brows, lost in thought. 

“I have to admit that I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, and that’s why we have to practice.” You shake your head, flustered. “Actually, I’ve never even been in a relationship.” 

“Why’s that?” He asks the age-old question. 

“I’m not really the type that people fall for.” You tuck your head between your shoulders, offering a shrug. “I’m quiet ー Not really good with people. I’m a bit of a late bloomer. I spent a lot of my youth taking care of my younger brother.” That’s only the jist of it. You don’t bother getting into the nitty gritty details. Being a full-time assassin isn’t necessarily “first-date appropriate” conversation. 

“How many partners have you had?” You bounce back, diverting the attention away from you. 

“Just one, my wife who passed. We had been together since we were in high school.” The lie seeps through his teeth so easily. It’s terrifying. But the less you know, the better. 

The thought of being Jeongguk’s first “girlfriend” since the passing of his wife makes you incredibly nervous. Upon seeing the sullen avoidance in his eyes, you don’t bring it up again. Instead, you try to lighten the mood.

The two of you fall into a routine of volleying questions back and forth. If you’re planning to convince everyone that you’re husband and wife, you’re going to have to know more than just one another’s (supposed) names and (supposed) professions. 

You start with the easy stuff. “Where did you grow up?” 

“Busan. I miss the sound of the ocean, but I don’t mind the city as long as Minny goes to the best school in the country. What about you?” 

“I grew up in a town so small you wouldn’t be able to find it on the map, but it’s not far from the capital.”

“Cryptic, I like it.” A grin forms onto the corners of lips before he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Over the next hour, you learn that Jeongguk, as robust and intimidating as he looks, is warm and gentle. His favorite thing about being a father is having someone to love and protect. To him, Minji is a bundle of joy who makes his day brighter despite the hurdles that come with being a parent. He would do anything in the world to give his child the life he never quite had. 

Likewise, having lost his parents at a young age, he learned to lead a fulfilling life all on his own. Instead of letting it bog him down, he clings onto the simple things for respite, searching for happiness in every corner of the universe. 

He loves the rain and how it fleetingly smells like the warm and muggy summers of his hometown. Although he doesn’t experience the monsoon season quite like he used to, he loves to watch Minji splash around in her yellow rain boots. His favorite time of day is golden hour, especially when the fluffy white clouds are tinted with orange hues, reminding him of his first dog, Gureum. 

Jeongguk has a slight addiction to black coffee, even if it makes his stomach hurt on the odd occasions (and you suggest he tries tea instead). He likes his eggs scrambled, and he prefers waffles over pancakes. He has plenty of awful habits like singing karaoke at four in the morning followed by cooking a pot of instant ramen to satiate his brutal cravings (yes, his food preferences are vital to your understanding of who Jeongguk is as a person, down to his core). 

He tells you about his trip to Chicago some months ago where he definitely deepthroated a deep dish pizza after being dared by Seokjin. As much as he loved traveling, he was easily home-sick and desperately missing his fix of samgyeopsal. In fact, he tells you he would love to invite you over one day so he can make you a meal. And thank God for that because you are not handy in the kitchen whatsoever. 

You learn that not necessarily all of his tattoos have meaning. The tiger is an emblem of his country while the tiger lily is his birth flower, and it is a silent, desperate plea to be loved. There’s a silly emoji on his middle finger just because he thinks it’s funny. He hates having to cover it up when he goes to work (tattoos may not have been the smartest idea knowing that he has to keep his identity a secret, but the damage is already done), and he’s certain that everybody judges him for the ink on his arms. 

“As long as you like your tattoos, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” You offer him a warm smile as though nothing could ever hurt him. God, how he wishes that was true. 

For some reason, Jeongguk doesn’t know how to react to your words. He’s only ever been told to cover up his skin as if he has something to be ashamed of.  

In exchange for his stories, you trade Jeongguk pieces of your life. How your favorite memory from youth was when you had taken the city bus an hour and a half down to the beach with your brother, San, where you’d build sand castles on the brink of collapse. Sometimes, the smell of salt air and the longing for August still lingers to this day. 

You tell him about your attempt at joining the knitting club so you could make cute sweaters and vests. They were never perfect. But at least they kept your brother warm during the winters. Besides, you had fun playing dress-up with him. Jeongguk finds that perhaps the boldest thing you’ve ever done is bleach your hair strawberry blonde, only for it to turn out orange. 

His laughter blooms through his chest when you tell him about the time you almost set the microwave on fire. Your mom never told you that aluminum foil doesn’t belong in there, and you had to learn that the hard way. That’s probably why you should never set foot in the kitchen again. Nevertheless, you made mistake after mistake just so that San could have food on the table everyday after school. At least you’ve perfected the art of cutting fruit at this point ー no cooking skills required. 

Although the two of you talk for what seems like hours, you can’t help but think there’s so much more to this man, and he’s unwilling to share. It doesn’t necessarily bother you because you, too, have secrets of your own. You can’t expect him to reveal everything about his life, even if he never does. 

It’s well into the evening when Jeongguk walks you home. The path is quiet. It’s illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. It feels like a scene from a movie you’ve once watched ー the origin of all your teenage fantasies. But this is real. You’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, and that’s where it all begins. 

“y/n?” The way he says your name brings you to a halt. His voice, although usually confident, is timid and uncertain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We still have a lot to talk about.” He looks at you with stars in his eyes, although none of them belong to you, and they could never be yours. 

Your lips press together in a tight line, nodding your head in affirmation. As you bid your goodbyes, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to give him a hug. After all, you’ve only just met the day prior, and this is nothing but pretend. Yet how will you ever grow accustomed to the touch of your husband?

Your arms remain crossed over your chest. You look down at your shoes, kicking a loose pebble at the front of your door, contemplating. 

But he reaches for your hand, lightly grasping around your fingers. You jolt back as if he set your nerves aflame. Your gaze lifts toward his eyes, but it quickly lowers as Jeongguk descends down to one knee. 

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you pray that he cannot hear it. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring…” He begins. “I hope you can accept this for now, and I swear I’ll get a diamond on your hand one day ー As big as you want.” 

Jeongguk carefully pulls a small metal band from his pocket. It can easily be confused for the end piece of a keychain ー perhaps it’s something that his daughter had left behind in his coat, never to be remembered. But for Jeongguk, he knows perfectly well that it’s the pin from a grenade he had tossed the week prior on an escape mission. He slides the ring onto your finger, and although it is slightly too large, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I may not have been your first choice of a partner, and for all I know, I could have been dead last, but thank you for sticking by me. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold your heart with gentle hands, and I won’t ever let it break.” 

After all, this is just pretend. 

But for some reason, his voice sounds so earnest, and you almost believe him. To be frank, you never really cared about lavish weddings and seven carat diamonds. If you were to ever look for a companion, all you could ask for is an honest partner. 

Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.

Throughout the next week, you spend more and more time getting to know your new “boyfriend.” Because of this, you have to put your side hustle on pause and constantly decline assignments on your burner phone. You certainly wouldn’t want Jeongguk to overhear your plans to murder while he sits pretty beside you, waiting to hear about your day ー your hopes, your dreams, and anything else that’s on your mind. But it would be a shame if you cut your dates early, only to spend less than a second to put a bullet through your enemies’ heads.

You’d have much more fun with Jeongguk instead. Because he tends to plan the cutest surprise dates, and they’re so incredibly thoughtful. Sometimes, Minji would accompany your dates when Seokjin can’t babysit (he’s too busy trying to find his own baby mama so he can prove Minji wrong). Nevertheless, Minji adores the time that you spend together because it feels like you’re a real family.

The three of you would drive to the movies, play boardgames, and eat ice cream for dinner. Jeongguk had even taken you both to the annual carnival that you desperately wanted to check out. He wasn’t fond of going because those claw machines and arcade games are absolute scams! Yet you caught the smug grin on his face when he finally won a stuffed bunny after downing fifty bucks. He was just so addicted to the thrill of nearly winning: “I could have gotten that!” 

During your dates, you would laugh for hours on end, but by the end of the night, Minji would fall asleep on her father’s shoulder. That’s usually your cue to head home. Sometimes, you think that he might kiss you goodnight, but he never does. His lips only ever brush your knuckles like the gentleman that he is. 

…

True to his word, Jeongguk invites you over for dinner the following Friday.

When you arrive at his apartment, you are instantly the worst houseguest known to mankind. Your umbrella is dripping wet from the pouring rain, effectively ruining Jeongguk’s wooden floors. However, that’s not the problem that Jeongguk has with you. The problem is that you’re unable to stop laughing at Jeongguk’s attire. 

Surely, your parents had taught you to be kind, especially to your hosts. Well, when Jeongguk swings the door open, revealing a frilly apron, something akin to what your grandmother would wear, you couldn’t help it! A picture of My Melody is stamped onto the chest, staring straight into your soul. 

It isn’t lost on you ー the irony of a big, strong man, no doubt subjected to dress up in his daughter’s choice of clothing. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Jeongguk pouts, tilting his head like a puppy. 

You stifle your giggle behind a tight lipped smile, but you’re so close to bursting at the seams. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After placing your shoes at the door, Jeongguk leads you into his humble abode. He takes the bottle of chardonnay from your hands, thanking you for the gift, and places it onto the dining table. 

“Dinner should be ready in an hour,” he informs you. 

“I know I’m not very useful in the kitchen, but if you need help-” 

Before you can even think about lifting a finger, Jeongguk is quick to suggest an alternative. “No, don't worry, you’re my guest. Just relax, okay? Minny is in the living room. You should spend time with her.” 

In the adjacent room, Minji is crouched over her study material. Her worksheets spread across the coffee table. Each question covers a different subject: basic biology, political science, religion and ethics, foreign language, etc. You never quite realized how much pressure children face in the education system. 

After all, you were never really concerned with grades. You never thought about applying to the top school in the nation. In fact, your grades had fallen down a slippery slope by the time you were in high school. Rather, all of your time was dedicated to earning money and supporting your family. 

When you sit beside Minji, she beckons you closer before you can even greet her. “I’m dying. Help me,” she pleads with wide eyes. You look down to see her math homework ー fractions, Minji’s sworn enemy. 

“Appa wants me to study, but he won’t give me the answers,” Minji whines. 

You can’t help but chuckle. “Minny, you have to figure out the answers on your own if you want to do well.”

The sound of your advice makes her drop her head on the table with a soft thump. 

“Here, let’s do a few questions together,” you suggest. 

Try as you might, you only manage to complete half of the assignment. Minji huffs, slightly frustrated when she doesn’t understand the concept. 

You pat her back, consoling the small child. “Once you eat dinner, you’ll have more brain energy. Maybe you just need a break.” 

A lightbulb goes off above her head, and she springs to her feet. “Appa! Can I give eomma a tour of the house?” 

You tilt your head, amused by the sound of Minji calling you her mother. 

“That sounds like a great idea!” Jeongguk cranes his neck to peek at his devious daughter. “Just make sure you study again when you’re done.” 

Minji takes her father’s approval as a cue to grab your hand in hers, showing you every corner of the house ー all of her drawings taped to the fridge, her favorite stuffed animals lined up at the end of the bed, and the sparkly clean toilet where she poops every morning. After describing everything in excruciating detail, you could have sworn that Minji would run out of words to say. But she never does. 

“What’s behind that door?” You point to the end of the hall. 

“That’s appa’s bedroom. He told me I should never go in there unless he gives me permission.” 

You suppose it’s healthy to set boundaries between you and your child. It’s not like Jeongguk has distasteful art hanging on his walls, and it’s not likely that he’s hiding a dead body in there. He doesn’t seem to be the type to store skeletons in the closet. You, on the other hand, now that’s a different story. Perhaps Jeongguk just needs a little privacy at the end of every night. 

Minji’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “Eomma! This is your room! Well, it’s a guest room, but appa says it’s basically yours if you ever want a place to stay.” 

You step into the final room, glancing around the walls at a loss of words. Your eyes are drawn to the shelves. They’re brimming with so many novels. It’s like your own personal library. You could probably spend the entire day just browsing through each book. 

As you slide open one of the drawers, you’re surprised to find an array of period products. There are also makeup wipes, an abundance of face masks, some sunscreen, and essential oils (apparently, women love that sort of stuff according to an article Jeongguk had bookmarked). There’s even a candle that’s labeled ‘ocean breeze.’

“Do you like it?” Minji looks up at you with wide, glimmering eyes as she uncaps the candle, shoving her entire nose against the wax with a hard whiff. 

“I love it, Minny, thank you for the tour. I really appreciate it. You should get back to your studies. I’ll help your dad with dinner, but if you need my help, just call me, okay?” 

Minji sniffles theatrically and drags her feet into the living room. 

You head towards the kitchen to find Jeongguk slicing a daikon radish with military precision. There’s soft music playing in the background, accompanied by the pouring rain outside, occasionally interrupted by the soft huff of frustration when Jeongguk’s bangs cover his eyes. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms covered in tattoos. 

Jeongguk finally looks up at you in the doorway. He flashes you a smile ー delighted, and very much enamored. “How was the tour?” 

“Your home is so cozy. But I don’t know if I was supposed to look at the top secret file you forgot to put away.” 

“I- WHAT?” He yelps. The shock on his face is quickly replaced with an acute pain. The knife had sliced through his palm upon one careless motion. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, ensuring that Minji won’t hear his foul language.

Jeongguk drops the radish onto the cutting board with a thud. He forces pressure onto the wound with the pad of his thumb to stop the bleeding. In actuality, he’s more concerned about the food than he is about his finger. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You rush over to his side, reaching for his wrist. “Let’s run it under cold water.” 

The two of you waddle towards the small sink, attached by the hip. 

“I was kidding about the secret files. I’m sorry about the cut.” You’re ridden with guilt, seeing that your mindless joke had cost Jeongguk his hand. 

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize. It was my fault. I was the one holding the knife.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t blame yourself either. It happens. I get cuts all the time.” If there’s ever a blade against your skin, it’s usually by the hands of your enemies. You, on the other hand, are a pro when it comes to handling knives. 

Jeongguk shuts the faucet off, examining the cut. It’s shallow. You could hardly see it.

“I’ll grab a bandaid for you,” you offer, already sprinting down the hallway. 

“They’re in the bathroom! Medicine cabinet!” Jeongguk shouts. 

“I know! Minny gave me a tour of everything,” you shout back. You pluck the ointment and the familiar Hello Kitty bandages off the shelf before shuffling back to the kitchen. “Minny shared way too much information about the inventory of your medicine cabinet. Apparently, you have two morphine capsules left. You should get a refill on those.” 

Jeongguk hums in recognition, and you wonder why he would need a painkiller as strong as morphine. 

Taking Jeongguk’s hand in yours, you assess the cut and gently blow on the appendages with the purse of your lips. You place the pink bandage onto his hand, and out of habit, you give him a quick kiss on the booboo. 

When you pull back, you’re absolutely mortified. You avoid his gaze, trying to hide your own humiliation. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. The kids at the daycare always ask for a kiss when they’re injured.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” A rosy hue dusts over Jeongguk’s cheeks. Why is he so shy when he’s usually the bold and courageous one? He’ll be sure to call Seokjin tonight to ask what this means ー to be so flustered and afflicted by your touch. Is his skin supposed to feel like it’s on fire? 

With the look on his face, you’re not quite sure who’s more embarrassed. So you run towards the sink and nervously wash your hands, practically rubbing the skin raw. 

“I’ll cut the radish for you.” You take his place by the cutting board. 

When he asks if you’re sure, you just hum in response, having already started, and he succumbs to your offer. Typically, Jeongguk would not be willing to accept anyone’s help. But there’s warmth and sincerity in your tone.

“Let me tie this for you.” Jeongguk steps behind you, lightly brushing your hair back to keep it out of your eyes. 

Heat rushes to your face, and you nod in agreement. Instantly, Jeongguk separates your hair into three different strands.

“You know how to braid?” you ask, chopping away at the radish. “You can just tie a simple ponytail if you want.” 

“Minny said she wanted to go to school with a French braid. I didn’t know how to do it, so I looked at a video online. I’m not that good, but let me practice, okay?” He ties off your hair with the elastic that he keeps on his wrist for standby. “Tadaaa!” A proud grin sits on his pretty lips. 

You can tell that the braid is a little too loose for your liking, but you’ll be sure to show him how to properly braid later. Perhaps after dinner. “How does it look?” You wonder. 

“You’re perfect,” Jeongguk says affirmatively, sweet as ever. “Here, let me give you an apron.” 

Before you know it, he loops a string of fabric over your head. It sits loosely on the back of your neck. Jeongguk’s hand rests on your shoulder blade, pushing your hips against the counter as he reaches to tie the string around the small of your back. He fixates on the knot that tethers around his thick fingers as he works on the fabric. His breath is hot against your neck. You can feel the heat radiate off of him. 

When he pulls back, you swallow the lump in your throat, sighing a breath of relief. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

The worst part is that Jeongguk doesn’t even realize the effect that he has on you. You wonder when he’ll put an end to this madness. Because at this rate, you think you might explode if he inches any closer to you. 

As it seems, fate has other plans. 

While he watches you cook, he hovers behind you; not because he’s controlling, but because he wants to make sure you’re safe. He has to admit that you’re skilled with a knife, but your cooking techniques aren’t quite there. 

“When you cut, curl your fingers and tuck your knuckles underneath them.” Jeongguk inches closer and places his chin on the crown of your head. He slots himself against your back as his protective arms cage you against the marble counter. His hands slide down from your wrist, careful not to startle you, before cupping them around your fingers. He gently guides your hand, ensuring that you don’t cut yourself. 

You don’t realize that you’ve been holding your breath until he steps away. Maybe cooking isn’t as bad as you make it out to be.

The heavy downpour of rain patters against the windows. 

“It looks like the weather is getting worse. I didn’t realize it would storm tonight,” Jeongguk peeks between the blinds before lighting a few candles. The lamps had been flickering because of the torrential rain. “The roads aren’t very safe. If you want to stay over, you can take the guest room.” 

You nearly drop the cutlery on the table in the midst of setting up dinner. “Ar- are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Stop with that, you’re never a bother,” he reassures you. “If you want, I’ll drive you home first thing tomorrow morning.” 

You think about the invitation before ultimately deciding to accept. “Thank you, Jeongguk. And by the way, I really appreciate how you set the room up for me.” You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Anything for my wife.” The warmth of his words makes your heart flutter. 

When the table is finally set, the three of you settle down for dinner. 

You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the beautiful arrangement of food you have yet to touch. There’s tender pork belly, fermented shrimp, spicy oyster radish, fresh garlic, and pickled cabbage among a bunch of other side dishes you can’t even put a name to. 

“You said you were hungry, right?” Jeongguk picks up the cabbage leaf and stuffs the ingredients inside. He wraps it into a roll and places it on top of your fluffy white rice. 

Watching the steam rise in front of you, you nearly bawl from how delicious it smells. The tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. 

Nobody has ever made you a home-cooked meal since your parents had passed. 

“Are you- uhm,” Jeongguk lifts his hand, not knowing what to do with his own limbs. A set of chopsticks rests between his thumb and pointer finger, fish cake tucked between the silver metal. It hovers halfway across the table, abruptly stopping before he could reach your bowl. “You can cry, it’s okay-” 

You don’t dare to move a single muscle when the tear falls down your cheeks. 

Minji reaches over to wipe the droplet away. You can’t tell if she wants to comfort you, or rather, she’s just looking to steal a bite of your pork belly. But you’re inclined to believe it’s the former. Her father had already served a piece of meat in her bowl. 

“It’s okay, eomma. You can cry. Just… don’t do it over the dishes. You don’t want your food to be salty,” Minji advises. 

Jeongguk calls his daughter’s name, scolding. He plucks out a few tissues from the box and passes them across the table. 

You wipe your eyes, praying that the tears will stop. “I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you shake your head. “I just don’t really remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal with anyone other than myself. I think my parents were the last people to ever cook for me.” 

“What about your brother?” Jeongguk inquires. 

“I’ve always made food for him growing up, and ever since he went to university, he’s been away from home. I really haven’t seen him in a while.” A sullen smile tugs on your lips. “We usually just talk on the phone.” 

Jeongguk topples more food onto your bowl, filling it to the brim. “Whenever you come over, you can have any kind of food that you want. Just name it, and it’ll be yours. Even if I don’t know how to make it, I’ll learn. Now let’s eat up, okay?” He picks up a piece of pork belly, prepared to bribe you like a child who hasn’t stopped crying. 

You open your mouth, allowing him to feed you, humming in satisfaction. You mutter a thank you before putting on your bravest smile as the rain pours outside. 

It’s late in the night when you hear a soft sniffle that echoes from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a dull strike against the wooden surface, a call for your attention.

“Eomma?”

It never takes you by surprise when a child who isn’t yours calls you their mother. It happens often enough at the daycare center. Tiny humans let the term of endearment slip from their loose lips ー some variation of “mom,” “mommy,” or “eomma.” 

These children cry for you when they have trouble opening their chocolate milk, or when they get a “booboo” from their arts and crafts activity, nothing but a measly, barely-there papercut. These children have an understanding that they’re safe with you. That you’d take care of them like a mother would, opening their bottles, helping to clean their mess, kissing their pain away, and wiping the tears dry. Sometimes they don’t notice their honest mistake, having called you their mother. Other times, they’re apologetic and embarrassed. But what’s there to be embarrassed about? 

The vocabulary of children is limited to only a few hundred words, but they always resort to the one thing they know. Whether it is, “mom,” “mommy,” “eomma,” or so on and so forth, they trust you in the purest form. They feel protected and comforted by you. 

Although you’ve heard it a dozen times before, you’ve never seen a child mean it so earnestly, not like Minji, and definitely not at two in the morning. 

You open the bedroom door, looking down to see her tear stained cheeks. The instinct to protect kicks in like second nature. “Minny, what’s wrong?” 

Lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a loud crash of thunder. The little girl flinches with a yelp, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her ears. 

“It’s so loud, ‘m scared,” Minji pouts. 

You crouch down to wrap your arms around her shoulders, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She shivers in your hold, trying to calm down as you rub soothing circles onto her back. 

“Don’t worry, Minny. The thunder can’t catch you while you’re in here,” you murmur, adjusting the nightcap on the top of her head. “You’re always safe with me.” 

“Can I sleep with you and appa tonight?” Minji asks. 

“Th- the both of us?” Your eyes widen. Perhaps Minji doesn’t quite understand the terms of your arrangement. You’re not actually her mom, and Jeongguk isn’t really your husband. Certainly, sleeping in the same bed as Jeongguk crosses some imaginary boundary. “I- I don’t know if appa would-” 

“Can we ask him?” Minji pleads, and she looks like she’s about to burst. It doesn’t hurt to try, right?

So you relent, and the two of you tiptoe down the hall to Jeongguk’s bedroom, hand-in-hand. There’s a light that leaks from the bottom of the doorway. Could he possibly be awake this late in the night? 

You motion at the door, encouraging Minji to knock. She has to be a big girl, expressing her needs, asking for help when she needs it. 

“Appa!” Minji whacks the palm of her hand against the wooden surface, and you have to correct her form. You squeeze her hands into a fist, showing her how to properly knock and urge her to try again. 

On the other side, you can hear the shuffle of papers and the sound of wheels scraping against the linoleum floor, followed by the pad of footsteps. The door swings open, revealing a set of sleepy eyes, shrouded behind a pair of glasses. Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, having run his hands through his overgrown mane a million times (he’s been pondering whether he should cut it, but you’ve shyly expressed how he looks handsome either way, and right now is no exception). 

“Appa, can I sleep with the both of you tonight?” Minji hiccups between sniffles, and a tear treads down her cheek. When a crash of thunder sounds through the air, she lurches forward to wrap her arms around her father’s legs, shaking like a leaf.

Jeongguk pats the top of Minji’s head to comfort her. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“The sky,” Minji shakes her head, pressing her face deeper into her father’s thigh. “Too loud. It’s scary. Wanna sleep with you and eomma.” 

Normally, Jeongguk would be stressed, weighing his options, trying to determine the best course of action for his child. But there’s a sigh of relief that slips from his lips when his gaze meets yours. There’s a deep blush that spreads across his cheeks. “Is this okay with you?” His lips move in silence, mouthing the words, only for you to see.

In response, you nod your head and flash him a concerned smile. “You?” You mouth the words right back. 

Jeongguk’s answer is obvious when he wraps his arms around the little girl and lifts her into the air. “Let’s go to sleep, Minny.”

Jeongguk taps his chin, pondering, as he stares at the little girl sandwiched in the center of his bed. “Something doesn’t feel right.” But there’s an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes. As tired as he is, he doesn’t seem to let it show. “You know what we should do?” 

Before you can respond, he’s already darting out of the bedroom. He stumbles into the living area, grabbing all the mismatched furniture that he can find. There’s a coat rack in one hand and a stool in another. He runs to grab a fishing pole from the closet, one that he had stolen from Seokjin and never returned. 

“What’re you doing?” Your brows furrow, confused. But the smile on your face tells him that you’re thoroughly entertained. 

“We’re building a fort! Come help me!” He takes hold of your hand and leads you into the living room. “Here, take as many pillows as you can.” Instantly, he holds out a stack of cushions. And who are you to say no? 

With your inventory in hand, you run back to Jeongguk’s bedroom and plop them down onto the bed. “Minny, put the pillows wherever you want! Make it comfy for yourself.” 

The three of you get to work, constructing a pillow fort, and suddenly, you’re five years old all over again. 

Jeongguk returns with spare bed sheets and throw-blankets, tenting them over the makeshift poles. When you’re finally satisfied with your fort, the two of you climb onto the mattress on either side of Minji, huffing and puffing from all the energy exerted. 

“That was fun,” you say, exasperated. A beat of silence passes by as you catch your breath. “Thank you again for letting me sleep over, by the way.” 

There’s fondness in Jeongguk’s eyes as he turns to look at you. “I hope you know that you can stay as long as you want, and you’re always welcomed whenever.” His sentiment makes your heart beat a little faster. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

“You should know…” As you stare at the roof of the makeshift fort, you try to make sense of how you ended up here. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like you deserve it. “Taking care of me is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

Jeongguk’s voice is stern and relentless. “It’s not trouble. Not if it’s you. Do you really think I scare so easily?” 

You think you might cry, but you’ve already used up more than enough tears from your daily allowance. So you turn to thank him, only to be met with Jeongguk’s half-lidded eyes. He only hums in response ー there’s no need to thank him. 

His face is illuminated by the faint glow of the desk lamp on the other side of the room, the one he abandoned in favor of lulling his precious daughter to sleep. Minji holds her father’s hand while you stroke her hair. Within a few short minutes, she’s sound-asleep. The room is quiet, save for her soft snores. 

“Poor Minny, I hope that this doesn’t ruin her sleep schedule,” you whisper into the night. 

“She might need a nap tomorrow, but that’s okay. It happens sometimes.” Jeongguk lets out a yawn as he tugs the blankets up his shoulders. 

You remind him with gentle caution, “What about you? You shouldn’t sleep so late.” 

“I know, I know.” He presses his palms against his eyes, utterly exhausted. “I just wanted to squeeze one more chapter in.” 

You peek out from the gap in the fort, scanning the mess that lies on top of Jeongguk’s desk. Books are stacked across two different piles, separated by genre ー One of them being social psychology books required for his research; “How to Win Friends and Influence People” sits on the very top. 

Another stack is dedicated to the parenting books he often checks out from the library. There are Hello Kitty post-it notes that fill up nearly every page, bookmarked for future reference. 

Your eyes return to Jeongguk’s figure, convinced that you can steal a glance, evaluating his exhausted state. But he already has his eyes trained on you, albeit very groggy. A dopey grin stretches across his lips. If he wasn’t already tired before, he definitely is now. 

“You don’t have to do all this alone, Jeongguk. You need to rest.” You flash him a matching smile, hoping that the sentiment reaches him. “I don’t think that you scare easily, but I don’t think you’re immune to it either. And that’s perfectly okay. We’re all just people trying to get by.” 

Jeongguk sinks deeper into the pillows, succumbing to his sleepy desires. “Thank you,” he murmurs, slurring his words. Another yawn slips from his lips. “I’m just used to it 一 being on my own.” 

“Well, you’re not on your own anymore. You can count on me. We’re a team, remember?” 

Jeongguk hums, reduced to non-verbal responses that don’t require much energy. Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids until they’re shut. He makes a mental note to talk about this with you another day. 

You wave a hand in front of his face, convinced that he’s far gone from the state of consciousness. “If it makes you feel better, I can head back to my room now,” you whisper. You think it might be futile to warn him, considering he’s not awake. But as you peel the blanket back, one foot off the bed, there’s a warmth that envelops your wrist, and you halt in your tracks. 

“Stay,” Jeongguk, as tired as he is, manages to mutter with conviction. 

His grip doesn’t falter, and so, you relent. You crawl back beneath the sheets and let the night fade into dawn. 

The sound of rain splashes against the window. The petrichor smells like childhood. It feels like home, and Jeongguk has never slept so soundlessly in his entire life. 

Somehow, Jeongguk wakes up long before you, and you want to curse him for looking so handsome at the crack of dawn. His hair, although disheveled, looks perfectly imperfect. His shirt, as loose as it is, hugs his body in all the right places, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His round specs perch on the bridge of his nose. 

“What do you think about going on a family outing?” Jeongguk suggests over breakfast. 

Minji’s eyes widen as excitement fills her tiny frame.

“That sounds like a fun idea,” you chime. “We should spend more time together so we can be perfect for the interview.” Because loving this man and his daughter is nothing more than a performance, right? 

 “Maybe we can stop at the convenience store and have a picnic in the park. What do you think?” In Jeongguk’s mind, he maps the layout of the market, pinpointing the food that the three of you would enjoy: kimbap, dried squid, potato chips, banana milk, and even fish shaped ice cream. 

“The weather cleared up today. It’s beautiful outside.” You say, chowing down on a bite of strawberries. 

Jeongguk raises a brow, questioning. “You want to go today? I thought you would want to go home after spending the night.” 

“I don’t have much else planned on a Sunday. It gets kind of lonely at my house,” you shrug. “Are you sick of me already?” 

But Jeongguk shakes his head. He’d be foolish to ever push you away. 

…

In sync, both you and Minji enthusiastically bounce on your feet through the streets of Seoul. You could easily pass as a family from that simple action alone. It’s evident when elders cross paths with you, a fond smile sitting on their faces: “You have a beautiful family!” There’s no denying that. The three of you are picture perfect as you link hands on either side of Minji because she is, in fact, the center of your universe. 

When you arrive at the convenience store, Jeongguk picks out a variety of nutritious food while Minji tries to slip cookies into the basket. She’s convinced that her father is not looking because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you from the other end of the snack aisle. He doesn’t think anyone would notice, but Minji surely does. 

For some reason, he feels so content standing in a supermarket with his wife who picks the freshest fruit, and his daughter who tries to distract him from seeing the junk food in her hands. In fact, he could probably spend the entire day comparing vegetable prices, and he would still have the time of his life with you. He used to hate running errands, unless it was doing laundry. But now, he doesn’t seem to mind it. Perhaps it’s because he has two companions at his side, and it feels a little less lonely. 

“Jeongguk?” You call his name from down the aisle. “Do you want me to grab coffee for you?” You reach for the top shelf on your tippy toes, struggling to grip your hands around the bottle. 

Within an instant, Jeongguk is already at your side. He wraps an arm around your waist to prevent you from falling forward. A heat envelops your hand as he wraps his fingers around your palm. “I think I’ll skip on coffee for now. How about tea?” 

Upon hearing his deep voice against the shell of your ear, you grow flustered. The heat of his body makes you freeze, and all you can do is nod your head, stunned. He reaches one shelf over to pluck a large bottle of tea, one that you can all share. 

Although he’s dropped your hand, he keeps a strong arm around your waist. His shoulders are broad enough to simply devour you. Even his chest is so firm pressed against your back.

“By the way, angel, don’t you think we’ve moved on from the formalities?” There’s a pout that rests on his lips. “I’d like it if you could call me something other than Jeongguk. I think it’s more convincing that way.” 

“But that’s your name. What do you want me to call you? Babe? Baby?” 

He shakes his head as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. His hair brushes against your cheek, and your breath hitches in your throat.

You stutter the words out of your mouth, trying to act unaffected. “H- how about darling? Honey? Sweetie? … Handsome?” 

He doesn’t react to either of them, but handsome definitely makes him giggle. 

You ponder for a moment more. “Then what about love?” 

His arm squeezes your waist a little tighter as he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. “That’s perfect, angel.” 

He unravels himself from you as you stare blankly at the beverage aisle in complete awe. You brush your fingertips against your cheek where his warmth lingers. 

This is still practice… right? 

As you stroll through the park, you come across a live performance at the base of the fountain. There’s a man playing guitar, and he’s serenading the crowd as he busks for money. The three of you stand to admire just for a moment. 

A few feet away, Minji is spinning and dancing to the soft melody. Meanwhile, Jeongguk moves his head to the beat of the song, singing the words, albeit faintly. 

“You have a pretty voice.” You nudge your shoulders against his to catch his attention. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He’s bashful. 

“You should sing for me one day.” You raise your brows, trying to tempt him. 

He contemplates your request, but he teases you with a soft “maybe.” He bumps his shoulder against yours like a high schooler with a crush. 

You return the sentiment in a playful back and forth. His sweet action makes you squeal, but not for the reason that you think. Because the affectionate brush of skin against yours quickly transforms into Jeongguk hauling you into his arms. His thick biceps wrap beneath your thighs, and he lifts you into the air. You can’t stop yourself from giggling when he spins you around. There’s a combination of thrill and euphoria in your chest. 

Jeongguk’s mind briefly wanders back to the conversation he had with Minji right before he tucked her into bed last night. “Appa, do you have a crush on eomma?” 

He had scoffed at the question, brushing it off as if that was far from the truth. But Minji had thought otherwise. “When you have a crush on someone, you think about them all the time. You want them to be happy, and you would do anything to make them smile. Whenever you look at eomma, I can see your ears go red. I think you were shy when she kissed your booboo, and you probably want to kiss her back, right?” For some reason, Minji’s advice seemed to be more introspective than what he could ever pull out of Seokjin. 

Jeongguk shakes his head, returning back to reality as he tucks the memory away. When he places you on the ground, you pant with adrenaline. “I thought I was going to fall.” 

His gaze meets yours, and he playfully brushes his knuckles beneath your chin. The peak of sunset illuminates your eyes, and you look golden. An epiphany flashes through his mind, and Jeongguk mutters a curse that echoes through his thoughts. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wants to kiss you. 

But as usual, Jeongguk’s mind wins over his heart. He bites his tongue back and offers the next best thing: “Do you think I’d ever let you fall?” He grabs your hands as if nothing had happened ー as if he isn’t falling in love ー and you sway to the beat of the music, skipping to the lawn where you can enjoy your picnic. 

…

The park is bustling with so many individuals going about their day, minding their own business. The city comes alive with all of the action that surrounds you. 

“Eomma, what’s that over there?” Minji points at an art display at the other end of the fountain. There’s a throng of people, crowding around the small space. The three of you pack up your meal, making sure to toss all of your garbage, before heading over to catch sight of the action. 

There are rows of copy paper attached to a fishing line. It strings across a makeshift perimeter, rooted with no rhyme or reason. Apparently, all the buzz is about an interactive exhibit. Anonymous letters from passersby are posted for you to view, and you may even contribute by submitting your own story. You could write about anything you want. 

“That sounds like a fun idea,” Jeongguk suggests. So he grabs paper and markers for the three of you as you get to work. 

Jeongguk tries to steal a glance at your story, but you throw your body over the paper. 

“Hey, no peeking!” you shout. “These stories are supposed to belong to strangers, okay? Let’s keep it anonymous.” 

On the other hand, Minji is enthusiastic to show her father the family portrait she’s drawn. 

As the minutes pass, you finish jotting your thoughts. It’s not perfect by any means, but the sentiment is still there. When all is said and done, you’ve agreed that you wouldn’t read one another’s stories. One day, you both will disclose the contents of your letter, and you will finally know the truth, but today is not that day. 

.

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Dear reader, If I’m being honest, I’ve always felt undesirable. Nobody has ever confessed their feelings for me. I’ve never been in a relationship, nor have I had my first kiss. I’ve never been stopped in the middle of the street, only to be told that I have a beautiful smile. I’ve always been average at best.  My friends are concerned that I’m lonely. They’re convinced that I need someone to take care of me, but I constantly tell them that I can do it on my own. I’ve done it my entire life.  I’ve held my own hand, swallowed the heartache, and reminded myself “I can do this!” before doing the scary things I never wanted to do. I patted myself on the back when I finished school, earned my first job, and paid all my overdue bills. I raised my younger brother at the age of eighteen as if I was a single mother. I woke up to an empty bed every single day and fed myself scraps of food, even when I didn’t want to. Sometimes, it was burnt, charred, and a little too salty. But that’s what love tastes like, right? Through the smooth sailing and the rough patches, there was no boyfriend, no girlfriend, no partner or lover. Just me. But the more that I think about it, I am so, so tired.  Perhaps I grew up too fast and burned too bright. Because now, I don’t know what to do. There’s a guy that I like, or at least I think I do. Nobody ever taught me how to sort out my feelings. I’ve always been told to give and give and give. I’ve had to sacrifice my life, my time, and all of my energy. I was never allowed to feel anger, sadness, or human connection. I never had anything for myself, and I feel empty.  But lately, being with him brings me to life.  Although I don’t know what it’s like to be in love, this is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to it. When I’m with him, my inner child wants to come out and play. That little girl has always lived in my imagination. I don’t know her very well, but she’s running around, laughing and dancing as if she knows no pain. With him, she is always reminded that she is beautiful and spectacular. That she is stronger than anyone he knows. She is safe. She is protected. Above all, she feels seen. She gets ice cream for dinner, and it’s sweet. It doesn’t quite taste like the love she once knew, but somehow, she thinks it’s even more delicious.  Surely, yes, I can take care of myself. But maybe we can learn to take care of each other. 

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Hi. I don’t know who cares to read this, but if you do, welcome.  Where do I even begin? I know this sounds pathetic, but… I don’t think anyone has ever truly understood me for who I am. Perhaps that’s my fault. I constantly reinvent myself to be the person that they want me to be. Society has so many expectations as to how I should look, how I should act, and how I should feel.  Let me paint you a picture. I’m big ー horribly buff. I have tattoos and long hair. All the neighborhood grandmas tell me I should cut it because I’d be more handsome. They even tell their grandchildren not to look up to me because I’m far from being an aspiration. Even if I’m the most charming person in the room… if I change my appearance ー if I lose weight, cover my tattoos, and buzz off my hair, they’d find another reason to hate me. It’ll never be enough. They’ll always perceive me as the bad guy and villainize me for everything I do. They say it’s better to be feared than to be loved if I cannot be both. But… I think I want to be loved. I want to be loved so bad that I would do anything to make people look at me. Yet they all shove their unwanted opinions down my throat, and I have nothing left to swallow but my own pride. I have no choice but to be exactly what they want.  Most people assume that I’m indestructible. Fortified. That I don’t have a single worry in this world. They think that I can shoulder all of these burdens, and nothing could possibly hurt me. Supposedly, I don’t ever cry ー I never break or bend or shatter because showing emotion is a sign that I’ve already lost.  But it’s not true.  I’m softer than I look. I worry that I’m not good enough. I feel like I suck at my job, and I constantly make mistakes. I don’t know how to be a good father, but I try.  I don’t really know what I want to say. I just wish that people didn’t feel entitled to my body. My body is my own except when it isn’t. It happens more often than not. Maybe then, I could finally be myself, whoever that may be.  It sounds like my life is awful, but I promise it isn’t that bad. Recently, I’ve found a small glimmer of hope. There’s one person who accepts me for who I am. She doesn’t expect me to be anyone but myself. She looks at me like I’m human ー as if I’m someone who’s worth it. Like I’m more than just an idea. She showed me that there’s kindness in this world ー that there’s bravery in being soft. She sees me, and scary enough, I think she can even see right through me. I’ve told her so many vulnerable things about myself, and she could probably stab me in the back with all that she knows. I think it would be worth it though.  There’s still so much I have to tell her. She may not know the whole truth, but one day, she will. I hope she doesn’t leave me when she finds out. Until then, I will take care of her. I will keep her safe and protect her with every inch of my life. I promise.

By the end of the week, you and Jeongguk have amped yourselves up for Yumi’s engagement party. But there’s one problem. 

Jeongguk is late. 

He’s never late. When he needs to pick up his daughter from school, he always shows up thirty minutes before dismissal. On date nights, he knocks on your door while you’re in the midst of putting on makeup, and he gladly watches you doll yourself up for the entire hour. For Jeongguk to be late, something must be terribly wrong. 

The two of you had agreed to meet up at Yumi’s party seeing that Jeongguk was running behind from work. But where could he possibly be when you need him the most? 

Outside of Yumi’s apartment complex, you pace anxiously, twiddling with the engagement present in your hands ー a cast iron skillet that you and Jeongguk had both bought at the department store. From the sidewalk, you can hear the sound of music streaming from the open windows. Endless chatter filters between each beat. You glance at your watch for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“Jeongguk, where are you?” You groan, ready to accept defeat. 

A nervous sigh falls from your lips. Your shoulders slump. If you have to wait any longer, you might just head into the party all on your own and lose face in front of your friends. 

Suddenly, you hear the echo of your name from down the street. Jeongguk is sprinting towards you. He’s a blur of motion. Before you realize it, the air is knocked out of your lungs. Jeongguk had overestimated his speed, missed his landing, and he is colliding into you with open arms. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He tucks his head against your shoulder, panting. His cheeks are hot, and his hair is disheveled. He murmurs apologies against your skin. The scratch of his voice etches a frown onto your face. 

Between the two of you, Jeongguk is the more composed one. You’ve always known him to be calm, collected, a little silly, but lovely nevertheless. You’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s shaking. 

You squeeze his shoulders in an attempt to peel his body away from yours. But his arms wrap around your waist even tighter, unwilling to part ways. This scene is rather familiar, something akin to a little child seeking comfort. You pat his back, hushing him, as to tell him that everything will be okay. 

So you start counting to ten, reminding him to breathe in and out. You place your hand on his chest, strong and reliable, right over the beat of his heart. His eyes close, concentrating all of his energy on the blooming feeling inside of his ribcage. So you paint a pretty picture for him as you dwell in a little puddle of grief together. 

“My mom used to tell me that if you transport yourself to a happy place, then all your worries will melt away.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but he hums against your collarbone. He wants nothing more but to hear you talk. He loves the sound of your voice. What is your happy place? 

“These days, I picture myself with you in your house. We’re baking a cake with Minny, and it’s going terribly wrong.” You let out a chuckle, and it’s the sweetest thing Jeongguk has ever heard. “Well, actually, the taste is perfect. You’re the head chef after all, and you’re so talented. You know better than me.” 

You interrupt your own story with something that will definitely make him laugh. “Did you know that I’ve been borrowing cookbooks from the library? I know it sounds ridiculous. I want to get better so you don’t have to cook all the time. It’d be such a shame if I accidentally poisoned you and the cops would swarm in, charging me with second degree murder.” You can feel his smile against your neck. “I found a recipe for buckwheat noodles, and maybe we should try it out next weekend.” 

He nods against your neck, sniffling. He doesn’t want to break it to you, but all you need is a boiling pot of water to cook the noodles. 

“Well anyways, in my happy place, the kitchen is a disaster because there’s icing everywhere. Sprinkles are in your hair. I think I have flour in my bra and butter on my cheek. But we’re having fun, singing along to the radio with all of the wrong lyrics. I’d ask you to dance, and when you’re too scared of looking stupid, Minny would pull out a dance move that’s even sillier than what you could ever imagine. Because even if we can’t do it perfectly, whether it is cooking or dancing or singing, we’re still trying.”

There’s a wet tear that falls onto your collarbone. You trace a circle against Jeongguk’s chest, reminding him to concentrate all of his feelings right there. His shoulders relax and his breath evens out. 

“When we’re in our happy place, we never go hungry. So if you ever feel sad or anxious, then just meet me right here. I’ll bring the cake ー sorry, just the ingredients, actually, but I’ll get better at cooking. I swear! Minny will bring her cute attitude. And you can just bring yourself.” 

There’s a soft breeze that surrounds you. The moonlight conspires with the flight of the fireflies, illuminating the dim sidewalk. The party is long forgotten as you hold onto Jeongguk for just another moment. Reluctantly, he steps back with his head down. His eyes train on the pavement.

“How do you feel, love? Look at me.” You cup his cheeks, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling into your embrace. 

After taking a deep sigh, he lifts his head to reveal a bruised cheek and a gash above his eye, right on the brow bone. The blood runs dry. 

Shock runs through your body. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” You gently  move his head from side to side, examining every inch of his skin to check for more injuries. But your eyes are frantic. Your hands run through his hair, feeling for bumps and bruises. The search comes up empty, but your throat constricts at the thought of someone hurting your husband. 

You grab the cast iron skillet, wielding it like a weapon with the force of a grip so tight that it threatens to bend beneath your fingers. Your other hand clenches his palm, stomping in the direction he came from so he could lead you towards the perpetrator. 

Whoever did this to Jeongguk is going to pay, and you’re willing to kill whoever it is. Because for him, you would wage a full on war, running straight into your demise if it meant fighting for him. You would barrel through fire, load your rifles, and draw your daggers no matter what it takes. If they ask you to rip your heart out and put it in his hands, you would have considered the deal done long ago. 

Jeongguk is quick to extinguish the fiery passion that fuels your anger, reminding you to not make any rash decisions. The flash of his doe eyes is enough to soothe your worries, and all you want to do is hold him. 

The truth is, Jeongguk had already taken care of the situation. As the story goes, he had accepted a side mission to stop the smuggling of antiques from a museum ー gifts from a billionaire tycoon who had long passed. His heirs had sent the treasures to be appraised in the city before it was quickly intercepted by a smuggling ring. 

Jeongguk managed to save original art from dynasties past (no doubt stolen), rare coins, china sets, and clusters of intricate jewelry. He stopped the ploy before the thieves had even left the warehouse. However, being the best of the best does not mean he is able to escape unscathed every time. 

Jeongguk did not account for the hidden explosives on the agenda. A shrapnel had grazed his skin, forming a deep gash above his brow bone. Had he not been more careful, he would have been in much worse shape. 

Although Jeongguk had completed his mission, barely injured, he can’t help but feel guilty for showing up late. If his wound was much more serious, or perhaps he was left for dead, he would not have made it to Yumi’s engagement party. The last thing Jeongguk wants is to keep you waiting. 

While he zipped through the streets of Seoul, he didn’t even have a chance to think of a lie. All he could think about was running to you. So he says the first thing that comes to mind. “The airbags in my car set off.” 

“You were in a crash? Was Minny with you? What are you doing here? You should go to a hospital!” The words splutter out of your mouth.

His hand cups yours as they rest on his cheeks. “Minny’s with Seokjin today, so don’t worry. The collision was really minor, I swear. I already went to the emergency room, and they said I’ll be good as new.” His voice is eerily calm. 

He laces his fingers with yours and presses his lips against your knuckles before promptly taking the iron skillet from your hands. “I don’t want you to worry, let’s just go to the party, okay?” 

You’re too concerned to even dwell on that tender moment of intimacy. “You worry me too much, you know?” 

“I know, angel. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you shake your head. “I don’t need anything. I’m just glad that you’re here.” 

But little do you know, there’s a diamond ring worth millions burning a hole in Jeongguk’s pocket. Some dead billionaire isn’t going to miss it. 

Everyone at the event is captivated by Jeongguk. Of course they would. It’s easy when Jeongguk is so charming in such a deceitful way. He can easily spin different versions of himself after each new greeting, creating a hundred nuances to his personality in an instant. He could tell everyone that he’s the prince of Joseon, and they would easily fall for his lies because of the charisma that he oozes. 

Your friends see him as the best boyfriend in the world, someone who’s the total package and simply put, he’s way out of your league. He’s romantic in every aspect of the word, he’s open about his feelings, and he’s the purest definition of a “girl dad.” What more could you possibly ask for? Whatever it is, Jeongguk is exactly that. 

Even when Jeongguk has no need to impress the men at the party, he has dozens of conversation topics up his sleeve. It’s impressive when he knows basically everything about everything. You name it: video games, boxing, and the federal reserve. This arsenal of information is stored in his mind simply because he’ll never know when he needs to strike up a conversation about camping, barbecuing, or fishing (despite never having an interest to sit and stare at the water with Seokjin for hours on end). Men are so simple minded. They’re absolute fools. 

Thankfully, your brother, San, is just another man who falls for the thinly veiled ruse. He seems to approve of your relationship with Jeongguk. Mostly because he can talk about their passion for different cuts of meat. But also because he sees the way that your “boyfriend” takes care of you in the most subtle ways ー by virtue, it’s the act of noticing. 

Jeongguk walks you through the crowds of people with a guiding hand on your lower back. He fixes your hair when it falls loose in front of your face. He refills your cup with your favorite drink without ever having to ask. He can’t stop talking about how grateful he is to have a chance with you ー how you’re so beautiful and smart and the only thing he ever wants. There’s obviously love and intention in Jeongguk’s eyes whenever he looks at you. Anyone could see that. To be loved is to be known, and Jeongguk knows you like the back of his hand. 

You can feel the pressure of having to prove your relationship when all of the girls gather around, asking invasive questions. How did you convince y/n to go out with you? We almost lost hope for the poor girl. Have you all hung out as a family yet? What does Minji think of your relationship? 

For some reason, it feels like you’re back in high school, listening to locker room gossip. It feels as if they’re judging you. They’re laughing at you. But time and time again, Jeongguk defends you and your honor. Not because you need his help, but because you love the safety and security of his words.

“I don’t appreciate you being passive aggressive. Because to me, y/n is the most precious person in the world. If you have something you want to say, then just say it to my face.” He bites back without ever breaking eye contact. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. It’s equal parts intimidating and the most attractive thing you have ever seen. 

All the girls seem to agree when they swallow a trace of spit and nod their heads in obedience. “Sorry, we just wanted to say that you’re both so lucky to find one another.” They drop the subject, but only for a little while. 

Throughout the party, Jeongguk holds you close because he knows how nervous you were to come, and rightfully so. You told him how scared you were to introduce him to all of your friends (he doesn’t see why they deserve that title when they’re nothing but mean girls). Nevertheless, you’re frightened because your relationship with Jeongguk is sacred. Untainted. Unconventional, yes. But it’s protected because only you know about the depths of your bond. After tonight, everything will change. Having your “friends” witness your love so openly feels as if you have to give up another piece of yourself. After making this public knowledge, nothing could ever fully be yours.

But this moment right here is yours to keep, yours to hold, and yours to cherish. Jeon Jeongguk is in your arms, and all you can do is make it known that you are in love. 

“Whatever they say, ignore them, okay? Just look at me.” His arm wraps around your waist, and you relax in his hold. The stars in his eyes keep you captivated, and everything else is long forgotten. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, scared that if he were to go up one decibel, it would burst the little bubble that you’ve created for yourselves. Perhaps you would disappear if he says your name any louder, and he would wake up to realize that his dream girl is nothing but a figment of his imagination. 

But there’s nothing about this relationship that’s fake. Your brother can see it all. Although you haven’t hung out with him in ages, he’s very intrigued with the man hanging off of your arm. “Jeongguk, when did you realize that y/n was the one?” 

“Stop, we just started dating.” You smack the back of San’s head. But Jeongguk isn’t one to shy away from the question. 

“Well, it’s a funny story. The first time I saw her, I thought I had to talk to her. A few months ago, I dropped my daughter off at the daycare. When I walked past the door, I tripped on my own two feet. I saw y/n reading a story at the front of the class. She was so elegant, graceful, and just so, so gorgeous. My first thought was that she is the most incredible person I’ve ever seen.” Jeongguk tells the story without ever taking his eyes off of you. It’s as if you’re the only person in the whole world. There’s a beaming smile stretched across his face. His dimples are carved into his cheeks. 

“Minji, my daughter, she has a tendency to cry when I’m not there. So when she bursted into tears, y/n asked if she wanted to sit with her and help her read. She put my daughter on her lap, and instantly, Minny stopped crying.

“For weeks, I tried to work up the courage to approach her. I visited as much as I could. I borrowed more materials than I could even finish, and eventually, I had a pile of overdue books sitting in my apartment. When y/n wasn’t busy with the daycare, she worked at the front desk. I thought she might say something about my outstanding charges, but she never did. At that point, I wanted to talk to her so bad, but I was so foolish. I started bringing cups of coffee into the library, thinking that she would yell at me for breaking the rules.” 

“Did it work? Why didn’t you just say something?” San wonders. 

“I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t think she was interested. She barely looked at me. Never tried to initiate small talk,” Jeongguk shrugs. 

Avoiding eye contact is exactly how you show interest in someone. Is there any other way to do it? You had been so nervous to even glance in his general direction! Men don’t ever give you affection, especially not men as gorgeous as Jeongguk. It just felt so wrong to even think about crushing on him. 

“But one day, y/n approached me first by some miracle, and I was so shocked. I- I just thought she was an angel. My daughter was at her side. We talked. One thing led to another. The next thing I knew, I was stressing about what outfit to wear and buying flowers so I could pick her up for a coffee date. I don’t even know how to explain it. Everything just fell into place.” 

You were convinced that Jeongguk had never noticed you before you approached him that fateful day in the non-fiction aisle. But it rings true that Minji had cried some months ago during reading time. You recall all of the details, albeit vaguely. Had Jeongguk been watching all this time? Did he really borrow an excessive amount of books and purposely buy illicit coffee just to get your attention? 

There’s a soft smile that plays on your lips, and Jeongguk is certain that you’re a real life angel. “I hope you know that I waived your overdue fees every single time,” you confess. 

…

At some point in the night, you and Jeongguk ended up separating in the most nightmarish of ways. Your coworkers had looped their arms around yours and pulled you away for some girl talk. 

Meanwhile Jeongguk is at the other end of the hall, playing billiards with all of the other men. He socializes with them as if it’s effortless. He tells them jokes and makes them chuckle, but of course, his laugh is the one that stands out to you the most. He’s enchanting, and you are all but a moth drawn to a flame. He lights up every room he walks into, shining brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.

As you watch Jeongguk have his own fun, you check out of the conversation, barely listening to what Yumi has to say. You couldn’t quite relate to the stories that they’ve shared about their partners ー being engaged, moving in together, trying for children, having sex. 

“y/n, how big is your boyfriend?” 

You ponder the question. “Uhm, I don’t know his weight exactly…” 

“No, no, sweetie, I mean how big is his dick?” 

Your eyes widen in surprise as you shake your head. “We haven’t actually done anything yet. Our relationship is new, y’know. Also, I don’t think that’s any of your business-” 

“You mean you haven’t even seen him naked? Surely you’ve touched him when you’ve made out, right?” Their eyes widen when you shake your head no, trying to sputter a retort. 

“Even if you’re taking it slow, you must know what he likes in bed, right? Spitting? Choking? Spanking? A little bit of roleplay? Does he like to be called daddy?”

You, yourself, nearly choke on your own drink. 

“Most couples get intimate because- I hate to break it to you-” Yumi leans closer to you until her voice is all but a whisper. “All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.” 

You don’t know why you would believe Yumi’s words despite Jeongguk’s constant reassurance of how much you mean to him. She’s so fucking infuriating, but could she be right? Does Jeongguk see other women when you’re not around? Does he ever tell you that you’re pretty just for the performance of being a married couple? Has everything he said in the past few weeks been an act? Surely, you don’t know everything about this man, but would he ever lie to you? You bite the inside of your cheek as you anxiously pick on the skin around your nails, thinking about her advice. 

Seemingly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what the conversation is about. But he doesn’t need to be familiar with the details to know that you’re growing anxious. He can see it from the way you fiddle with your hands. From the way you furrow your brows and chew on your lips. From down the hall, he can pick up on your breathing. He can practically hear the hurricane of thoughts swirling around your head.

Before you can drown in your thoughts, Jeongguk makes his way over to you, nursing a glass of champagne in his hand. “Hi, angel.” He whispers against your jaw. His cheeks are flushed pink as his head rests against the crook of your neck, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. “Do you want to get out of here? You can stay over at my place tonight if you want,” he offers.  

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” You shift your gaze to the gash on his brow. Even when you don’t feel your best, you’re still concerned for those around you. That’s just the person you are. You’re so used to giving yourself away. 

“Kind of,” he says. But it hurts more knowing that you’re not okay. 

You ruffle your hands through his hair, trying to soothe his ache. “Do you want your painkillers?”

“Just want you.” His deep voice rumbles against your collarbone as he presses a shy kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.” He gently grabs your hand in his and leads you out the front door. You don’t even have a chance to say goodbye to all the guests. Quite frankly, you don’t even care. 

The moment you return to Jeongguk’s apartment, you dart to the medicine cabinet, filling a glass of water and instructing him to swallow the morphine pill. To soothe the pain, you apply some ointment onto his injury and gently blow on his gash, hoping that it doesn’t leave a scar to mar his beautiful face. But you avoid eye contact with him as much as you can. All while Jeongguk stares at your pretty lips and your glittery eyes. You look so cute when you’re concerned. A pout rests on your face, and he wants nothing more than to kiss it better. 

But then you bid him goodnight, rushing into the guest room, pacing back and forth behind closed doors. 

Jeongguk sits in the living room, stunned, wondering if he’s done something wrong. Whether his breath smells, or maybe he’s come on too strong. Is it obvious how much he cares for you? Yet a part of him wants you to know, even if you don’t reciprocate. To love you so freely is enough for him. 

For you, the problem is not Jeongguk. It’s the fact that you can’t stop thinking about the conversation from earlier in the night. Yumi’s voice echoes through your thoughts. All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.

A part of you needs Jeongguk to tell you that this isn’t true. Your heart and mind may not be able to rest otherwise. So for the sake of your fake relationship, you put on a brave face and patter down the hall to his room. 

…

The soft knock on Jeongguk’s door draws his attention away from the vanity. As soon as he tells you to come in, you hesitantly enter his bedroom. 

His back is turned as he faces the mirror, heedlessly applying his skincare. “What’s up? Do you need anything?” He spins around to meet you with curiosity written on his face. 

You catch a glimpse of his exposed chest, and your cheeks heats up in recognition. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, seeing that he’s getting ready for bed. He removes his rings and the silver watch from his wrist. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t know you were indecent.” You turn your head away, avoiding his strong build ー the biceps that bulge beneath his shirt and the muscles that flex with every movement. Your hand shoots up to hide your face in embarrassment. 

He finds it adorable how flustered you get upon seeing a little bit of skin. Still, he makes no effort to button up his shirt. Because that’s all that it is ー just skin. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, and your eyes flicker to the floor as if the rug is the most interesting thing in the world. “Can we talk about something?” 

“Talk?” He approaches the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Come here, what do you want to talk about?” 

You perch yourself onto the mattress bouncing up and down from the weight of the springs. Jeongguk sidles closer to you. His knees knock against yours. He smells like jasmine and musk, and it’s divine. 

“At the party, the girls were talking about relationships,” you begin.  

He hums with a nod, attentive as ever. Jeongguk looks at you as if you’re the only person in the world, but you don’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with anything else but the intensity of his eyes. 

“What did they say?” He wonders, readjusting your necklace so the pendant sits pretty on your neck. 

“Y’know.” You tug on your fingers, finding something to fiddle with. “The usual stuff.”

He reaches for your hands, instantly halting your movements. Soothing your nerves, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that you must have mustered a lot of courage to come over and bring this up. “Angel, you have to use your words if you want to tell me what’s on your mind.” 

You grow bashful under his touch, but that’s exactly the problem. “They talked about stuff like this.” You squeeze his palms for emphasis. “Holding hands. Touching. Skinship.” You mumble the last part, too shy to say it out loud: “Kissing.” Turning your cheek towards him, you murmur an apology. “Sorry. You make me nervous.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue licks the plump of your lips or the way your throat constricts after swallowing a trace of spit. “Nervous? C’mere- look at me.” 

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. It’s authoritative, and you can’t help but follow his orders. 

“I’m not familiar with being this close to someone,” you motion at the lack of space between his body and yours. “I wouldn’t want you to be upset with me if I’m not very affectionate.” 

“Angel, I’d never be upset with you. We can do whatever you want at your own pace.”

“Are you sure you’d never leave me if-”

Jeongguk stops your train of thought before allowing your mind to wander to a dark place. His voice hardens upon hearing such a suggestion. “I never want to even think about that possibility because I’m not letting you go. I’m yours no matter what. You’ll actually have to fight me if you want to push me away. Even then, I’d crawl right back to you.” He truly means every single word that he utters. 

There’s a hint of a smile on your lips. “Sorry. Intimacy is really scary for me,” you confess, hesitating. Jeongguk gives you another moment to collect your thoughts. He’d give you as long as you need, even if it’s a lifetime and all the stars in the night sky have burnt out. 

“But another reason I want to talk to you is because I’m concerned this won’t come across as a real marriage if we’re physically distant, y’know? The girls said that it’s normal for couples to be… intimate.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, at least not immediately. He doesn’t react. His eyes are distracted by your mouth ー the way your gloss clings onto your lips and the way it moves so languidly with every word you articulate. 

“Jeongguk- Love?”

The sound of his name never really meant much to him. After all, it’s just an alias. Yet nothing sets him aflame more than the claim that you have on him ー the way that your lips purse when you call him your love.

“I know this sounds silly-” you begin. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowed, effectively wiping away all of your insecurities. “Never.” 

A naive grin spreads across your face. How could you be so foolish to believe that Jeongguk would make you feel anything less than important? Time and time again, he makes you feel heard. He makes you feel seen.

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me.” 

“Well, I read an article about how looking into your partner’s eyes for a long period of time increases intimacy. It also builds trust and helps to recognize emotion.” It’s ironic how you explain all of this while avoiding his eyes. Instead, you keep them trained on the scar sitting pretty and kissable on his cheek. 

A dimpled smile spreads across Jeongguk’s face. “Okay, we can try,” he agrees. He reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you think you might pass away. “But angel, you have to face me if we’re going to do this. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“Right, yeah,” you mumble. “Of course.” Shuffling from the edge of the bed, you turn to face your husband. You tuck your feet beneath your butt and sit on your knees.

“Relax, okay? There’s no need to be nervous around me.” His voice is reassuring. It’s heartwarming. 

You nod your head as you will yourself to meet his gaze. “I can do this. I can do this,” you think to yourself. 

Jeongguk’s pupils glimmer in the lowlight, warm and comforting, and you wonder how anyone could be so handsome. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s difficult when he, himself, is so distracting. There’s a beauty mark on his cheek. His jaw. His nose. Beneath his lip. You could trace them all day and night, if only he’d let you. 

Jeongguk’s deep voice cuts through the night. “Is there anything else that you want to try?” 

“M- maybe we could hold hands?” 

“We’ve held hands before.” He laces his fingers between yours so effortlessly, his hand engulfing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Does it still make you nervous?” He wonders. 

“A little bit,” you glance at how small your hand looks in his. “But I can get used to it.” 

“Can I suggest something?” 

You nod, agreeing. “Anything.” 

He tilts his head to the side, raising a brow, unconvinced. “Anything? Are you sure?” 

You nod with more confidence. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.” 

“Then can I hold you?”

You hesitate for a second, unsure of what that entails. A beat goes by when Jeongguk is prepared to tell you that you’re free to say no. But you wipe that thought away, giving him your full consent.

Not a second passes by before he wraps his tattooed arms around your waist, tugging you onto his lap. Your thighs rest on either side of his hips, straddling him.

A squeak ー a fucking squeak. God, how much cuter can you get? ー slips past your lips. They’re swollen from how you nervously tug on the flesh, tethering it between your teeth. 

“Does this feel better?” There’s a sense of longing that drips from Jeongguk’s honeyed voice. 

“It’s… nice.” Your brain is on the verge of malfunctioning and shutting down upon feeling the heat of his skin against yours. “Better.” Your voice is breathy. It’s self preservation. You exhale deeply in an attempt to calm the flutter of your heart. 

To keep yourself occupied, you trace your fingers across your bare thighs, unsure of what to do with them. Jeongguk had let go of your hands in favor of holding your hips. So you play with the hem of your dress that’s currently riding up your legs. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how little you’re wearing. How your skin is burning beneath his fingertips. 

Jeongguk’s body is radiating, and you can feel the heat between your legs grow, the dampness in your underwear spreading. 

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers. 

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were. 

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.” 

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control. 

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips. 

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.” 

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.” 

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him. 

So you do. 

When your lips meet, it’s as if the rest of the world has gone silent. Time has stopped, and nothing else matters but the two of you at this moment. 

His lips are pillowy soft against yours. He tastes like champagne and mint. He’s gentle, only applying as much pressure as you do. You melt into his touch, feeling featherlight in his hold. His hands grip your waist so delicately, with love and intention, as if you are the most precious thing in his eyes. 

You pull apart to catch your breath, allowing the air to fill your lungs, regretfully so. If you were to drown, you would want to drown in Jeon Jeongguk. Your eyes flutter open, but you can’t seem to look at anything but his cherry lips. 

“Love…” The term of endearment leaves your lips in a pant, and he grows harder beneath you. “This is going to sound so embarrassing…” Your voice trails off as the heat engulfs your entire body. Your head lowers, feeling self-conscious of your actions. 

Jeongguk nuzzles his nose against your neck as he presses tender kisses on your collarbone. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” 

Your fingernails dig into his strong shoulders, squeezing his taut muscles as you muster the courage to tell him the truth. “That was my first kiss.” 

He peers up at you from beneath his long eyelashes. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Jeongguk shakes his head, squeezing your waist with reassurance. 

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?” 

“Never.” Leaning forward, he brushes his mouth against yours. “I have never once pretended with you.” 

You kiss him back with more fervor, desperate and wanting. You’re more confident now, fully knowing that Jeongguk wants this as much as you do. 

“When you said I could do whatever…” You pull back, thinking about Jeongguk’s previous statement.

He nods his head with the most innocent beam on his face. “I mean it.”

God, you feel like such a pervert. You’ve shared your first kiss with him, something so sweet and innocent. Why couldn’t that be enough for you? You’re sitting on his lap, feeling the broad planes of his chest, and you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to do more. To feel more. 

You’re ridden with guilt, drowning in your own arousal, but Jeongguk is so kind. He’s understanding. He’s staring at you as if you’re his whole world. He would never dare to objectify you because he’s a gentleman. But… What if you want him to? 

“The girls at the party were also talking about…” Your words begin to trail. 

“About what?” You subconsciously trace circles onto his shoulders, distracting yourself from the conversation, not knowing that Jeongguk’s eyes flutter close because he adores the drag of your nails and the subtle warmth of your fingertips. 

“About… doing it.” Your words come out in a hushed whisper. It feels too inappropriate to say it out loud. Yet you don’t dare to mention how your panties are absolutely ruined. 

“Angel, what did we talk about?” His lips press against your shoulder, at any inch of skin that he can reach. “You have to be more specific.”

Jeongguk has never once made you feel ashamed or embarrassed. He has never laughed at you or told you that you’re being silly. So why is it so difficult to tell him that you want him ー Need him? 

You take the leap of faith because this is your partner ー in life, in death, and in crime. This is Jeongguk. Your one and only lover who never fails to remind you that you are the strongest woman in the world. He who delivers nutritious lunch boxes to you and tucks cute notes into the lid because he knows that they make you smile. Jeon Jeongguk who massages the knots out of your shoulders after a secret night of combat. He who gets pouty when you call him anything other than ‘love.’

There’s no need to hide anything from this man. He’s your home, just as you are his.

“They talked about sex… You know… making love. ” The crude word sounds so wrong leaving your lips. So out of place. It’s dirty, and it’s naughty. “They said all couples do it, but we’ve never…” 

“Do you want to do it because you want to, or is it because your friends told you to?” Jeongguk searches your eyes for clarification. “Because if you feel pressured when you’re not ready-”

“No! I do!” You cling onto his shirt with more urgency. “I want to do it ー with you. I trust you.” You lean closer, brushing your lips against his ear. “You’re my husband.” 

Jeongguk groans at the sound of your words. At the way your fingernails scratch down his chest. At the way you sit so pretty and perfect on top of his lap, pressing your weight into his erection. 

He gulps as if this is the first time he’s ever been nervous in his life. “Why don’t you take off my shirt?” 

“C- can I?” you stutter. 

“Like I said, you can do whatever you want to me. You’re my wife, and I’m yours.” He presses his lips against your brow. “Yours to hold. To kiss. To love.” He kisses your nose. Your chin. Your jaw. He tucks your hair behind your ears and whispers. “I’m yours to make love to.” 

With trembling fingers, you reach for the button that barely holds Jeongguk’s shirt together. 

His hand engulfs yours. “Don’t forget to breathe, in and out, okay?” Jeongguk, patient as ever, waits for your respiration to steady. “You’re safe with me. If you want to stop, just say the word.” 

With each button undone, his shirt falls apart, revealing Jeongguk’s toned abs. As glorious as he is, your eyes are drawn to the scar on the side of his stomach, barely covered by the fabric that hangs off his back. The scar is jagged, and the skin is raised, the tissue is puckered at the edges. 

“Wha- what happened here?” Your fingertips reach down to trace over the scar, but before you make contact, you pull away. 

“You can touch it-” Jeongguk reaffirms. “Wherever you want. I’m yours.” 

Jeongguk’s breath hitches in his throat when your cold hands lightly graze the rough texture, feeling the ghost of his past. But he knows how you’ll respect his boundaries no matter what, and he relaxes, fully knowing that you’ll take care of him. 

“I had surgery when I was younger.” Jeongguk lies. “They took out my appendix.” 

Your brows furrow. There’s no reason not to believe him, but why is the scar so jagged and uneven? Certain parts are wider than others as if the surgeon had twisted a large blade into his abdomen, and not simply sliced to gain access to his organs. 

As usual, Jeongguk can read the concern written on your face. “It’s okay, it didn’t hurt much.” The curve of his lips settle into a warm and reassuring smile. “I promise.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t express any discomfort about his scar, yet you can’t help but wonder what kind of horrors he had to live through. 

To ease your mind, Jeongguk pulls you into his body and presses his hands beneath your thighs. 

A yelp escapes from your lips as he lifts you up. You’re chest to chest with him, legs wrapping around his waist. He presses your back down to the mattress, settling your head onto one of the pillows at the bedpost. 

He hovers above you, a hair's breadth away. 

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips. “You look so stunning.”

You grow shy with all the attention that Jeongguk feeds you. “Hi,” you whisper back. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. 

“Can I take this off?” Jeongguk glides a finger beneath the strap of your dress.

There’s a rush in your head, feeling dizzy upon nodding your head with so much vigor. 

His lips pair with yours in a quick kiss before calling you a good girl. He shifts his weight off of you so that he can tug you into an upright position and peel the dress off. 

Jeongguk’s eyes widen at your bare chest, having omitted a bra so as to not ruin the outfit. His throat goes dry, and he’s having trouble forming words in his head. You’ve never seen him so speechless. 

Subconsciously, you raise your arms to cover your chest. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, pressing a smooch to your delicate skin. “You’re so pretty like this. Don’t ever hide from me, okay?” 

His words make you shiver. Having someone dote on you as much as Jeongguk is something you’re not used to. But that’s exactly why you’re here, right? So you nod your head and let him pin your hands to the mattress before leading a trail of kisses down your body.

Curious fingers speak freely against your skin, exploring every inch of you. He takes note of every gasp, giggle, and moan that escapes your lips. He presses his swollen lips to your sensitive spots until you keen louder for him, desperately begging for more. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking on the bud until you whimper. He’s a drooling mess over your tits as he leaves a trail of saliva, marking your skin and claiming you as his. 

Jeongguk furthers his descent down your tummy, placing sweet kisses against the waistband of your panties. He reaches down to feel the leather strap around your upper thigh. It’s the holster that you use to sheathe your knife, and thank God you disarmed before stepping into Jeongguk’s bedroom. 

“I use it to hold my pepper spray,” you murmur a half-ass excuse. “Some of my clothes have shallow pockets.” 

Jeongguk smiles against your skin as he ghosts his lips against your soft thighs. He doesn’t think much of it, but he does think it’s really hot. So he doesn’t bother to unstrap as he continues to worship your body. 

What catches his attention is not the way you’ve soaked through your underwear, as arousing as it is. But rather, he’s intrigued by the faint mark on the outside of your thigh. It’s not a regular, old scar. To Jeongguk, it’s oddly familiar because it’s what appears to be an old bullet wound. 

Jeongguk stutters in disbelief, eyes wide. “What’s this? W- were you sho-” He tries to mentally collect himself as he settles on a choice of words. “Were you hurt? Who hurt you?”

You look down, noticing the circular scar on your outer thigh before shaking it off. “It’s nothing. It was from an injection.” 

“Are you sure? It looks li- It looked serious.” His voice trembles with concern, hands fisting at his sides. 

You pull him up by the collar of his undone shirt, hanging off his broad shoulders. Your lips meet his in a delicate, comforting kiss. Jeongguk visibly relaxes in your hold.  

“I’m fine, really. I just want you.” You claw his shoulders in an attempt to peel the rest of the fabric off. 

Jeongguk sighs, trying to forget about what he had seen. But he’s certain that his mind will wander back to the scar at another point in time. He strips the shirt off his back, carelessly tossing the fabric onto the floor. 

Jeon Jeongguk is mesmerizing. You’ve never seen the entirety of his sleeve, but there it is, in all its glory. There’s a faint beauty mark on his chest, one that you did not account for when tracing all of the scars and marks on his upper body. 

“Tell me you want me,” his breath is hot and heavy against yours. 

Subconsciously, you clench at the sound of his words. “Guk- I want you more than anything.” Your hands float down to the buckle of his jeans as you unclasp the button. “You’re wearing too much. Take it off.” The plea that falls from your lips is breathy and desperate. 

“Fuck-” Jeongguk curses, trying to restrain himself.

Jeongguk has slept with plenty of women before, but never like this. He’s always had one night stands with an ulterior motive, whether it is for leverage or intel or for the sole purpose of converting an innocent woman into a whistleblower. He’s fucked with media journalists, cabinet members, and even the wives of politicians. He isn’t proud of it, but women, just like everyone else, are more likely to say things they don’t mean when their desires are fulfilled. They’re willing to trust him and spill their secrets when they’re lost in the throes of pleasure ー when he hands over his lust and his attention. It’s transactional. 

Jeongguk has always thought that love is cheap. But not with you. 

With you, Jeongguk has the innate need to take his time. He wants to show you what it means to make love. 

He hooks his hand beneath your panties, pulling them down your legs. There’s a string of arousal that breaks when he tugs the fabric off. It’s absolutely soaked in your arousal. Jeongguk’s lips press against every inch of your skin, leaving no spot untouched. 

You shudder when his hot breath meets your inner thighs, threatening to close them. He wraps his thick arms around your legs, digging his fingers into your hips, pinning you to the mattress. 

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as you tremble beneath his touch. He kitten licks your clit, careful as to not overwhelm you. But you quickly melt into the pillows, gripping his hair between your fingers.

Jeongguk wants to commit this to memory. The way that you look so angelic in this light. 

Quiet whimpers escape from your parted lips. “You don’t have to hold back,” he reminds you. “Be as loud as you want. Nobody’s home. We have all the time in the world, and I want you to feel good.” 

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking softly on the bundle of nerves until you’re writhing against his mouth. Soon enough, you grind your hips, practically riding his face like a needy slut, desperate and wanting. 

The moans slip out of your mouth freely, and Jeongguk grows harder at how pretty you are, lost in pleasure. He begins to rut his hips against the mattress, seeking some kind of relief for his aching cock. 

His tongue slips between your walls, licking up the arousal that seeps down your thighs. His chin is coated in your wetness, and he’s utterly obsessed with your taste. 

Your nails dig into his hair, pulling on the roots. He elicits a moan against your core, and you’re muttering apologies, “sorry, ‘m sorry.” Yet you continue to grind your cunt against his tongue, proving that you’re not sorry at all.  

Your grip loosens, but Jeongguk whines at the loss of tension. “Feels good, angel, don’t stop.” 

He quickly grabs your hands and places them on the top of his head, encouraging you to tug as hard as you want. He’s obsessed with your taste, but he’s also addicted to the pain that you inflict on him. 

He dips his tongue between your walls, reaching as far as he can go. He smiles against your core as if he’s the one enjoying himself ー and truly, he is. He can’t get enough of you. Jeongguk loves to bury his face into your sweet pussy, making out with your cunt. His chin is doused in your essence, and he wants more. He needs to see you dripping in cum so he can taste you straight from the source. 

“Guk, it feels weird,” you choke on your words, pressing your hands against your tummy. The tears cascade down your cheeks as your high builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Shh, shh, angel,” he hushes before dropping a thick glob of spit onto your entrance. He can’t believe that you’ve never come in your life. Have you never played with your cute little cunt before? 

Jeongguk laps your clit while he works a finger into you, gliding between your tight walls. He pushes another one in, watching you stretch around his digits. In the back of his mind, he wonders how you’ll be able to take his cock when you can hardly take his fingers. He curls them inside of you, slowly adding a third. 

You will yourself to pick your head up, allowing your gaze to meet his. The sight before you is filthy beyond belief. You can’t believe that Jeongguk is making out with your naughty pussy, and you love it. His fingers are gliding inside of you, reaching places you’ve never reached before. He’s humping the mattress, trying to satiate his throbbing cock that’s leaking through his boxers. 

“Guk- love, I-”

“Just let go. Come for me,” his husky voice vibrates against your cunt. 

At the sound of his command, you unravel on his tongue, shuddering beneath his strong hold. Your cunt pulses as waves of pleasure rip through you. Soft moans flow through your parted lips, and it’s suddenly Jeongguk’s new favorite melody. 

He watches you fall apart with hearts in his eyes. His hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he fucks you through your climax. You’ve never felt a sensation this strong before. It doesn’t even compare when you’re high on adrenaline. 

Yet Jeongguk laps your pussy as if he’s a puppy, so eager to please you as he collects all of your cum on his tongue. He wants you as much as you’ll allow. Before the overstimulation sets in, you have to weakly tap his shoulder, pushing him away as your thighs close around his head. 

He presses a smooch to your clit before finally pulling back. “How did that feel?” 

“Never felt anything like that before,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “C- can you show me how to touch you too?” The innocent look in your eyes drives him absolutely mad. “Wanna make you feel good.” You palm him through his boxers, and he groans at your touch. 

Fuck. “Tonight’s about you, angel.” Jeongguk curses at himself because you look so pretty batting your eyelashes at him. You’re practically begging to suck him off, and he can’t bring himself to say yes. Your hands dip beneath his underwear, gliding your hands up and down his throbbing cock. 

Jeongguk thinks that he might be in heaven. “Aren’t you too tired? I’ve already made you come once.” 

But you shake your head, “I want more, please? I can take it. Will you please give it to me?”

“I- I don’t have a condom,” he confesses. 

“Don’t care, I need you.” Your hands roam across the planes of his chest before settling on the back of his neck. You pull him closer until your lips brush against his. “Need you so bad…” You subconsciously roll your hips, grinding your bare cunt against his thigh, pleading ー begging for him to sink his cock inside of you to relieve the ache. “It hurts,” you murmur. 

What else is Jeongguk supposed to do when his baby is aching, begging and pleading for his help? So he pulls his cock out of his boxers, tossing the offensive material out of the way. Your mouth waters as your eyes meet his length. 

“It’s not gonna fit,” you shake your head. Surely, he could split you open with his sheer girth. “You’re too big.”

Jeongguk wraps his hand around his length, jerking himself off before pressing the length of his thick cock onto your stomach, measuring how deep he could possibly go. The pretty tip rests against your belly button. Jeon Jeongguk could actually break you, and you would let him. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop-” 

You shake your head with desperate vigor, and your imploring hands reach for his broad shoulders. “Just- just go slow, okay?”

Jeongguk pairs his lips with yours in a sweet kiss, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” He releases a thick glob of spit onto your cunt before rubbing the tip of his cock against your core, spreading the sloppy mess across your mound. He drags his tip against your lips before slowly pushing into your soaked cunt. 

You gasp upon feeling the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Jeongguk nibbles the column of your neck, whispering quiet praises against your skin to distract you from the discomfort. He looks down to see barely half of his length tucked inside of you, yet your walls are stretched to accommodate him. At the pit of your stomach, there’s a bulge where the tip of his cock prods against your cunt. It protrudes against your tummy, leaving an indentation. He can quite literally watch his dick plow into you.

“Angel, look at how well you take me,” he groans. 

You will yourself to open your eyes, seeing how he stuffs you to the brim. The visual is so filthy. 

“God, I’ve been dreaming of this.” Jeongguk drops another glob of spit where his length meets your cunt, allowing the glide to be more effortless. The way that your pretty pussy struggles to make room for him is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. His eyes roll back as he squeezes your waist, trying to regain an ounce of composure. 

“You’ve been thinking about this? About us?” You clench upon hearing his deepest desires. 

He curses under his breath, not knowing how much longer he’d last if you’re already this tight wrapped around his cock. “You have no idea-” When he rests his head against your shoulder, panting, another inch sinks inside of you. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. You just feel so fucking good.” 

His rough hands wander across your body, mapping every inch of your skin, committing it to memory. Jeongguk taps his fingers against your lips as he requests you to ‘open up.’ As obedient as you are, you part your lips, allowing him to slip his digits inside.

“Suck on my fingers,” he coos as he pushes himself further into your sweet pussy. “That’s my good girl.” He pulls his calloused fingers out of your mouth, and they find home onto your clit as he rubs figure eights onto your bundle of nerves. It serves as a distraction from the slight sting of resistance where his cock stretches your walls. 

But for Jeongguk, this feels like heaven. He resists the urge to sheathe himself into your virgin cunt, down to the hilt. “Can’t believe that I get to see you like this.” 

Jeongguk seriously can’t believe how fortunate he is that he’s your first. Nobody has ever touched you the way that Jeongguk does. Nobody will ever fuck you or make you come the way that he will. And certainly, nobody will ever get to see you act like a desperate little slut. You belong to Jeongguk just as he belongs to you. And this is the privilege he gets when you’re his wife. 

You watch his face twist in concentration as he works himself into you. His biceps bulge, and his skin dimples beneath the pressure of your fingers when you squeeze his arm. They feel so rock solid beneath your touch. So strong and so, so reliable like the Jeongguk you know and love. You whimper simply because he’s hot, and you could never resist him. 

“S- something wrong?” He stills his hips inside of you, and his cock pulses. 

“N- no,” you whine, shaking your head. “Just wanna hold your hand.” You scratch down his biceps as you paw at his chest. Even when he’s buried inside of you, it’s still not enough. You need him, and you need all of him. 

He grabs both of your hands, softly squeezing them as he pins them on either side of your head. Jeongguk cages you against the mattress as he presses his body weight against yours, plunging his cock deeper and deeper between your walls, inch by inch. 

Your chest heaves when his hips press against yours, completely buried inside of you, and a silent cry slips past your lips. Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes. 

“Just breathe for me, angel, okay? Relax, ease up for me. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but you’ll feel so good, I swear.”

You nod your head, and you can’t help but cry. You just feel so full. Two twin tears trail down your cheeks, and Jeongguk is quick to kiss them away.

He soothes his thumb over the back of your hand as he praises you. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl. You can take it, right? You can take it all for me.” 

You nod your head, letting the tears fall down like summer rain. “I can take it, I swear-” You sound so choked up, and it’s probably due to the fact that Jeongguk is so fucking deep, you can practically feel him in your throat. 

“Move, please, I need you so bad.” The broken sob rips out of your throat as you cry in desperation.

He pulls out with a shallow thrust, wanting to be as close to you as possible. Looking down, he can see where his cock fucks into you, where there’s a bulge that shadows every single one of his thrusts. He takes your hand down to rub over the protrusion. 

“Can you feel me? Right here?” He quickly slides out of you before pressing his hips flush against yours in one swift motion. 

A deep groan rumbles through his chest, sending a deep vibration through your body. His breath is hot against your lips, and you can actually feel him in your tummy. You can feel him everywhere. 

“How’s it, angel?” 

“Feels full-” you manage to choke the words out of your mouth. 

“Too much?” Jeongguk asks. His breath is shaky as he plows his hips against yours. His cock twitches inside of you, and he really doesn’t want to pull out. But if you had asked, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. 

Thank God for your insatiability because you shake your head as you bring your intertwined hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Feels good- keep going, please,” you beg. 

“See? I knew you could take it like a good girl.” 

Soon enough, the discomfort subsides, and all you can feel is pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Jeongguk fucks into you until he bottoms out, prodding at the spot that has you seeing stars. Your eyes begin to cross, obsessed with the way he fills you up, turning you into a stuttering mess. 

“Oh my god, feels s’ good, Guk- Don’t stop,” you cry, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to keep him close. 

Your mouth falls open and drool begins to slip from the corner of your lips. Jeongguk wedges his tongue into your mouth, swirling your spit and saliva together into one hungry mess. 

He shifts his attention to your sensitive neck as he sucks on the column of your throat. A mark begins to bloom above your collarbone. If anyone were to doubt your marriage and the fact that you belonged to Jeongguk, there would be no reason to do so now. 

The only thing you can focus on is the way that Jeongguk pokes your cervix, and you want nothing more but for him to flood your womb. Your heavy lidded eyes fall shut, your head lolls, and your cheek rests against the pillow. 

But Jeongguk refuses to let you look away. His hand hooks around your jaw, and his fingers dig into your cheek. “Look at me,” he demands. “Want to see you when you come.” He lifts your face off the pillow and presses his lips against yours. 

Jeongguk gives deep and pointed thrusts into your cunt. He grips your hands so tightly, but you welcome the embrace. His hips snap against yours, rutting into your battered hole as you desperately chase your high. 

“‘m sorry, princess, am I too rough?” He mouths against your lips. “Just f- feels so good around me. So tight n’ warm. You’re s’ perfect.” 

You shake your head in desperation. “N- no, I love it-” You love him. “I’m close,” you cry, overwhelmed with emotions. 

“Come for me, angel,” he groans into your ear, pressing kisses against your nose, your cheek, your lips. He squeezes your hands, never letting you go. 

He pounds into you once, twice, three-four times, bullying his cock into you, and you come undone with the rough snap of his hips. You tremble in his arms, feeling this orgasm tenfold compared to the last. Cum begins to seep out of your cunt, drenching Jeongguk’s cock until there’s a ring of cream at the base of his length. 

You tight little cunt clenches around him as if you never want him to leave. He finds it hard to breathe when you look so beautiful, so pretty, and just so cute caged beneath him. As much as he wants to come inside of you and stuff you full, Jeongguk is quick to pull out when he feels his climax approach. He glides his cock against your cunt, rutting against your lips. He paints your stomach with ribbons of white cum, groaning at the lewdness of it all. 

Thoughts of Jeongguk breeding your cunt flashes through your mind ー having him flood you with cum round after round until you can have a happy little family of four. 

Obscene images of you doing this again and again in different positions send your mind racing. You want him to bury himself to the hilt with your knees pinned against your chest. If only he could flood your womb as he holds you by the back of your thighs in a mating press. Maybe you can come when you’re on all fours, on your hands and knees. Or you could take him down your throat as deep as you can go, choking and gagging on his length with saliva dribbling out of your lips. Although you’re certain that you could barely take half of him considering his size and your inexperience. But Jeongguk can teach you, and you can practice night after night until he absolutely ruins you. 

“So much cum,” you murmur, admiring the liquid that rests on your tummy. You swipe your fingers across your stomach before sticking them in your mouth. Jeongguk’s cock twitches at the sight of you so desperate for a taste. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “How was it?” 

“Can we do it again?” Your eyes glimmer with wishful thinking. It’s safe to say that you had the best night of your life. 

Jeongguk sputters a laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He carries you to the bathroom, making sure you use the toilet to prevent UTIs. Meanwhile, he runs a bath for you where he lathers lavender shampoo in your hair and rubs the knots from your sore shoulders, down to your hips and legs. Between soft giggles and splashes of water, you share sweet kisses and loving stares. Before your fingers can prune, Jeongguk lifts you out of the tub and dries you off with a warm towel. 

The two of you tangle beneath the sheets. But before you fall asleep to the sound of one another’s heartbeat, you ask Jeongguk the question that’s been on your mind. 

“I was just wondering… Do you like to be called daddy?” 

His lips meet your forehead before tucking you closer to his chest. “Go to sleep, angel. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Jeongguk, in fact, does like to be called daddy among a plethora of other vulgar words. This vital piece of information is not necessary for the Hwa Yang interview, but you tuck that specific fact into the recesses of your brain for future reference. 

Because the truth is, you don’t have enough time to memorize Jeongguk’s life story. You can save that for another day. The Hwa Yang interview is in less than a week, and you have to save all of your brain space for relevant ー appropriate information. Such as the values of your family and the importance of education in your lives. 

Thankfully, as Jeongguk’s informant, Seokjin managed to snag sample questions that the interviewers are likely to ask: What type of person do you want your child to grow up to be? What is your child’s school experience like thus far? What are some habits you practice to help your child acclimate to the academic rigor of this school? 

So Jeongguk, Minji, and you work tirelessly to come up with the perfect answers that give the impression that you are a family exuding elegance. In the eyes of the admissions director, it basically means that you have to rival the royal family. 

Minji should have interests beyond her plushies and her manhwas, something along the lines of tennis, horseback riding, or crossword puzzles. She has to continue with her studies ー global history, foreign affairs, music theory, and yes, even her sworn enemy, mathematics. At the mere age of five, she should obtain fluency in a second language (which is apparently really impressive if you’re the royal heir to the British empire). 

All of this preparation proves to be handy because at the academy, the board of interviewers ask about Minji’s interests and her hobbies. They want to know what type of learner she is and how she can contribute to the fast paced learning environment. 

Although Minji is exceptional as she is, you can’t help but wonder why a child has to be a prodigy to be deemed as someone worthy of a good education. What’s wrong with simply existing? What’s wrong with being average? Because if the price of being average is being a decent human being, you would rather take your chances at a different school. 

The sound of the headmaster’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “I want to ask Minji what a typical day in the household looks like.”

She straightens her posture upon hearing her name. “I start the day when eomma wakes me up and helps me get ready for kindergarten. She double checks to make sure my homework and my school supplies are in my bag. She also packs extra clothes for me just in case. Appa makes breakfast in the kitchen, and when we finish eating, they walk me to school-” 

The headmaster crinkles his brows. A look of confusion crosses his features. “Does your father always cook for the family?” 

“Yes, appa usually cooks because eomma works really hard. Sometimes, she comes home with aches and pains because of all the energy she uses.” Minji shifts her gaze to her father, trying to gauge whether her answer is acceptable. Meanwhile, your eyes are filled with concern, worried she’ll somehow expose your criminal history. “But eomma always helps when she can. She goes to the market, and she does the laundry. She also makes tea for appa and hot chocolate for me. She helps me with my homework even if I don’t like fractions.” Minji says the last part in a hushed whisper. 

“Really? Is your mother someone you aspire to be? Despite your father being the one to prepare your meals? It’s rather untraditional.” 

“I don’t believe that question is pertinent to the interview. It’s quite leading,” Jeongguk states. His voice doesn’t falter, but there’s animosity in every breath that he takes. “I can assure you that my wife is a wonderful mother and role model to our daughter. Now may we please refocus our attention on Minji and her academics?” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow, and he is seething. He balls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to throw a right hook at the man across the table. 

Instinctually, your fingers inch across the settee, reaching for Jeongguk’s hand in order to soothe his nerves. His shoulders relax upon feeling the heat of your skin as if to quietly remind him that everything is okay. 

“Of course, I apologize.” The headmaster says diplomatically before jotting down a few words into his notebook. He raises his nose in the air as if he’s on some high horse.

The interview persists until the end of the hour, and Jeongguk remains at the edge of his seat. He holds his hand in yours to keep his composure intact. Thankfully, the dean of admissions and the executive advisor have more tasteful questions to ask. 

However, it doesn’t last long. The headmaster intercepts once again. “Mrs. Jeon, I noticed that your documents indicate you are Minji’s stepmother, correct? Do you ever feel some kind of disconnect considering that you are not her biological mother?” 

You’re taken aback by this impromptu question. You didn’t prepare an answer for this, although your natural response would be to wrap your hands around this man’s bare neck, wringing it dry. Yet you remain composed for the sake of Jeongguk and Minji. You can feel Jeongguk hold your hand tighter in his. But you pat his wrist, serving as both a warning and a comforting acknowledgement. 

“I love Minji as a daughter, just as any other mother. To me, it doesn’t matter if she’s not my blood relative. We’ve grown really close ever since we’ve met. I admit that I have never been a mom myself, and I’m faced with a new learning curve every single day. But isn’t that what motherhood is? It’s nothing I’m not used to. Growing up, I raised my younger brother. At work, I take care of children from all different backgrounds. Surely, I make mistakes, but I think every parent leaves a mark on their child no matter what they do. Sometimes it’s a stain. Other times it’s a break, a bend, or a crack. Other parents can splinter their kids, but I hope that I never get to that point. I’m not perfect, but I’m constantly trying to be better. I love Minji more than anything.” 

“So you never feel any sense of inadequacy or resentment?” The headmaster has the audacity to question your parenting skills. 

Jeongguk cannot stand to hear the headmaster criticize you anymore. In a blink of an eye, he slams his fist against the coffee table. The wood splits in half beneath the brute force of his hand, and you’re quite impressed by the display of action. 

“This is wildly inappropriate for an interview. This entire time, you’ve done nothing but berate my wife because we do not have a conventional family. We’re not wealthy people. We work hard for what we do. We take care of one another in a way that only we know and understand. If you can’t accept that, then maybe this is not the school that we want our child to be enrolled in.” Jeongguk’s chest heaves as he says his peace. 

He doesn’t even take another moment to listen to the headmaster. There’s nothing he could say that could warrant forgiveness. So Jeongguk picks up his daughter, and he grabs your hand before storming out of the interview room. 

Jeongguk is going to have a difficult time explaining to his boss why he’s failed his mission.

“I’m sorry I messed up Minji’s chance of going to Hwa Yang.” You tug at the sleeves of your dress as you stare at the floor.

Back at Jeongguk’s apartment, you sink into the couch, allowing the weight of the situation to finally settle. 

Jeongguk rests his hand on your shoulders, turning you so that you can meet his gaze. “You didn’t mess up anything.” His eyes are filled with warmth, but you feel as if you don’t deserve it. 

“We worked so hard for this, and it was all for nothing.” 

There’s still residual rage that flows through his veins. “Nothing? Don’t say that. Don’t you know that I lo-” 

Your heart lurches out of your chest as you stare at him in awe. He loves you? 

Jeongguk’s hands shift to hold your cheeks, running his calloused thumb against the edge of your jaw. He sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters at the end of the day, okay? We couldn’t anticipate that they’d be so cruel. I would defend you over anything in this world. So don’t you dare say that this was all for nothing.”

He pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head beneath his chin. You can hear the sound of his heart beat, beating only for you. It’s distracting enough for you to miss his whispered declaration: “I’m seriously gonna marry you someday.” 

Minji climbs onto the couch, wedging herself between her parents. “If I don’t get accepted, I don’t have to go to school, right?” 

The two of you peel away from the embrace, glaring at Minji, shaking your heads. “No, you have to go,” you simultaneously declare with stern conviction. 

Minji huffs a sigh, looking downcast. But when her stomach grumbles, you effectively put an end to your pity party. You and Jeongguk drop everything, scurrying into the kitchen to prepare dinner for your precious daughter. She worked hard, and she did her very best. You all did. 

…

Tucked away into the busy streets of Seoul, there’s a tiny little apartment on the second story filled with music and laughter. 

While the water boils for the buckwheat noodles, Jeongguk watches over his precious family, reading the instructions for the sauce. All you need is a mixture of perilla oil, cham sauce, buldak sauce, buldak mayo, egg yolk, and a generous amount of furikake. But when you and Minji measure out everything to perfection, you cheer for one another as if you’ve made a meal worthy of praise from the world renown Gordon Ramsey. 

When the noodles are ready, you all gather around the table and laugh to your heart's content. You fill your stomachs with starch, a heavy amount of spice, and plenty of love. You dote on one another, too distracted with the loving family you’ve created to notice anything outside of your little bubble. 

This moment is yours, and yours alone. This is your happy place, and nobody can take it away from you. Not even the sound of the answering machine, echoing from the quaint living room.

ACT I: “the genesis of 'miss you’”

As you step inside the huge house located in the middle of nowhere, you’re even more convinced that you should have refused to come to this writing retreat. Resisting your brother when he’s using his biggest puppy eyes is impossible. Noah always knows how to convince you to do whatever he wants.

Your heart is beating at a frenetic rhythm, making it echo in your ears. There’s one person in this house you’re absolutely not looking forward to seeing. Jeon Jungkook. You hate him. And it isn’t an euphemism. He could choke in his sleep, and it wouldn’t affect you.

Jungkook, your worst nightmare, is the main vocalist of The Devil Lovers, the band your brother created with his college friends more than ten years ago. The band is composed of Noah, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

All of them—except Jungkook, obviously—are absolute sweethearts. They treat you like their little sister, and you’ve been their number one supporter. It’s a shame your worst enemy is part of the band, but whatever. You can survive as long as you don’t have to interact with him, which you have managed to do for the past five years.

“The boys are all here already,” Noah tells you.

Even though you adore the boys, exhaustion has been kicking your ass after the intense book promo you went through for the past months, and a comfortable bed to sleep in is the only thing you want right now. For most of the three-hour drive with your brother, you’ve slept.

Before you can even say anything, six boys appear in front of you with the brightest smiles on their faces.

“I thought Noah was joking when he said you’d join us,” Hoseok says.

Jimin pulls you in a tight embrace, the strong smell of his cologne tickling your nostrils. Looking around, you notice Jungkook is nowhere to be seen. Good. The last thing you want is to see his face.

“The promo of her last book drained her,” Noah explains. “I figured she could use a break, so I brought her along.”

“You’re aware this isn’t a vacation, right?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow as he speaks.

“Not for us, but certainly, for her,” your brother replies. “It’s still a beautiful place—she can rest, wander around, do her own thing while we work.”

They are all talking like you’re not even there, which is a bit annoying. Tiredness never looked good on you; you get grumpy and hard to deal with.   

“Why are you all talking like I’m not even here?” You place your hands on your hips, your eyes looking at every single one of them.

“I’m just explaining,” your brother says.

“Well, show me my room and let me recover all the sleep hours I’ve lost over the past three months.”

Promoting a book is anything but restful. Writing in English is all fun and that, but when you get to promote it and do signing sessions, it’s a bit of a hassle. In three months, you’ve travelled to several cities and countries. You’ve spent more time in hotel rooms than in your own house.

Nevertheless, you absolutely adored meeting and discussing with people who loved your books. They were all so adorable. Without them, you’d still be working at a restaurant, dealing with horrible customers. Thanks to them, you get to live from selling books.

However, now, you need a break. You’ve been writing, doing promo, interviews, and many other things for three years nonstop. No vacation has been taken in the middle. And the release of your brand new book, three months ago, has been a nightmare, most probably because you’ve accumulated too much fatigue.

Noah guides you to the last available room of the mansion, helping you with your baggage. As you reach the room and open the door, someone leaves the room right across from yours. Jungkook.

You totally ignore him, not even acknowledging his presence. Your brother remains silent, maybe too scared to say something he shouldn’t. He’s more than aware of the hatred between you and Jungkook, but he totally ignores the reason behind it, and it’s for the best. Let’s avoid having him kill his best friend.

Although it’s clear as day that it pains him that you two don’t get along, he hasn’t been pushing you to reconcile. He simply makes sure you never bump into each other, keeping you both at arm's length to avoid having his favorite vocalist and lyricist murdered.

However, once you’re inside the room, alone with your brother, he gives you the biggest side eye ever. “Try not to murder him while we’re here.”

“Can’t promise that,” you reply while throwing yourself in the massive bed.

Your eyes quickly scan the room. Right now, you’d say you’re quite happy that The Devil Lovers became super huge because without it, this writing retreat would be in a shitty place. This house is fancy as fuck.

“Please,” he begs.

“As long as he doesn’t speak to me or breathe near me for the next eight weeks, I won’t do anything.”

Noah simply nods before disappearing, leaving you alone in the room. You both know avoiding Jungkook for eight weeks is literally impossible, but you’ll for sure minimize your interactions with him as much as possible.

In a matter of seconds, you fall asleep in the most comfortable bed in the world.

Hours later, you’re woken up to a conversation happening near your room. “You'd better leave her alone,” you hear the voice of your brother on the other side of the door. “Don’t you two start bickering around, understood?”

Without any doubt, your brother is talking to Jungkook about you two. For sure, he’s trying to ensure that this two-month retreat goes well. He keeps repeating that they are under a lot of pressure to finish their upcoming album.

“As long as she behaves,” Jungkook’s deep voice echoes, “you don’t have to worry.”

You roll your eyes, absolutely annoyed. He’s talking like you’re some child or something like that, but between the two of you, he’s the child. When handed two options, he’s not freaking able to make a decision.

You storm out of the room with anger. “Please continue talking about me like I’m not even there.”

The two men stand in the middle of the hallway, bewildered. You don’t even look at them, only passing by in between them, and making them understand that you’re not a baby.

Honestly, you’re not sure you’ll survive this damn retreat, but you’ll try your best to be as little as possible around Jungkook. That’s the only way. Luckily, they’ll be working the entire time, and you’ll go around visiting the nearby villages and cities. You can do it—or at least, you’ll convince yourself of it.

The rest of the day goes by as normally as possible. You speak and laugh with the boys without giving any attention to Jungkook. Whenever he’d talk, you’d look somewhere else and wouldn’t interact. And somehow, everything went well.

However, everything is destroyed when you realize that he’s sleeping in the room right in front of yours. You don’t know who you should blame for this, but you take deep breaths when he’s stepping inside the room.  

This is going to be an absolute nightmare. You know it and feel it inside your bones.

Heading home after visiting the city right next to the house was absolutely refreshing. First, sleeping for eight hours was definitely the best thing that happened to you in maybe over three years, and then just disconnecting from the world for a full day was invigorating.

For the first time in a while, you feel great and rested. In the end, this retreat isn’t that bad.

The first week flows quite fast. You barely notice the boys. They’re always working, leaving you alone most of the time. Your brother makes sure to eat with you at dinner, and sometimes, one of the boys joins you. The good side, as well, is that you don’t see Jungkook at all.

This is peace.

However, very quickly, you regret even thinking that, especially when you have your brother begging you in your bedroom. “We need you,” he insists.

“No,” you’re categorical.

“I wouldn’t be here begging if it wasn’t needed,” he replies, his hands running through his hair.

“Noah, I’m a writer, not a lyricist.” You stand up from your bed, pacing in the room. “I write novels, not breakup ballads.”    

He stands up, trying to stop you from walking around, his hands resting on your shoulders. “I know it, but you still excel in writing.”     

You roll your eyes, pushing your brother away. Writing songs with them will mean working with Jungkook. He’s the main lyricist of the band, and you absolutely refuse to spend a second around him. And also, let’s not forget that you’ve never written a damn song. You don’t even know how it works.

But you also took a break from writing. That’s why you’re here in the first place.

“I’m here to rest, disconnect from what has been draining my soul for the past years,” you turn your back to your brother.

“I know, sis,” he replies. “I’m very much aware of that, but Jungkook has been writing shit and is facing what I guess is a writer's block or some shit like that.”

“I don’t care,” you say with a shaky voice. “I’m not going to spend a second near him, so I’m absolutely not working with him. He can watch tutorials on YouTube.”

Noah takes a deep breath. This is hard for him as well because he never wanted to bother you while you rest, and especially, he didn’t want to push you to be around Jungkook. He knows it’ll go wrong, but somebody needs to help them.

“He won’t admit that he’s doing shit,” he adds.

“You’re eight in this fucking band, so one of you can help him,” you retort, grabbing something to play with to calm yourself down.

“You know how it works.”

You roll your eyes, knowing more than well how their band works. Each one of them was assigned a specific task, and that’s how the band has been thriving.

“We’ve tried to help him, but what we come up with is worse than what he did.”

Jungkook is a master in ballads and love songs, and even if you hate to admit it, he sings them absolutely well.

“This is not working,” he admits in defeat. “He also doesn’t want to work with you if it reassures in any way, but that’s what we came up with. You’re our last hope.”

“I’m not,” your eyes meet your brother’s. “You can hire someone else.”

Noah shakes his head. “It won’t be the same.”

“You’re being dramatic here.” You take a step in his direction.

“Just give it a try,” he begs, getting closer to you. “If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but please try.”

Your brother knows how to convince you to do whatever he wants or needs.

“Okay,” you admit in defeat. “I can try, but if he doesn’t work, you leave me alone.”

Noah simply nods with the brightest smile on his face. Obviously, you’re not going to do this for free. If you have to deal with Jungkook and understand how to write songs, you have to get something out of this. “But I have two conditions.”

His eyes narrow. “Two?”

“One, I get credited under my real name, not my writer’s name. I don’t want anyone to link this to my novels.”

Using a writing name was already a deliberate choice—a way to create a clear boundary between your personal life and your writing career. Helping them is personal, and linking the best-selling writer to The Devil Lovers doesn’t make any sense.

“Consider it done,” he replies.

“And two, when this is over, you’re paying me a trip to Paris.” 

It’s no secret that you adore the French Capital. With your books, you’ve gotten to go there quite a handful of times. You’d go back there whenever the chance would present itself to you. This is one of them.

“You’ve dragged me into a rock band’s creative crisis, Noah,” you continue. “I deserve a croissant by the Seine at the very least.”

Noah should have seen it coming. You’ll have to deal with Jungkook, so at the very least, you get a reward for it.  

He grins. “Deal.”

You didn’t think he’d accept straight away. The thought of dealing with Jungkook for the next seven weeks and working with him gives you nausea, but you’ll have to pass over it because you’re helping your brother. Not him.  

The next day, Noah leads you to the ‘writing room’. They’ve assigned one empty room for Jungkook to work in—a place where he’d work his magic. Although you’re pretty sure the spell is broken. Your pulse drums in your ears, far from enchanted at the thought of being trapped here with him for hours.  

When you step inside the room, he’s already there, sitting on a chair and visibly writing something on a desk—probably working on a song.  

“Jk,” your brother calls for the man, “she’s here.”

The Devil Lovers’ lyricist doesn’t even bother to look around.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to murder each other,” your brother adds.

That’s definitely something you can’t promise. If Jungkook gives you reasons to strangle him, you’ll do it without even blinking.

Noah leaves the room, and for the first time in five years, you find yourself alone with the man who broke your heart. Yeah, he did that, and that’s why you hate him with all your soul. How could a man kiss you, push you away, and date a new girl a week after? For sure, a cold-hearted one.

“As much as I don’t want to be here and talk to you,” you begin while biting your nails, a habit you have when you’re stressed, “you need to explain to me how this works.”

You can hear him take a deep breath before turning around to face you, finally. The distance between you is honestly a relief for you, but you know you won’t be able to keep it up for long. You can’t work while being far away. Inevitably, you’ll end up being closer.

“It’s quite simple,” he replies, leaning back on his chair and his hands falling on his lap. “You just write what crosses your mind, but you already know how to do that.”

You roll your eyes. “Songs and novels are different.”

“Not really,” his eyes are locked on yours. “It’s just presented differently.”

This has to be a joke. If this is what it will be like working with him, you’ll end up finding creative ways to suffocate him. 

“You’re telling me that I can write whatever the fuck I want, and it’d be good?”

“Exactly.” His nonchalance freezes and annoys you completely.

“I’m not doing this.”

You turn around, heading to the door to leave the room. Jungkook isn’t helping at all. Songs and novels are polar opposites. Songs are short, filled with emotion. A novel tells a story, follows someone’s journey. It’s not the same.

“Look,” he begins, standing up, “I know you’ve never done this, and it’d take too much time to show you how it works. So, I thought it’d be easier if you write whatever crosses your mind and I’d adjust it to fit it in a song.”

You’re not sure you want to face him right now, but looking at the door seems way easier than looking at him.

“You’re insulting me and my capacities,” you clap back.

“I’m not,” he replies, and you can hear his voice getting closer. “I’m just making it easy for us.”

A forced laugh rumbles from your throat. Who is he making it this easy for? If he were able to fucking write a song, you wouldn’t be here, so this is not making it easy.

“For us?” you then ask. “Not sure we have the same notion of easy.”

“Yn,” his voice sounds like a whisper, “look at me.”

The way he whispers your name sends shivers down your spine. How dare he?

“No,” you reply.

Jungkook instantly gives up, not wanting to make this any worse.

“Sit down with me and let me show you.”

There’s a certain hesitation, but you take a deep breath before facing him again. You promised your brother you’d help, and you’re not a person to fail her promises, especially not with Noah.

You follow Jungkook to the desk, pushing the chair as far away as physically possible. You can’t help but notice he’s wearing a simple grey Nike t-shirt, displaying his full tattooed arms—a true weakness. Back then, when he only had a couple of tattoos, he was hot as well, but now…

“Focus, yn,” you tell yourself.

Jungkook walks you through how he builds a song—line by line, chord by chord. He talks about rhythm like it’s a heartbeat, about lyrics like they’re fragments of truth that have to fit inside a few breaths.

Honestly, the way he explains it almost makes it sound easy. Almost. But the more you listen, the more you realize how foreign it is to you. A song isn’t a story to tell—it’s a feeling you trap in three minutes. You need to find rhymes, cut words that don’t sing right, express the emotion more shortly, and say everything with almost nothing.

That’s where the challenge lies for you: you’re used to writing ten sentences to show one emotion. Here, you need to make someone feel it in just one line.

“And you were trying to convince me that I could just write whatever I want…” You tell him while placing a strand of hair behind your ear, irony filling your voice.

“I guess it’s the same,” he says. “The way you write—it could fit into a song.”

Are you dreaming, or is he implying that he read a book of yours? The thought seems impossible—why would he, of all people, pick up one of your novels? There’s no way that it’s a reality. You must be imagining things, because the idea of him turning the pages of your book is almost too surreal to believe.  

“Maybe,” you reply, brushing off his last sentence. “But we’ll only find out when I start working.”

To begin with, Jungkook has proposed writing down ideas for a song and even small sentences if you feel like it. From there, you will try to see what you can do. Since he’s a specialist in ballads and breakup songs, he has also suggested focusing on that.

“Will you try writing on paper? Or would you prefer on your laptop or phone?” he asks.

When you write your novels, the first ideas are laid down in a notebook—one you carry with you all the time. Whenever something inspires you, you take it and write down the idea.

“Paper,” you reply.

Since your first exercise is to write down ideas, a paper seems like a good option for you.

“We bought tons of notebooks for this retreat. You can grab one from the cabinet,” he points out to it.

They are quite equipped for this retreat, which makes sense because they’re here for that. Naturally, you stand up to grab a notebook together with a pen before sitting back next to him. The desk isn’t honestly big, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to work with him this close to you.

For the next two hours, you just write topics, some phrasing here and there, while listening to music. You’re used to writing with some background noise, but this time around, it’s more like guidance. It’s been helping you to build some sentences.

Honestly, up until today, you never really paid attention to how a song was structured. What truly mattered were the words and the meaning behind them, but this time around, you truly listened to the song. So far, you’ve listened to the same song for at least a hundred times. ‘It’s Only Love, Nobody Dies’ from Sofia Carson.

The ideas you put down in the notebook aren’t particularly great. There’s “Missing you”, a concept about an old love lost that broke your heart, but you still miss them. Maybe Jungkook inspired that one.

There’s “What we could have been”, a concept of loved ones who never admitted their love out loud. And finally, there’s “My love”, a concept simply about a strong love between two people.

The sentences for each concept aren’t particularly great, but you’ve written what you would have done for a book, and you tried to shorten every sentence. It isn’t an easy exercise.

When you look at your watch, it is already 7 pm—the day is already over. The day went quite quickly between writing, eating, and discussing with the boys. Namjoon, the producer of the band, thanked you a million times for your help.  

“Do you want me to check out what you’ve done?” Jungkook says once he notices the time.

For a hot minute, you hesitate heavily, not sure you want him to read what you’ve done. You’re not really proud of what you’ve done so far, but deep down, you know he has to read—it’s the only way to guide you.

“You can,” you tell him while handing him the notebook, “but I don’t want to be around you when you do it.”

“Okay,” he nods.

Jungkook remains in the room as you leave him alone. His hands reach for your notebook, reading what you’ve done today. There are a lot of notes, more than he had actually expected. Seems like he underestimated you.

Honestly, he’s impressed. What you’ve done is really great, but you’re a writer at the end of the day. You master words like nobody else, even better than he does.

The idea “Missing you” hits him more than the others. The words are already auspicious, and you can both definitely work with this. This is a solid base.

“You disappeared from my life Leaving me missing you Missing the way you say my name Missing the way you kissed me Yeah, I really miss you But I guess this is all in my head And you’re not the man I used to think you were.”

Surprisingly, the second week went by very well. Your interactions with Jungkook are minimal; you’re both in the same room for the day, but barely speak to each other. The idea you had of this writing thing was completely wrong.

At the end of each day, he reads what you’ve done, scribbling some notes here and there. The next day, you discover them and work around them to continue the song you are working on.

Slowly, “Missing you” has been starting to shape into something beautiful and strong, and you’re genuinely confident that this will be one of the album’s songs. This song is about him, and deep down, you think he knows it. Writing it together makes it somehow powerful.

And you have to admit that putting down what you feel about him is helping you a lot. It feels liberating.

Today, for the first time in a week, you’re discovering what he’s been doing on his side. You’ve asked him to show it to you, and unlike you, he wants to see your reaction. So, it’s like almost midnight, you’re both sitting on the couch in the living room. The fireplace is lit up, warming the two of you.

His notebook lies on your lap, the pen in between your fingers, and your eyes read every single word he has put down. As your eyes scan what he has done so far, you’re left wondering why on earth your brother begged you to help them. Jungkook doesn’t need help at all.

“Why did you ask for my help?” Your eyes lift to meet his gaze.

He shrugs. “Guess we wanted a different perspective. Fresh eyes.”

He’s unbelievable. Did he pretend to write shit to have you sitting next to him? If he really did that, you’re definitely going to commit murder, and you can’t be held accountable for that. But is your brother aware of this?

No, it wouldn’t make sense. He’s been making sure from the start that you don’t come at each other’s throats, so he certainly doesn’t know.

“You mean my eyes?” you ask, almost fuming with anger.

“You’re a writer,” he says, almost defensive. “You know how to make people feel things.”

“And you don’t?” you shoot back before you can stop yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer. You glance down at the lyrics again—words about love and longing and heartbreak—and something in you twists. They’re beautiful, yes, but they’re also safe. Like he’s hiding behind perfect words and metaphors, but they sound empty. Those are just words without any real meaning.  

You try to calm yourself down because you need to tell him how you truly feel about his writing. If he wants fresh eyes, he’ll have them, which includes your raw opinion.   

“You write love songs,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “But you don’t say anything real.”

He looks up, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you keep hiding behind your songs,” you say, voice low but steady. “You make everyone feel like you’re bleeding your heart out, but you never actually tell the truth.”

Jungkook clearly sounds offended, but deep down, he knows you’re right. He has simply put words together in a way that would please everybody—almost like he’s choosing safe metaphors over genuine emotion. It’s as if he’s more concerned with creating something universally appealing than expressing anything true or raw.

“And what truth is that?” he snaps.

“The one you’re too scared to write about.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair. Your eyes get lost in the way his muscles flex under the shirt’s sleeves. Over the past five years, his body has become more toned, broader than before. No wonder the fans drool over him whenever he goes on stage.  

“You think you know what I’m scared of?” he mutters, standing now in front of you.

You push to your feet too, your pulse picking up. The distance between you seems even smaller now that you’re both standing face to face and between the fireplace and the couch. The warmth from the fire blends with the tension in the room, amplifying every movement—his steady gaze, and even the subtle way your hands clutch the notebook.

“I think you’re terrified of saying something that actually matters,” you reply.

“You don’t know that you’re fucking talking about.”

“Don’t I?” You lift his notebook, the pages trembling slightly in your hands. “You write about love like it’s a song you heard once, not something you’ve actually felt.”

His jaw flexes even more, which you didn’t think was possible, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he steps forward—just enough that the air between you tightens. “You have no idea what I’ve felt. “

“Then show me,” you whisper. “Write something real.”

He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of his breath brushing against your face. Neither of you moves, neither of you looks away. The room feels so small, and suddenly, words don’t seem like enough.

Jungkook’s gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers still gripping the notebook between you like a fragile wall.

“You really want something real?” He murmurs, his voice getting lower and deeper.

Your breath catches, your mind completely losing it, but there’s absolutely no doubt when you say, “Yes.”

Jungkook leans in, his face slowly getting closer, and your mind is brought back to five years ago. To the day he kissed you. Everything around you completely disappears, and you become once more the twenty-one-year-old who had madly fallen in love with your brother’s best friend.

That girl used to dream so much, especially about him. She’d replay every night all the conversations, the calls, the messages, and the exchanged glances. She’d smile at the simple mention of his name. She’d look for him in a room full of people, only to find him looking back at her with the biggest and brightest smile on his face.

For the past five years, that girl was replaced with one filled with anger towards the same guy who made her believe in love. She’d have daggers in her eyes whenever he was around. She’d roll her eyes at the mention of his name. She’d swear whenever she heard his voice on the radio.  

And tonight, you’re a combination of both. You’re the girl who loved him with her entire soul, and the one who hated him.

Your eyes move from his eyes to his lips, wondering what is about to happen. A kiss would reignite the fire you’ve been trying to extinguish. This isn’t a good idea.   

And then Jungkook stops, not getting any closer to you.

This makes you truly realize the extent of what was going to happen, and you take a step back. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, not believing that you were this weak and almost ready to let him break you all over again. The sound of your breath feels too loud in the quiet room.

Jungkook clears his throat, dragging a hand through his hair as if the gesture could erase what just almost happened. “We should…uh…get back to work.”

“Yeah,” you quickly say, opening your eyes. “Work.”

He nods, but he doesn’t move right away. His eyes flicker to your lips once more, then down to the notebook still clutched in your hand. You follow his gaze, realizing your fingers are shaking. You hold out your hand to give him back his notebook.  

“Maybe I’ll go to sleep,” you mutter when he takes the notebook. “It’s already midnight, and we have to work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

Even though you basically run to your room, you try to pretend like this didn’t affect you and try to walk as normally as possible.

Needless to say, none of you slept that night, minds tangled in the memory of that almost kiss, replaying the moment over and over.

The days that follow are heavy—avoiding Jungkook even more is your new passion. You refuse to be alone with him in the writing room, so you move around any available room in the house.

Clearly, this frustrates everybody. The boys were convinced you’d managed to find a common ground, but they’re sad to notice they were wrong all along. They are actually even scared that no ballad will come out of this partnership.

And Noah feels more than guilty to have dragged you to this.

“If this is too much, you can drop out,” your brother says when he sits down next to you in the kitchen.

You barely acknowledge his presence, focusing on the verses you’re writing. The title of this song—if you can even call this a song—is “You don’t care”. No need to be a genius to know who it’s addressed to. And you’re not going to hide this from him.

“You walk past me like I wasn’t there And just pretended like you didn’t care I don’t know why I run away.”

But beneath all this pain and hate, you’ve also started something written by your younger self. Being in this writing retreat has brought up so many souvenirs and emotions. Things are not just black or white like you’d like them to be. There are so many grey areas.

And they scare the shit out of you.

Sometimes, what you felt five years ago comes back to the surface, and you can’t help but put it down. For that part, you’re not really sure you’d like Jungkook to read it, but it’s inevitable. He reads your notebook every day.   

“You begged me to help you out,” you reply, finishing the sentence you have in mind before finally looking up at him.

“But we can see things are getting worse with Jk,” he says, worry written all over his face.

“What were you expecting, Noah?” you say, your words sharp with annoyance.

“Definitely not this,” he whispers.

You sigh, rubbing your hand over your face. You’re exhausted, as your mind seems to enjoy torturing you every night with the thought of the almost kiss.

“Look, in the midst of it all, I thought it’d help to improve your relationship with him,” he confesses.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Your hopes were too high, Noah.”

Maybe things could have gotten better, but after the almost kiss, you hate yourself even more for letting your guard down. And you hate him too for even giving you hope.

“The first week was good, and don’t tell me I’m wrong,” he replies. “You’d stay together in the room all day long without even raising your voices.” So he noticed. “But something happened; otherwise, you wouldn’t be going around the house.”

“Nothing happened,” you defend yourself straight away. “I simply can’t stand being with him anymore.”

Telling your brother what happened is out of the question—he’d be the one killing Jungkook. Actually, now that you’re thinking, you’re not sure what your brother’s reaction would be if he ever found out about the whole situation.

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow.  

Okay, for sure, the almost-kissing part can’t be revealed, but there is everything that you said to him before that incident.

“Well, I might have told him that he writes shit.”

“Yn,” he whispers while rubbing his face.

“What?” you genuinely reply. “If you want me to do this right, I have to be honest. And Jungkook is the last person on earth I’ll be sparing.”

Your brother stands up, disbelief all over his face.

“Maybe you could have this time,” he tells you.    

“Noah,” you mutter. “This man has written the prettiest ballads I’ve ever heard, but what he showed me the other day was just an association of words he’d expect people to enjoy. It was devoid of emotions. That wasn’t Jungkook.”

As painful as it is to admit this out loud, it’s the truth. You might hate this man—and even yourself for the heartbreak—but his mind is brilliant. The songs he has written are powerful, beautiful, and deep.

“This is supposed to be a writing retreat, no? Am I supposed to be helping you, right?” you ask, and he nods. “So he deserved to hear it. I’m not letting him write shit just because it’s what people want.”

A little chuckle rumbles from his throat. “You’re more invested than I’d imagine.”

“It’s your band, silly,” you stand up before hugging your brother. “And I’d do my best to help you produce the best album ever.”  

Even though you hate being around Jungkook, he’s part of your brother’s band, and there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for him. And you’ll make sure that whatever you do is great. If you’d settle for whatever Jungkook did, it was going to be a shitty album.

Noah wraps his arms around you, holding you tight in his embrace. He’s grateful to have you around because this whole retreat has been draining him. In between composing melodies, singing whatever they manage to create, and going over old songs, seeing you calms him. Around you, he simply disconnects from work.

For the rest of the day, you show your brother what you’ve come up with, and he clearly expresses his love for “Missing you”. It’s clearly a song still in progress, but it’s slowly getting better. The lyrics page is covered with notes from you and Jungkook.

“‘Missing you’ is the title?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you nod, “but it’s temporary, unless we don’t come up with something better.”

“Why not cut to ‘Miss you’?” he says while taking your pen from your hands. “All the ‘missing you’ in the lyrics were changed to ‘miss you’ so it’d make more sense.” Your brother crosses out ‘Missing you’ to replace it with ‘Miss you’.

He’s not wrong. Keeping it doesn’t make much sense anymore, especially now that the song has changed.

“Other than that, it’s pretty promising,” he says. “I guess the next step would be to compose the melody.”

“I leave that part to Jungkook,” you reply. “It’s already tough to write lyrics, so don’t ask me to build everything.”

“Why not? You’re literally writing it, so I imagine you have some background melody in your head.”

Of course, you envision a melody when you work on it, but creating it seems impossible. Like, how can you tell them to create what’s in your mind? You’re absolutely not going to do this. Your brother is already asking for too much.

“Noah,” you look up at him, “I’m already doing too much for this band.”

“Jungkook can help you with that,” he replies. “It’s literally his job, and you’ve created this song together—it wouldn’t make sense to not involve you in it until the end.”

“No,” you firmly reply.

“Okay, then don’t come at Jungkook when it sounds like shit.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed by your brother. You can’t blame Jungkook for something you’re not good at. For the writing part, of course, you will, since you also work with them on a daily basis when giving life to your characters’ lives.

For the first time since the beginning of this retreat, you all have dinner together. Yes, it includes Jungkook as well. It’s honestly super weird. You avoid looking at him at all costs, but it’s impossible, as he’s sitting right across from you.

Once the dinner finished, the main lyricist of The Devil Lovers wraps his hand around your wrist, stopping you in your steps. You don’t even dare to look behind, scared to melt the second your eyes meet his. You’ll hate yourself even more.

“Let me go,” you say through gritted teeth while trying to set your wrist free from his strong grip, but in vain. “Jungkook,” you warn him, still not looking at him.

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, ready to burst at any moment. ‘Pull yourself together, yn,’ you think to yourself. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. This is definitely going to be hard.

“I’ve rewritten the songs,” he mumbles, finally letting go of you.

Your hand falls at your sides while you slowly turn around. Obviously, you were fooling yourself into believing that you could go through the remaining weeks without seeing him. What a delusional that you are!

The second your eyes land on him, you swear that you’re going to die right on the spot. How can someone get more handsome, especially when you hate them with all your soul?

“Good for you,” you coldly reply.

He hands you his notebook. “Take it.”

“What do you want me to do with it?” you ask while raising an eyebrow.

He heavily sighs, clearly growing annoyed by your attitude. “You know the answer.”

Clearly, you’re doing everything to push him away and interact as little as possible with him. “You don’t need me—”

“Stop with the bullshit, yn,” he cuts you off. “We read each other’s works since the beginning.”

“Well, it’s not what you’ve been doing lately.”

Jungkook grabs your hand, placing his notebook in it before saying, “Just fucking take it, and stop being an annoying bi—” he stops himself before saying anything he might regret.

You can’t believe that he was about to call you an annoying bitch. Who the hell does he think he is?

“What were you going to say?” You fold your arms against your chest, his notebook now in your hands.  

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just read it.”

And before you can reply, Jungkook leaves you alone in the kitchen, clearly running away from you. The anger buzzes under your skin.

The silence that follows feels louder than the argument. He’s proving to you once more that he just keeps leaving you alone, like it’s his favorite game. You take this as your clue to read what he has done. Instead of remaining in the kitchen, you move to the living room, sitting in your favorite spot of the house—the couch.

Nobody is in the room, and you assume the boys must be scattered throughout the house, working or resting. After throwing a blanket on your lap, you open the notebook. You can’t help but notice how full it is already. Jungkook has definitely been working a lot for the past couple of days.

As you flip through the pages, a smile can’t help but stretch on your face. “This is fucking good!” you whisper to yourself.

What you’re reading is different, rawer, and more personal. This is a hundred times better than what he showed you some days ago. In the end, having that not-so-comfortable conversation with him pushed him to improve.   

Suddenly, Namjoon takes a seat next to you, quickly looking at the notebook in your hands. When your gaze shifts up to him, you smile. Since becoming one of your brother’s closest friends, you’ve grown to be his friend as well. He’s like a second brother to you.

“Jungkook’s?” he asks, and you nod. “I’ve heard things have gotten worse with him.”

“I hope you’re not going to lecture me like Noah did this morning,” you reply.

Namjoon chuckles. “I’m not. I actually wanted to check up on you since this was supposed to be a break, and here you are, helping us.”  

“What a girl wouldn’t do to help her brother,” you teasingly say, which makes him giggle.

The leader of the band quickly eyes the notebook once more. The look on his face says it all—just like you, he believes this is quite good.

“Good, isn’t it?” his eyes lift up to meet yours.

“He didn’t need my help,” you admit quietly, your fingers brushing over Jungkook’s words.

Namjoon hums. “Yeah, I figured.”

For a moment, he remains silent, like he’s afraid to continue, but it only confirms your suspicions. Jungkook never needed you in the first place, although he claims the opposite. In a way, you’re helping; however, it was never needed.

“He probably did it on purpose.”

Your heart beats incredibly fast. “You think?”

He nods. “He for sure messed up the first drafts, made Noah think the songs weren’t working, just so he’d ask for you—the other word expert.” He leans back, watching you. “Though for the life of me, I still don’t get why. You two can barely stand to be in the same room.”

You stare at the lyrics again, your chest tightening.

“Surprisingly, he’s been very patient, calm, and nice with me,” you admit.

But the truth is, Jungkook never raised his voice at you—not once. He never needed to. When he was angry, he didn’t shout; he withdrew. His tone would turn cold, detached, precise. Every word would hit without leaving a mark anyone else could see. And you swear, words never hurt as much as they did the day he showed up with a new girl and told you that you didn’t mean anything.

And whenever you threw something harsh at him, he didn’t argue or break; he simply matched you. His calm would harden, his replies as sharp as yours, maybe even sharper if that’s even possible. Like he wanted to prove that he could wound you without ever losing control.

“Jungkook is an enigma I’m still trying to understand,” Namjoon confesses. “First, he had a massive crush on you, then he showed up with some random chick and started throwing first with you, and now, he does this.”

Your mind stops listening after ‘he had a massive crush on you.’ No. That’s not possible. You were close—too close, maybe—but it wasn’t like that. You kissed, sure, but that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t have. Not when he started dating someone else right after.  

 “A crush?” you raise an eyebrow.

Namjoon chuckles, “Yn, everybody knew about it—even Noah.”

ACT II: “when ‘miss you’ becomes real”

Sleeping after Namjoon’s revelation was simply impossible, and facing Jungkook the day after was even harder. However, you’re not left with much choice. He handed you his notebook, which you need to return to him, and you also need to give him some feedback.

Nevertheless, before giving it back to him, you feel like you need to read it all over again. This time around, you prefer to do it in your own bubble, so you stay in your room, sitting on the bed while running your fingers over his handwriting.

This notebook has to hold at least twenty song drafts.

Rereading his lyrics, you notice how deep they are, and he never needed your help—not for this. Every word is perfectly chosen, every emotion sharpened and raw. He knows perfectly how to translate love and heartbreak. And beneath it all, he also expresses regret in a lot of them—regret for something he lost, someone he once loved too deeply to forget.

And those songs hit harder than the others.

‘Please forgive me, I can’t stop loving you’, ‘Forget what I said, it’s not what I meant’, ‘The memory of you is what I miss’, or even ‘You’re the one who inspired all my love songs’— those are some of the lyrics that twisted your insides until it’s hard to breathe and made your heart skip a beat.

Now you can’t stop wondering—if Namjoon was right, if the crush was real, then maybe these words are too. Maybe all this time, he’s been writing about you. In any case, every word he has written down in this notebook is way better than what he showed you some days ago.  

As you navigate through one particular song, your pulse stops completely.

‘You always said words could heal, and maybe you were right.’

That line—it shouldn’t mean anything, except it does because those were your words, spoken years ago, in the middle of a storm, when rain soaked your hair and your hands were trembling. The day he kissed you for the first time.

It’s not just his lyrics you’re reading. It’s your past. Every verse is a memory you thought you had buried.

Your first kiss, you remember it now, while your fingers instantly run over your lower lip. The rain was coming down so hard it blurred the world into silver lines. You were both running to your place, soaked and laughing, your shoes squelching in puddles.

Back then, Jungkook was working on a song—yeah, it seems like it’s always about a song—and he was struggling. You’d said it, half-joking and half-serious, “Words can heal, you know,” when he’d say that lyrics never fixed anything.  

He’d looked at you for a long moment, rain dripping from his hair, eyes darker than the sky. “I’m not so sure,” he’d reply.

At that moment, you were working on your first book—you already knew the power of words. They definitely could heal, but they needed to be formulated properly.

“You should try to write with your heart, not your brain,” you rested your hand on his soaked shirt, clinging to his chest.

Jungkook was the only person who knew you were writing a book. He was the only person you trusted the most.

“Then show me,” he said softly.

You didn’t even have the time to answer. His hand rested on top of yours on his chest, cold and trembling, and before you could think, he’d kissed you. It wasn’t perfect. It was wet, messy, and a little desperate, but it felt like the world had gone quiet around you. Just the sound of the rain, his breath against your lips, his thumb brushing your cheek as if you were something fragile.

You’d pulled back first, stunned, heart racing so hard it hurt. He’d smiled then—that shy smile that always gave him away—and you’d realized you’d never see him the same again.

“How can I kiss show you that—”

Before you could even end your sentence, he’d kiss you again. Being under the rain meant nothing in comparison to his lips against yours, or his warmth enveloping you. After months of teasing, pining, and longing, it was finally happening.

“I can now write how it feels to kiss someone,” he mumbled against your lips, answering your question.

Now, sitting on the bed with his notebook in your lap, you can still feel that storm clinging to your skin. The memory burns, vivid and alive, as if the years between then and now have collapsed into this one aching heartbeat.

A tear streams down your face and lands on his notebook. “You wanted something real and you got it,” you mumble to yourself. Jungkook has always been very good with words, and even better when he sings them with his entire soul.

There’s a particular song from a previous album you always loved, “The Last Verse”. Even when your pride and broken heart would tell you not to listen to it, you’d always do it. It’s a beautifully painful song, the kind of song that hurts in the best way.

The lyrics include lines like: “I tried to end the song, but your name filled every line,” or “You’re the verse I keep rewriting, even now, after all this time.”

It’s the kind of song that makes you cry, because you know it’s about a love that ended before it started. However, now that you know about this crush, it leaves you wondering if this was about you and him. Could it be?  

You put down the notebook, wrapping yourself under the bedsheets and crying. Jungkook broke your heart in ways nobody ever did, but now, you get to see and hear that he was just as heartbroken as you. Why did he push you away? Why did he even break your heart if he loved you?

This pain hadn’t made you cry in a very long time; you even swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry over him ever again, but here you are. The pain seems as intense as it did five years ago. How could it be?

For a moment, you stay curled up under the sheets, crying like a child over the memories you shared with him. You remember the way his eyes would always find you in a crowded room, or the way he’d smile every time he’d see you.

You remember his silly jokes—the ones that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to—and how he’d quietly drape a blanket over you when you fell asleep in his arms. And the memory that hurts the most is the one of him kissing you in the rain—the first and only time he ever did.  

Loving him back then felt like a blessing, but today it’s the total opposite.

Once the tears stop running down your face, you leave the bed, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. Before rereading the songs, you texted your brother to have him deliver a message to Jungkook—you’d be working from your room this morning. You hoped that through this message, he’d get that you needed space to read his songs.

Before leaving the room, you give yourself a couple of minutes, knowing that Noah would directly realize you’ve been crying the second he sees you. You quickly stop by the bathroom, cleaning your face and following your skincare routine to freshen up your face.

With shaky hands and a wild heartbeat, your steps guide you to the writing room. For a minute, you remain behind the door, not knowing if you have enough strength to face Jungkook. When you open the door, he turns around to look at the person stepping into the room.

Unexpectedly, you’re looking at this man under a new light. He’s not just the man who hurt you anymore. He’s the man who had a crush on you. He’s the man who poured his memories of you into songs.

And that man steals your breath away.

“Hi,” you say while closing the door and getting closer to him. “I’ve read the songs.”

“Hey,” he says as he stands up to meet you halfway.

The energy between you has shifted. It’s still electric, but softer now.

“So?” he asks with a little smile. “Still not real enough for you?” You can sense a teasing tone in his voice.

Not sure how to formulate your thoughts, you simply nod. “They’re good.”

As you hand him back his notebook, he thanks you, and somehow, it’s like he feels you’re holding back. “Is there one you particularly like?”

“Lonely Nights,” you reply.  “But they are all great.”

There’s a heavy silence for a moment between you before he breaks it. “I read the adjustments you did to ‘Missing you’,” he shakes his head, “sorry, it’s ‘Miss you’ now. I’ve added some extra notes, but I think we have the song now.” You nod while he hands you your own notebook. “Let me know what you think.”

“Thanks,” you say as you take it. “I’ll get back to work and leave you alone.”

You disappear, leaving him alone in the writing room before he can even answer. This writing retreat has now taken an unexpected turn—one where some secrets have been spilled.

The past two days, you’ve barricaded yourself in your room, fully focusing on writing. Even though there are five weeks left until the end of this retreat, Noah has told you that they should begin recording some of the songs you wrote next week.

But the songs are far from ready. The lyrics might be over soon, but the melodies have not even been started, which Jungkook should now focus on. That’s why you’ve been leaving him alone in the writing room.

The sound of the guitar and piano has been echoing in the house. Sound coming directly from the writing room. Since your room is far from that room, you haven’t been able to hear his voice, but you’re certain that he’s been singing on top of it.  

And right now, you’re sitting on the little couch from that specific room with Jungkook in his chair and a piano on the desk. He has fully finished one song, and he wants your opinion before recording the demo and handing it to Namjoon for the production part.

Saying that you’re nervous is an understatement. You haven’t heard him singing a raw song for years, and the last time you did, you were in love with him, which you’re not anymore. Or at least, you want to convince yourself of it.  

The first melodies of the piano resonate in the room, captivating you instantly. After a couple of seconds, his sweet and honey-like voice starts singing the first verse.

“Empty rooms, these walls know my pain, I talk to shadows, but they can’t say your name. The stars shine bright, but they feel so far, I reach for your light, it’s my only star.”

You instantly recognize the words—he’s singing “Lonely Nights”. A warmth spreads all over your body, tears almost forming in your eyes. He’s been working on the song you considered your favorite. Fuck, this man will be the death of you.

“I let you slip away, I let my fear decide, Now every lonely night has no one by my side.”

His voice wraps around the words like something fragile, something he’s afraid to break. Honestly, the piano is completely useless because his voice is the only thing needed to give life to this song.

“You always said words could heal, and maybe you were right, But I lost my way and fell into the darkness. You were my lighthouse, guiding me through, I let you go, and now I’m lost without you.”

You’re sure that before the end of the song, you’ll be crying. This is absolutely beautiful. But the second verse absolutely crushes you.

“The rain reminds me of what we left behind, A kiss in the storm, still etched in my mind. I hear your laughter in every song I play, But the music fades, and you’re still away.”

This verse was completely changed. In the version you read, he never mentioned the rain or the kiss in the storm. This song is definitely about you. And it breaks your heart beyond comprehension. You’re not even able to hold back your tears.

“If I could turn back time, I’d hold you near, Chase away the silence, wipe away the fear, and your tears. But I’m here in the dark, the night so wide, Hoping someday you’ll come back to my side.”

The song was beautiful before, but now, it’s unbearable. This is filled with heavy emotions; only a fool wouldn’t feel them with the way he sings every word. You close your eyes, holding back the tears because you don’t want to look weak before him.  

When he finishes, there’s only silence. You’re completely speechless. How can you even say something after this?

Jungkook turns around, his gaze landing on you. His cheeks have taken a red shade, his breath is even, and his hands are slightly trembling. Seeing him like this, without any context, someone would think that he just trained.

“How do you make it sound easy?” you blurt out, putting an end to this silence.

“It’s never been easy,” he replies quietly. “It’s never when you sing and write something real.”

Honestly, you don’t really know what to say. Writing something real has never been easy; you know it better than anyone. But somehow, Jungkook makes it seem effortless, and that thought unsettles you more than it should.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit out loud.

“Thanks,” he kind of bows.

Many thoughts are jumbled together in your mind, and you don’t even know if you should say them. But since you’re here for work, it might be wise to focus on that and leave behind anything personal. You’ve many things that you’d like to confront him about, but it might not be a good idea.

“I’ve checked ‘Miss you’,” you tell him while playing with the edges of your sleeves and biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve just changed two or three things,” you give him the notebook that was sitting next to you. “You can check them out.”

Jungkook takes it from your hands, directly going to the pages you both know by heart. His eyes run over your new notes, and for what seems like a long time, he reads them, remaining silent. Your heart is going wild in your chest.

“It’s good,” he finally says. “I like them.”

You simply nod, a hint of a smile appearing on your face.

“We can now work on the melody,” he adds. “Since you came up with it—”

“No, I promised Noah to help with lyrics, not the full thing,” you answer without letting him finish his sentence.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Nobody can reproduce the way you envision the song,” he begins to explain. “This song is your creation. I want you to finish it, the way you see it, the way you feel it.”

“I don’t know how it works…” You admit, hiding your face in your hands.

“That’s why I am here,” his voice is absolutely sweet. “We’ll do it together.” There is a little silence before he adds, “It’s our song.”

He couldn’t have said it any better. The lyrics of this song were built by the two of you. It’s not yours only—it’s his as well. But giving it life seems so odd and almost impossible. You’re not sure you can explain to him how you envision the song in your mind.  

 “Okay,” you finally concede.

You don’t dare to look up at him, but you perfectly hear him whisper, “Thanks.”

Somehow, hearing him thanking you doesn’t sound right, so you decide to finally raise the question that has been on the tip of your tongue for a while: “Why did you ask for my help?”

As you speak, you lift your head to meet his gaze. The closeness between you allows you to notice how he freezes completely, making you realize that he never expected you to raise this question out loud.  

“You clearly never needed it,” you add. “I want the real reason, not the 'fresh eye' thing you said the other day.”

“I did, you helped after—”

“Stop with the bullshit, Jungkook,” you cut him off, frustration clearly growing inside you. “We both know you’ve written shit on purpose, but I haven’t been able to figure out why.”

He runs a hand through his hair, standing up before sitting next to you. In years, he hasn’t been this close to you, but in an inexplicable way, this doesn’t feel wrong. It’s actually the opposite. Feeling the warmth emanating from his body is reassuring, comfortable.

“When Noah told me you’d join us for the retreat, I felt the need to solve things between us,” he begins to explain. “Five years of this hate—or whatever you want to call it—is starting to be exhausting.”

“Only for you…” you murmur, hoping that he wouldn’t hear it.

If he does hear you, he pretends at least not to when he continues. “Talking to you was going to be hard with the way you always throw daggers when I simply say ‘hi’. I didn’t know how to approach this.”

If he did this all to speak with you, he definitely looked desperate.

“So, I came up with this idea. I wrote the biggest shit I ever did, and pretended that I needed help from someone who masters words,” he explains. “I didn’t need to add anything else before Noah was at your door.”

Right now, you don’t know if you need to be angry about the devious plan he came up with, or if you feel impressed by it.

“But when we started working together, I stopped writing the shit I was before. Only you called me out and made me realize that I was still doing shit,” he adds. “So you still helped.”

You roll your eyes, not buying it. This man can’t write something that isn’t great.

“Spare me,” you reply. “You’ve written the prettiest songs I’ve heard.”

He chuckles. “They take time—the final version is always far from the first draft.”

“You really didn’t need to do all that just to speak with me…” you then say.

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “Tell me, would you have let me even look at you?”

Jungkook is right—you never would’ve let him get close. You would’ve pushed him away the second he came too close.  

“Maybe,” you say, trying not to admit the truth.

Your gaze is locked on his, sadness slowly appearing in his brown eyes. Seeing it breaks your heart, but you remind yourself that he already did it in the past. 

“It’s time we put an end to this,” he lowly says.

“Easy for you to say it when you’re not the one who got thrown away like you didn’t mean anything…” Your words cut sharply.    

“Yn…” The way he whispers your name sends shivers down your spine. “It wasn’t easy for me either.”  

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Just don’t.”

He suddenly stands up, pacing the room right in front of you. This version of him—sad, broken, regretful—is one you’ve never seen before.

“Have you ever truly listened to my songs?” he stops in his tracks, meeting your eyes. The sadness written all over his face devastates you. You nod.

“Truly?” he insists. “If you did, you’d understand they’re all for you.”

Your eyes instantly flutter shut, trying somehow to stop the pain swelling in your chest. Jungkook can’t say that. He has no right to.

“No,” you manage to say.

“It’s the truth,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Stop Jungkook,” you stand, anger sparking through you. “You can’t just say that—not after what you did.”

Your mind races as you finally speak the words your twenty-one-year-old self never could.  

“You don’t get to kiss me, date another girl right after, say that I didn’t mean anything, and then claim your love songs were for me,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. “You have no right. Absolutely none.”  

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes. It’s obvious he’s suffering just as much as you do, but you don’t care. He’s the one who broke your heart.

“I was afraid, okay?” his voice rises, which takes you aback.

“What?” you ask as if you didn’t hear him right, but the silence that follows gives you the time to process his words properly. “You’re telling me you ran away because you were afraid?”

“Yes,” he runs his fingers through his hair.

“For fuck’s sake,” you scream before simply leaving the room.

The air is suffocating you. Jungkook is suffocating you with his shitty explanation. You can’t stay with him; otherwise, you’ll definitely kill him. Even though the weather is absolutely cold this night of November, you leave the house, tears running down your face.

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t face the man who shattered your heart anymore.

The next day, you spent it visiting a village not too far from the house. Noah got worried when you told him you needed space and time away from Jungkook, but he let you be, only asking to tell him where you were throughout the day.

You needed air.

Being away definitely helped, but talking to your best friend, Ava, on the phone while wandering around boosted you. She knew about your crush on Jungkook. She was sitting front row when you were pinning around each other. She saw how devastated you were after.

So, you told her everything he said to you the night before—she cursed a lot. But she also guided you. She believed you need to finish this album, or at least the song ‘Miss You’, putting your hate towards Jungkook aside. She also advised you to have an honest and raw conversation with him.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to admit you’re afraid, and Jungkook did it, so you should at least let him explain it to you. In detail,” she wisely said.

As always, Ava wasn’t wrong.

So you followed her advice, and here you are, two days after running away from Jungkook, standing in front of the annex’s door. This house seems to know no end, and they manage to recreate a small studio in the annex. You’ve never been inside since you were busy working in the writing room.

Noah told you Jungkook was working at the studio, bringing his song “Lonely Nights” to life. The boys haven’t heard it yet; apparently, he wants to record the demo before showing it to them.

Your brother explained that this is how they usually work: Jungkook writes the song, records a rough version, and only then lets the boys listen so they can decide how to split the parts before recording the final track.    

After taking the deepest breath of your entire life, you knock at the door. You hear footsteps before Jungkook opens the door. You can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, clearly indicating that sleep hasn’t been his best friend lately.

“Hi,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hi,” you say as you enter.

After the heated argument, it feels odd to be around him, too scared that it might blow up again. However, you desire to hold up to your promise—to your brother, Ava, and Jungkook—overshadows the grudges you have against him.

“Just to give you a heads up,” you begin, not bothering to look at him, “I’m only here to finish what we started.”

“Okay,” he says in a low voice.

Jungkook invites you to sit in the chair next to him, in front of the piano. He then explains how you will proceed.

“We’ll take it slow,” he says softly, fingers hovering over the keys. “Start by humming the melody. Doesn’t matter if it’s messy, I’ll catch it.”

“Should I hum the entire song?” you ask, unsure.

“Yes,” he nods without hesitation, “and then, we’ll break it down, bit by bit.”

A knot forms in your stomach. You’ve written entire worlds, universes with a pen, but humming a song in front of him feels impossibly intimate. Still, you inhale and do as he asks.

The moment you open your mouth, heat rushes to your cheeks. The melody in your mind feels clearer than what comes out, your voice trembling more than you expected. It’s embarrassing, vulnerable, and nothing like the confidence you show when writing.

But Jungkook doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even blink. He watches you like he’s afraid to miss a single sound you make.

His full attention burns hotter than stage lights, and it only makes you waver more. You keep going anyway, humming the shape of the song as best as you can, even though every second stretches like an eternity.

Without realizing it, you start tapping the rhythm on your thigh. When you finally trail off, breath unsteady, you finally look at him.  

His focus now shifts to the piano in front of him, and for a moment, his eyes scan the keys before his fingers fall on them. The first melodies definitely sound similar to what you hum.

When he stops, his eyes turn back to you, “Was it right?”

“Yes,” you say while nodding, “but I would say a bit higher.”

Jungkook tries again, and this time, the sound is perfect.

“That’s it,” you whisper once he stops.

After that, you keep working, bit by bit. You continue humming for a couple of seconds before he tries to reproduce and records it in his laptop at the same time. Slowly but surely, he gives life to whatever was in your mind throughout the entire writing process. And it’s beautiful.

Once you finish humming, Jungkook hits a few keys, adjusts something on the laptop, and then plays back the melody. Hearing the scattered hums shaped into something coherent—something beautiful—steals your breath away.

Jungkook is a magician. There’s no other explanation. You didn’t think it was possible, and yet here it is, real, alive.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes locked on his.

“It’s all you,” he replies with a small smile.  

“Absolutely not. I just hummed what was in my head. You’re the one who turned it into this.”

 “Everything is possible in music,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to his hands.

After everything that happened in the past days, you know he’s right. If you can imagine it, you can create it.

“Yeah,” you softly say with a smile growing on your face, “looks like it.”  

For a brief moment, a gentle silence stretches between you—not tense, not painful, not full of unresolved anger. It’s the first peaceful moment you’ve shared in years, and it settles around you like warmth.

“Now,” he eventually says, breaking the quiet, “we just need to polish it.”  

You nod, “Not sure what that means, but sure.”

Apparently, it means adding extra chords, layering harmonies, twisting the melody until it blooms into something richer, something whole. The transformation is incredible, and this is only the instrumental version. You can’t help imagining what it’ll sound like once the boys add their voices.

Watching Jungkook work is mesmerizing. He moves between the piano and the computer like he’s translating another language—one only he speaks. And through it all, he keeps pausing to ask for your opinion.

Every time he does, it feels like he’s handing you ownership. Like this is your song just as much as his. Like you matter here.

When you’re finally done, you exhale. “So, what now?”

“We record a demo,” he says lightly. “Otherwise, the boys don’t know how to sing it.”

“We?” you ask, your eyebrows knitting together, “We as in… you and I?”

Jungkook nods without hesitation. “We wrote the lyrics together. We built the melody together. Of course, we record it together. It only makes sense.”  

“I can’t sing…” you instantly blurt out.

“That’s not true,” he counters immediately, rolling his eyes. “I’ve heard you many times. You’re pretty good.”

Both you and Jungkook walk to the recording booth, your mind imagining your brother in the same spot, working on other songs. He’s been here since the beginning of the retreat, and he must know this place by heart by now.

Jungkook takes out a pair of headphones from the stand and hands them to you with a small smile. Your eyes move between his hand and his face, your teeth gripping your lower lip. This makes it feel even more real. You’re creating a song from A to Z.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Not really,” you admit, but you still put the headphones on. Your heart is racing; you don’t know if it’s the mic in front of you or him.

He chuckles softly. “It’s okay, I’ll guide you through it. I’ll be on the other side, playing the track on your headphones and guiding you, okay?”

Honestly, this feels so stressful. ‘How does Noah manage to do this every day?’ You think to yourself. Well, he must be used to it by now—he’s been doing it for seven years.   

Jungkook walks back to where you were sitting a couple of seconds ago.

“Let’s start with the melody track. You’ll just hum along. You don’t even have to sing words yet,” he says through the mic.

You nod, even though your palms are sweating. The little recording room feels too small, too quiet, too intimate. You hear the faint buzz of the equipment and your own pulse in your throat. You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on you, steady and reassuring. 

“Yn, relax your shoulders.”

You didn’t even realize how tense you were until you let out a long breath.

“Good,” he encourages, voice warm in your headphones. “We’ll go slow. I’ll play the track, and you hum the melody the way we shaped it. No pressure. If you mess up, we’ll just redo the take.”

“Okay,” you whisper, getting super close to the mic to make sure he hears you.

Your melody—the one you hummed awkwardly an hour ago, but now real, alive—fills your ears. Jungkook’s touch is all over it: delicate chords, subtle strings, and little details you don’t even know how to name.

Your voice comes out timid at first, barely a breath, but you follow the melody.

“You’re doing great,” he says in your headphones, so quietly it almost feels like he’s whispering into your ear. Your cheeks burn before he restarts the track.

“Let it flow this time,” he murmurs in your ears. “Don’t overthink it.”

And you try. You take a very deep breath before letting yourself fall into the music, forgetting the mic, your insecurities, and you simply hum what you feel. This feels surreal. The track plays in your ears like it’s the only thing you can hear right now.

When you finish, Jungkook is speechless for a moment. Then he says, “Beautiful.”

You shake your head instantly, not believing him. “No way.”

“Come listen,” he says, barely smiling.

You step out of the booth, removing the headphones, and take a seat beside him. He hits play. Your breath catches because you sound quite good. Better than good. His arrangement holds you, lifts you, wraps around your voice like it was always meant to.

“See?” Jungkook murmurs, leaning just a little too close. “Told you.”

You glance at him. His eyes are soft, too soft, full of something you don’t want to name. Somehow, being in this room and working with him on ‘Miss You’ makes all the pain and hate vanish completely. It’s like old times—when you only had love for him.

For a moment, there’s only you and him. The entire world around you disappears, and it’s a feeling you thought you would never experience again with him.

He clears his throat. “Okay, now let’s do it again, but with the actual lyrics.”

Your stomach drops. “Wait. Sing? Jungkook, no.”

“Yn,” he laughs under his breath, “you just did the hardest part.”

“But that was humming,” you play with your fingers, your eyes looking down at them like they are the most fascinating thing. “It’s not the same.”

“We’ll sing the first line together, okay?” he says quietly. “I’m here with you.”

You nod slowly.

“We can do a first try without recording it, and then, we’ll get in the booth. Sounds good for you?”

You nod once more. This feels less pressuring, but you know that once it is over, once you’re back in the booth to record the demo, the boys will be hearing it. Somehow, that is stressful. You’ve never sung in front of anyone except your family and close friends, Jungkook included. The boys never heard your voice.

He presses a key on his laptop, letting the track resonate in the room. Then, he sings, low and gentle, not performing, just existing in the music.

“I’ve been running from the quiet, Cause the silence always knows.”

You join him on the next line. Your voice trembles at first, but he matches you, supports you, blends with you until you find steadiness.

“Every thought I tried to bury Finds its way back to your ghost.”

It feels unreal, like your voices were always meant to fit together like this.

“I pretend that I’m fine, But the nights don’t ever lie They pull your name from my chest Like a truth I can’t deny.”

Not humming anymore feels odd, but finally reading out loud what you’ve come up with is somehow a relief.

“I know we said we’d let go, But letting go never stayed. If moving on was simple, Then why do I feel the same?”

When you reach the chorus, your eyes inevitably rest on the man sitting next to you. This song is about him in every possible way. But after having him adjust it, you know it’s also about you. This is about what you could have been and how you both missed each other so deeply.  

“’Cause I still miss you More than I’m allowed to say. I still miss you In the smallest, quiet ways. Every memory, every heartbeat, Leads me back to you. I don’t know if I should love you… But God, I miss you.”

Your eyes move back to focus on the laptop in front of you. His voice echoing against you helps you keep going. He’s really good at what he does. His voice is perfect, but the way he composes and writes makes him even more perfect, if it’s even possible.

And your heart beats and aches once again for this man. The only man who truly conquered your heart and made it hard for anyone after him.

When the bridge approaches, you swear that you feel your soul leaving your body. It was the hardest part to write—the one you both keep changing and adjusting.

“Maybe someday, We’ll find the courage we lost. Maybe someday, We’ll tell the truth without cost. But until the moment we do, I’ll keep holding on to Every version of us I couldn’t live through.”

Then you reach the final and probably the saddest part of the song, the final chorus.

“I still miss you More than I can bear tonight. I still miss you When the darkness needs a light. Every memory, every heartbeat, Tells me you still feel it too. I don’t know what we’re becoming But God, I miss you.”

When you finish, neither of you speaks. You simply look at each other, and his gaze is the kind that makes your breath stop. You’re not sure you know how to even properly function. This whole session is intense in every possible way.

“See?” he whispers. “We make a good team.”

Your heart stutters.

“Jungkook…”

He offers you a little smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll record it step by step and together.”

He reaches forward and hits the record button before you head to the booth, headphones on.

“Ready?” he asks once you’re inside.

You nod, the track starts playing, and you both start singing the song you built together. A song you wrote about the love you both share for each other. A song that simply expresses how much you miss each other.

And that’s the beautiful side of this whole journey.

For the past two days, you’ve been giving life to every lyric you wrote with Jungkook. This is the best feeling ever. No wonder he loves to do this.

And over those two days, you’ve gotten to get closer. It felt like old times, when you were two friends hanging out together and having fun. This has partially healed your twenty-one-year-old self, who got completely heartbroken.

Now, you’re sitting in the studio with all the boys, listening to the ‘Miss You’ demo. Nobody speaks, only focusing on your and Jungkook’s voices. You’d like to say that you’re feeling embarrassed or shy, but it’d be a lie. Hearing your voice out loud, in a song, warms your soul.

Once the song is over, Noah looks at you with wide eyes. “You did that?” he asks while pointing at the laptop.

“Yes,” you nod.

“There’s no way we’re recording this or even changing it,” Yoongi says, his eyes going from Jungkook to you.

You frown, worry taking over you. Is the song bad? Didn’t they like it? Your heart starts beating extremely fast. What if all this time was lost?

“This is way too good,” Hoseok adds. “It’d be a crime to put my voice over this.”

“But—” you begin, but Noah cuts you off.

“There’s no but, yn,” he begins. “I completely agree with Hobi. If we sing this song, it’ll lose its magic. This is perfect with your and Jungkook’s voices.”

You quickly look at Jungkook, his eyes already on you, and your cheeks instantly burn. In the end, they don’t consider this like shit. It’s actually the opposite, and you can’t help but feel pride. This wasn’t in vain.

“If hating each other gives this, I can’t imagine what it’d be once it gets better,” Jimin confesses.

Honestly, right now, you want to disappear.

“Jimin,” your brother scolds him.

“What?” he asks. “Did I say anything wrong?”

If eyes could kill, Jimin would have already been on the ground.

“We can show you the other songs,” Jungkook suggests, and they all agree.

They like every single one of them, and they can’t wait to work on them. For sure, the version you created with Jungkook won’t be the final one, but in general, it will remain the same. And you have to admit that you’re also extremely excited to hear the final result, adjusted by Namjoon and with their voices on it.

When you all leave the studio, you head with Noah to the living room, sitting on the couch once inside. Your brother instantly tugs you into a hug, which surprises you at first, but you then wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“What you did was splendid,” he murmurs, holding you as tight as possible. “Thanks, sis.”

“I did it with Jungkook,” you admit. “I wasn’t alone.”

“Still,” he replies. “Maybe I’m biased because you’re my sister, but it was great!”

You chuckle, and you both remain like that for a moment.

For the past seven years, it’s been hard to spend some time with Noah. He’s always been on the road and working on albums, and it got worse when you became a writer. Your parents complained a lot that it was always hard to have you both in the same room for a couple of days.

So, being here with him and actually working with him means more than you can ever express. The love you have for him knows no boundaries, even though you’ll never say that to him, but you believe that he knows it. This has allowed you to spend more time with him, like when you were kids.

Noah is the protective kind of brother, but not in a toxic way. He lets you live your life like you intend to, and he’ll step up if you ask him. He’s never been the type to forbid you from dating someone. He actually encourages you, but keeps an eye on the guy, and makes you promise that you’ll think about yourself first.

His opinion is absolutely valuable to you, so he has read every single one of your books beforehand. For your first book, you were kind of insecure about it, but after the heartbreak that Jungkook puts you through, you gave it to him. Noah isn’t a writer by any means, but he’d always tell you what he believed sounded wrong.

Noah is your best friend. He’s the guy you’ll always rely on. And you’re grateful to your parents for giving you him. Life would have been boring without him.

“Now I understand why you love this so much,” you tell him when you break your embrace.

“Really?” he asks with the biggest smile on his face.

“Yeah, it’s cool to create a song from scratch.”

“Maybe you could be our ninth member,” he teases.

“Eeh, don’t push it too far,” you playfully hit his arm. “I love being a writer, and I’m absolutely not converting into being a singer.”

“But you could be a lyricist with Jungkook…” he offers.

You cross your arms. “You’re asking for too much, Noah. Consider yourself lucky I didn’t commit any crime for the past four weeks.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. “If you say so.”

Honestly, it’s a miracle you manage to work things out with Jungkook, but you know you still need to have a very serious conversation with him. And that scares the shit out of you.

After that, you jump into your room to stay alone for a moment. You’ve interacted too much with too many people; you need to recharge your social battery before joining them again.

You grab ‘The Love Hypothesis’ by Ali Hazelwood, a book that tons of people recommended to you. So far, you’ve only read ten pages because you’ve been working way too much on this writing retreat.

After reading a couple of chapters, you can totally understand why people love it so much. The story is addictive, and you only want to know more about this attraction between Olive and Adam. And based on the description, you imagine Adam hot as fuck. Hopefully, one day, you’ll find someone like him.

At dinner, you emerge from your room to eat. As usual, nobody eats at the same time, but Noah was waiting for you like he does every day. Tonight, it’s carbonara pasta for everyone, prepared by the super chef Jin. He’s really talented.

“We’ve discussed all together,” Noah begins, “and if you agree, we’d like to add ‘Miss You’ as it is.”

“The version of Jungkook and me?” you ask before eating some pasta.

He nods. “Jungkook doesn’t mind, but we’d like to have your agreement. We won’t release it if you don’t want to.”

Wow, you honestly don’t know what to think. This was supposed to be only you helping them with writing songs, not you ending up on the album. If you agree, you’d be a singer on top of being a writer. You never expected your life to take such a turn.

“I need to think about it.”

Noah nods, and you then talk about something completely different while finishing your plate of pasta. After that, he disappears into his room to call his new girlfriend. It’s hard to follow up with his love life, but you only remember the girls he introduced you to. This new one is still unnamed since he doesn’t want to tell you anything about her until he’s sure it’s serious. ‘There’s no point in presenting you someone who might not stay,’ he told you once.

As you look through the window, you notice that it is snowing—not heavy snowing, but more like snowflakes gently falling from the sky. It’s beautiful. Instantly, you grab your puffer coat, scarf, and gloves, and head outside to the terrace.

Sitting down on the bench, your eyes just wrap around the beauty unfolding in front of you. Slowly, everything is getting covered in snow.

“Can I sit here?”

Your head turns to find Jungkook, covered in his puffer jacket, a wool hat, and a scarf. With this layer of clothes, he looks so small, and you can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, sure.”

Slowly, he sits next to you, but leaves some space between you. For a while, you remain in silence, and you just don’t care. You’re here for the snow, not to be with him, and it’s actually even better if he doesn’t speak. Your mind has already been running over the way to approach him for the famous conversation you need to have.    

“It reminds me of the day we were stuck at my place,” he lowly says.

A smile grows on your face when you think back to that day. As usual, you were together at his place, watching a movie with hot chocolate in your hands. You can’t remember the movie you were watching, but it doesn’t really matter today.

It was snowing that day, slowly at first before it turned into a storm. You weren’t left with much choice, so you stayed at his place; you even slept with him that night. Nothing happened that night, even though your entire soul wanted it. The kiss under the rain happened a week after that.

“Good memories,” you simply reply, not wanting to go over that souvenir with him.

“Yeah,” he agrees with you. “I miss that time.”

Inevitably, you close your eyes, your heart beating too fast. Looks like he wants to have THE conversation.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, warning and plea tangled together in your voice.

You hear him shift closer, his warmth gathering near your shoulder, but you don’t dare to open your eyes to see just how close he is now.

“Yn,” he breathes, “I can’t even express how sorry I am. For everything.”

Being sorry five years later isn’t enough to erase everything he caused. The sorrow that overwhelmed you after he left, those nights when tears ravaged your cheeks, the ache that settled deep in your chest and refused to leave, none of it simply disappears because he’s sorry now.   

“You can’t just come back five years later with your apologies,” you reply, your voice gentle despite the weight of your words. “It doesn’t erase what happened.”

For a moment, Jungkook doesn’t speak, the silence between you slowly becoming heavy and unbearable, almost suffocating.

“I know,” he finally whispers. “I know it doesn’t change anything.”

At his words, you open your eyes, his gaze already on you. You notice just how his jaw trembles. He looks like he’s trying not to fall apart in front of you, and failing miserably.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” his voice shakes in a way you’ve never heard before.

The man sitting next to you isn’t the one you’ve gotten to see over the past five years. Somehow, he’s the one he used to be before running away from you—vulnerable and honest.    

“I just feel sorry for being the man who broke your heart,” he blinks, eyes never leaving yours, “and for causing that pain. You deserved someone who stayed. Someone who chose you. Someone who didn’t run because his world was falling apart. Someone who chose to run away because he was afraid.”

He breathes shakily while he rubs his hands over his face. You can’t help but realize that this Jungkook carries a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he’s definitely in pain. You’re certain that this goes beyond what he did to you.  

And right there, you finally ask what has been going through your mind for a week now: “What were you afraid of?”

He closes his eyes, his breath catching before he speaks. It’s like the words have lived inside his chest for far too long, and he doesn’t know how to express them out loud.

“Honestly, I was scared of so many things,” he begins.

You can tell he’s struggling to express what’s going on inside his head. He stands up, turning his back to you, as if he can’t bear to look at you while he speaks his truth.

Your eyes remain on his strong back, hidden beneath his coat, and somehow, the snow around you makes this moment even more intense and vulnerable.    

“I didn’t walk away because I didn’t want you,” he says with a shaky voice while turning around to look at you. 

You completely freeze. This is definitely something you weren’t expecting to hear, ever. In your head, Jungkook had run away because he realized, after kissing you, that he didn’t like you.

His gaze on you is intense, overwhelming. It’s almost impossible to look at him, especially what he just revealed. How are you supposed to survive this with him looking at you like that?

“It’s actually the opposite,” he confesses. “I walked away because I wanted you too much.”

Your heart squeezes at his words, the pain almost equal to the one you felt once he showed up with a new girl after kissing you. Remaining seated is hard, so you now stand up to face him.

“But back then, I was a mess. I was terrified of everything, and my family was falling apart in ways I didn’t even know how to handle.”

His gaze locks on yours, and his words surprise you. You had no idea his family was struggling back then. Well, your brother told you, like a year after that, his parents had divorced, but you ignored that it was already taking place when you were still friends.

He swallows hard and takes off his hat to run his fingers through his hair. “My mom cheated, then my dad did it, then someone got pregnant, and suddenly everything I believed about family meant nothing.” His voice breaks on the last word.

His eyes are shining from the tears that he’s holding back. His vulnerability absolutely breaks your heart. You’re absolutely sure that you’re not going to get back inside alive. This man is killing you with his revelations and the way he looks at you.  

“I was watching love die in front of me, yn. Every day. And the only thing that felt real was you.”

You close your eyes, heart beating so fast inside your chest that it could explode at any moment. You take a step closer, holding back the urge to grab his hands.

“And that scared the hell out of me,” he continues.

A tear streams down his face.  

“You were the only thing in my life that was good. The one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t my parents’ son. And I thought that if I pulled you into the chaos I was living in, I’d ruin you too.”

He exhales shakily, his voice barely a whisper now. Jungkook doesn’t clean the tears running down his face, and seeing him tear up in front of you is painful in ways you can’t even express.

“I kissed you because I was in love with you.”

You feel your stomach drop, your heart twist painfully. He can’t just say that five years later. It’s too late now.  

“And I left because I didn’t want to turn into the kind of man who breaks the girl he loves.”

Hearing out loud that he loved you devastates you. It makes you realize that it was never a one-sided love. Never. And you can’t say if it relieves you or hurts you even more.

“I knew I was going to hurt you either way. So I chose the version where you’d hate me instead of the version where you’d stay and watch me fall apart. I thought pushing you away was protecting you.”  

Your throat tightens painfully, tears running down your face. You never thought you’d be hearing all this on a snowy night in November, in the middle of nowhere, and especially not five years later.

You don’t say anything because you actually don’t know what to say, so you just let the tears ravage your face. Jungkook instantly reaches for your hand, squeezing it as tightly as possible.

“I’m so sorry, yn,” he whispers. “I hate myself so much for what I did. I wake up every day wishing I could go back. Wishing I hadn’t been such a coward. Wishing you didn’t hate me as much as you did over the past five years.”

You sob. This is too much for your poor heart.

“Why now?” you choke out. “Why didn’t you say any of this five years ago? Do you have any idea how much it hurt to think I meant nothing to you?”

Jungkook’s face twists, shattered before closing the distance between you and cupping your face in his hands. You don’t push him away even though you should, but you need to feel him, to have him comforting you.  

“The problem was that you meant everything.”

You feel absolutely weak, your knees are trembling, and threatening to fail you. You place your hands over his, trying somehow to hold yourself onto something.

“You still do,” he confesses softly.

His soft and cold thumbs clean the tears on your face, and instantly, your eyes close to savor this tender moment.

“You made me hate you,” you whisper with a shaky voice.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss on your forehead before resting his against yours. This hurts like hell. More than when he made you think he didn’t love you.

“I’m sorry, trouble,” he whispers.

Your soul leaves your body the moment he calls you ‘trouble’. He used to call you that because you were always bothering him, barely letting him focus or work. It started as a joke, but it stayed until you stopped giving him the right to call you like that.

“It’s too late, Jungkook,” you say while opening your eyes. “It was late the second you showed up with Stella.”  

You push him away before getting back inside, leaving him alone on the terrace. You’re just too devastated. He can’t come back five years later, saying his sorry and explaining everything when he had all these years to do it. He can’t expect you to accept his apologies just like that.

With a bleeding heart, you run to your room, fall on your bed, and cry for the rest of the night.

ACT III: “the real meaning of ‘miss you’”

The silence between you and Jungkook has been incredibly heavy for the past week. You can’t bear to be around him for more than two minutes, so you disappear when he steps inside a room. You’ve also categorically refused to work with him.

Most of the songs were done and recorded; he can finish them by himself. You’re not needed anymore. Noah didn’t push, but once again, he was worried about you. This silence with Jungkook speaks louder than any harsh word you’ve ever thrown yourself in the past five years.

“You did tell her about your crush, right?” you hear Jin asking Jungkook in the kitchen.

“Why are you saying that?”

“She runs away the second you show up,” the eldest explains.

“You’re saying that she hates me because I had a crush on her?” Jungkook clearly sounds confused.

You can imagine Jin shrugging, and it makes you smile. Jin is the type of guy to be funny without even trying, and it’s why you adore him.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jungkook adds.

“Why?” Jin asks. “If she doesn’t share your feelings… or if she did but you didn’t say anything… I’d hate you if I was her.”

You shake your head, smiling like an idiot. You shouldn’t hide behind the door and listen to their conversation, but you can’t help yourself. Curiosity has taken over you and your body.

“You’re not helping…” the youngest mumbles.

“So it’s that,” Jin’s voice is absolutely cheeky. “And what that crush of yours makes her hate you?”

The oldest member of The Devil Lovers is way too curious.

“It’s not that, Jinnie,” Jungkook dismisses his oldest friend.

“I’m not stupid,” he replies. “Actually, nobody is stupid in this house. We all know this situation is because of your massive crush on her, and it’s becoming unbearable.”

There is a moment of silence, and you can hear Jungkook sighing.

“Yeah, I told her,” he confesses, “but she said it’s too late.”

“And you’re a fool for letting her go,” he claps back instantly. “If you still have that crush on her, go after her.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, probably lost for words.

“Don’t you miss her? Don’t you miss being around her all the time like before?”

“Of course I miss her,” he admits. “I miss her constantly, but I messed up, Jin.”

You can hear Jin rolling his eyes from where you are. This man is always so dramatic.

“You definitely did, but you’d only make it worse if you don’t do anything now,” he explains to Jungkook. “She knows you like her, so show it to her.”

There’s another silence.

“Don’t lose her all over again because I know she loves you,” Jin lowly says, and by the way he quickly continues, you can tell that Jungkook is frowning. “You can’t go from being friends with someone to hating them overnight, and we both know that she never really hated you. She just refused to show you how in love she still was.”

With that, you disappear back to your room, grab your things, and scream in the house that you’re leaving. You need some space far away from all these boys.

“Yn,” you hear as you’re stepping outside.

No need to turn to know who that is. Jungkook. He’s the last person on earth you want to interact with right now.

“Please don’t,” you say as you turn, your breath shaking.  

Jungkook freezes, not taking any further steps in your direction.

“Okay,” he simply says before sitting down on the doorsteps. “I’ll stay right here.”

“You know I’m leaving,” you tell him.

You are about to go for a short drive, with music blasting in the rented car as you try to forget, just for a moment, that he exists.

“Yeah,” he replies. “But I’ll still stay here.”

You deeply sigh before shaking your head. What is he doing now? What’s even the point of staying in the cold while you’re driving around?

“Are you serious?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll die of cold.”   

“I know.”

You get closer to him because the distance between you doesn’t make it easy to hear him.

“Why are you doing that?” you ask. “Is it because Jin told you?”

A smile grows on his face as he stands up, closing the remaining distance between you.

“So you heard…”

“Not because I wanted to,” you lie.

You could have stopped listening to them, but you didn’t, way too intrigued by their conversation.

“So you heard what I said about missing you?” he dares to ask, hesitation clearly heard in his voice.

For a moment, you look down at your fluffy blue gloves. You bought them a couple of years ago, and they still are so fluffy and warm after all these years. The day you’ll have to change them, you’ll probably cry since you absolutely adore them.

“Yeah, I heard that part…” You admit, unable to hide the truth.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I mean it,” he instantly says, his tone firm and unwavering, leaving no room for doubt. “I really do.”

“I told you—” you begin to reply, but before you can finish, he interrupts, his voice soft but resolute.

“I heard you,” he says. “It’s too late.”

You take a deep breath, trying to think of what you can say to him. You were absolutely clear when you said that it was too late, and you left no room for interpretation. So why is he here now?

With a shaky breath, you whisper, “Then why are you making this harder?”

His hands reach out for yours, and like a week ago, you just let him, not pushing him away when you probably should.

“I really miss you, yn,” he repeats, softer this time, like the words hurt him. “I miss you more than I could even express.”

His thumb brushes over your glove, slow, steady, almost nervous.

“I miss having you around. I miss laughing with you about the silliest things. I miss the way you say my name.”

He swallows, his voice cracking just a little.

“God, I miss the way you made me feel at home.”

A beat, and his eyes drop to your mouth.

“I miss the feeling of your lips,” his voice is barely audible. “Fuck, yn… I just miss you. All of you.”  

Your breath catches before you can stop it. The weight of his words crushes over you, and they bring back all those memories with him. You can feel deep inside you how it felt to laugh with him or the way he made you feel. You were convinced that everything would last forever, but you were completely wrong.

That’s why it hurts so fucking much.   

The tears start streaming down your face, but you don’t even realize it. You only do when Jungkook’s expression twists.

“You can’t…” your voice breaks. You try again, but it comes out as a sob. “You can’t say those things to me.”

His hands squeeze yours, but you push away, wiping at your cheeks with trembling hands.

“You don’t get to miss me like that,” you manage, but the words shake violently. “Not after everything. You don’t get to drop this on me five years later.”

His jaw tightens, pain flickering in his eyes, but you can’t let him speak—not when your heart is unraveling this fast. You press a fist to your mouth, trying to steady your breathing, failing miserably. The cold feeling of the gloves against your lips freezes you completely.

Your mind is racing with thoughts. Over the past five years, you deeply missed him. You missed how things were between you, and you hated how they changed overnight. Yes, you loved this man with all your soul, and maybe you still do because it still hurts after all these years.

But the truth is that you still miss him. You never stopped missing him.  

When you finally find your voice again, it’s barely a whisper—broken, small, and brutally honest. “I never stopped missing you.”

His breath hitches, and your eyes squeeze shut as more tears spill. This writing retreat has made you cry more than you have in a year. It’s incredible what this man makes you feel.

“And that’s exactly why it hurts so much,” you add.

For a second, Jungkook doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you with an intensity that makes your chest ache. It’s like your words hit him with the force of a punch, knocking the air out of him.

His lips part, but nothing comes out, before he manages to whisper your name in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “Yn…”

His gloved hand cleans the tears on your face, and for a brief moment, you close your eyes, savoring the soft moment.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he says while you open your eyes.

The words are quiet, but the weight behind them presses into you. You know him well enough to see how much he means it. How much he’s trying to restrain himself. Well, at least that’s what you think.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding. “Jungkook…”

He tilts his head slightly, just enough that your eyes meet. There’s longing, regret, and a quiet pleading in his gaze. A silent promise that he will be careful, that he won’t hurt you, but then, without another word, he leans in, his face closing the gap between you.

His eyes scan yours, trying to find a sign that you’ll push him away. You know this look. You know what it means, and the second you simply nod, his lips find yours. His hands cup your face with a shaking desperation.

At first, your body freezes as if trying to understand what’s going on. Your mind screams that it is too late, but your heart… Your heart breaks the moment his lips touch yours.

And then, you kiss him back.

Your hands grab his coat, pulling him so close your bodies collide, years of hurt melting into the kiss. A tiny sound escapes your throat, something between relief and heartbreak.

Jungkook deepens the kiss instantly, like he’s been waiting for this moment to breathe again. He kisses you slowly, then desperately, then slowly again as if he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You kiss him like you’re drowning. Like you hate him. Like you love him. Like you never let him go, even when you pretended you did.

Your fingers slowly move higher to slide into his hair, tugging, and he groans softly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss is overwhelming, and that’s what makes you pull away.

You stumble back, breathing hard, lips swollen, and chest heaving. You can’t help but notice that he’s in the same state, and when his eyes snap open, you see how dark, blown wide they are.

You’re shaking, not from coldness, but from the intense make-out that you swore would never happen again. “This…”

You pull back slightly before turning your back to him. Your lips still tingle, your heart still races, and the world feels impossibly quiet except for the sound of your own breathing.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t have to…” he says softly, his voice low and tender.

“You hurt me after kissing me,” your voice cracks, emotion spilling out despite your best effort to stay composed. “Who can’t tell me you won’t be doing it again?”

He reaches out slowly, resting his hand lightly over yours. “I know,” he whispers, “and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I was wrong. I know I hurt you—fuck, I deeply know it, but I can’t take back the past. All I can do is try to stay this time, and to show you that I never stopped loving you.”

Your breath hitches as you turn around to look at him.

“I’m scared, Jungkook,” you admit, your voice almost trembling. “Scared that if I let myself… I’ll want you completely, and then what?”

He tilts his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Then, want me completely,” he whispers. “I’m not running this time.”

For the first time in what feels like years, you let yourself meet his gaze fully. Vulnerability, fear, desire, and longing flicker in both your eyes.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you admit softly.

“Then we take it slow. Step by step. I’ll wait. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you back.”

His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, and you press your forehead against his, heart pounding like crazy inside your chest. This man has caused so much heartbreak, and you hate yourself for letting him do whatever he wants with your heart.  

Slowly, your lips brush against his again, and you let yourself feel every heartbeat, every ounce of desire that has been building since that first kiss under the rain.

Your hands grip again his coat, tugging him closer, and he responds immediately, one arm sliding around your waist, the other cupping your cheek. The kiss deepens, messy and raw, but also tender—every emotion you’ve kept locked away finally pouring into this single, shattering moment.

You break away just slightly, resting your forehead against his, breathing in the warmth and closeness, letting yourself savor it.

“I…” you whisper.

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, then your lips again, soft but insistent, like he’s saying: “I’m right here, and I won’t let go. Not this time.”

And for the first time in years, you let yourself believe it, letting the past pain mingle with this new, fragile hope that maybe, they can find their way back to each other.

The past week has honestly been the only week where nothing tragic happens—or should you say that it’s been the only week where you’ve been able to bear with Jungkook’s presence.

Nothing has really happened over the past week. No kisses, no hugs, no tears, no harsh words, and no hate. It was simply peaceful. Nevertheless, you kept working with Jungkook on those songs you hadn’t finished.

None of the boys said anything about how things have been a rollercoaster between you two, and you were grateful for it. But there were some days you’d feel anxious, too scared that Noah might say something. You aren’t prepared to have a conversation with him about your rocky relationship with his best friend.

The boys have also recorded most of your songs, and the final result is honestly mind-blowing. Their voices fit so well together. The songs sound a hundred times better with their voices and the arrangements of Namjoon.

As they told you previously, they refused to record ‘Miss You’ because it is your and Jungkook’s song, but after much thinking, you’ve agreed to having it released as it is. It is honestly so strange to think that your voice will be on their album.

The writer who became a singer for a song.

On top of that, since your voice will be on their album and some of your songs will make it to the final product, you’ll be earning a bit from it all.

A couple of days ago, you informed your manager about it, after she originally called you to ask when you’ll start working on your next book, and she made you promise that you’ll fight for your rights because nobody works for free.

Honestly, she’s the best. It wouldn’t have been possible to survive the craziness of the last years without her. Becoming a best-selling author is no joke. But you love it. Writing is the best thing that has happened to you. It’s freeing. You stop being yourself when you write, and the world around you disappears.

Funnily, you can’t write without a song in the background. The sounds around you become overwhelming, and you can’t focus on what you are doing. It’s like music calms your agitated brain. Noah always asks you how on earth you do it, but it’s just your way of working.

And yeah, you also listen to the songs written by Jungkook while working, especially when you need to write heartbreaking scenes. They are a wonder whenever you need to focus on sad parts. But in general, the songs of your brother’s band inspire you a lot.

“Joonie, why can’t you just tell us who you’re texting? You’ve been smiling like an idiot since we’re here,” Jimin says with a bright smile on his face.  

“He’s not wrong,” your brother adds.

“It’s none of your business, guys.”

Since you’re very intrigued to know who the lucky person is, you intervene. “Won’t you even tell me?” you literally pout.

“That’s not fair,” Namjoon points out. “You can’t look at me like that.”

A proud smile shows up on your face, knowing you’ve won. With these boys, you get absolutely whatever you want. You simply have to ask, not even beg, and they’ll hand it to you without even thinking twice about it. That’s the perk of being Noah’s little sister.

“Fine,” he gives up. “There’s this girl I met right before we came, and I’ve been enjoying talking to her.”

“Oooooh, our Joonie is in love,” Taehyung dramatically says.

“I’m not in love,” Joonie claps back. “I’m just enjoying her company.”

“You can admit you have a crush on her,” Jungkook says. “Nobody is going to judge you.”

That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever heard. These seven boys will highly judge and tease their leader because they like it. And this dynamic between them is one that you adore. They met when they were around twenty, even younger for some of them, and have been inseparable since then.

They fight sometimes, which is normal when you spend most of your days with the same people, but they always end up resolving their issues—a normal thing between brothers. Through Noah, you won six extra brothers you can also bother whenever you want. And then, there’s Jungkook, who’s far from being a brother to you.   

“Really?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You’re all going to say shit about me liking a woman.”

“That’s not true,” Jimin replies. “We all respect our super leader.”

Namjoon’s face is so funny. He’s not buying the shit Jimin and Jungkook are saying. Out of all of them, those two are the worst when it comes to teasing. They know no limit and drive the others absolutely crazy.

“Well, can’t wait for you to start dating someone,” he says.

The day Jimin dates someone, the world is ending. The word ‘fuckboy’ was invented for him. He fucks whoever wants him to, and it’s incredible to see him in action—he becomes the biggest flirt on earth. The fact that the band is quite well-known also helps; he has literally everybody at his feet, begging for his attention.

“That’s not happening,” he claps back, his face instantly becoming serious.

Jimin has stated more than once that he refuses to settle with someone because he doesn’t believe in love. He says that it isn’t for him, even though he roots for his friends’ happiness in the love department.

“Let’s see,” Namjoon says.

“But we weren’t talking about me,” Jimin tries to shift the conversation back to Namjoon’s growing love story. “We were talking about you and your little crush.”

“You’re not going to meet her any time soon, if that’s what you want to know.”

Jimin dramatically rolls his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh. Those boys are just incredible. You feel fortunate enough to spend these moments with them, and even though this writing retreat didn’t start really well, you’re sure its ending will be a lot better. Things are already much better.

“You’re not fun, Joonie,” Jimin retorts.  

“And I’m leaving,” the leader of the band announces as he leaves the kitchen.

Slowly, everybody starts to head back to their room as it is already late and they need to wake up early tomorrow. Their manager is coming to see what they’ve been doing for the past five weeks. Some other people are coming as well, but you can’t remember who they are or why they’ll be here.

When you reach your room, you find Jungkook in front of his. A smile stretches across his soft features when his eyes land on you.

“Tomorrow you’ll be here?” he asks. “Or will you be visiting around?”

“I wanted to leave, but Noah told me it’s better if I’m here since your team will be listening to our song.”

That thought makes you nervous. As soon as their manager and the other people hear ‘Miss You’, everything will become real. People outside The Devil Lovers members will be listening to your voice. They will hear what you create with Jungkook. And that’s unsettling, but you knew what you were getting into when you accepted having it in their album.

“Yeah, it’s best,” he nods. “Jinwoo will probably make you sign tons of paperwork.”

You don’t doubt it, but you would have preferred not to be around when they listen to ‘Miss You’.

“Hopefully, not too much,” you chuckle, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “My manager encouraged me, though, to fight for my rights, and to make the most money out of it.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s right,” he says. “But you’ve got Noah, so he’ll definitely fight like it’s for himself.”   

For a split second, he doesn’t say anything, only looking you dead in the eye.

“And you have me as well.”

Your heart stops instantly, not expecting to hear this. Your eyes look down at your feet, hidden under Christmas-themed socks, the ones you constantly wear, even outside the Christmas period. You wiggle your toes, trying to hide the effect his words have on you.

Knowing he’ll make sure you win as much as possible from this collab with The Devil Lovers warms your heart.

“Thanks.”

Jungkook steps closer, his fingers resting under your chin to slowly lift your face. His soft gaze falls on yours, your heartbeat already all over the place. The last time you were this close was last week when you kissed twice.   

“I meant it when I said I’ll do everything to win you back,” he confesses. “And that starts with helping you out, earning as much as possible from helping us and collaborating with us.”

“Money isn’t necessarily what I need,” you admit. “I already made enough with the books.”

“I don’t doubt it, but as your manager said, it’s in your rights.”

You nod, and before you realize what’s going on, he’s crashing his lips on yours, kissing like a desperate and craved man. It takes you like a second to kiss him back, too surprised by it. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer, while yours wrap around his neck.

This is comforting, especially after the intense five weeks.

Your twenty-one-year-old and heartbroken self wouldn’t believe you if you said you’d be kissing Jungkook once again. She’d probably curse at you for even letting him do it again, calling you a traitor. But fuck, it feels fucking great.

“We should go to bed,” Jungkook whispers against your lips. “Tomorrow will be intense.”

You break the kiss, stepping back to properly look at him. For a moment, you allow yourself to look at the man standing in front of you. His face screams tiredness, which only makes sense after how hard he’s been working. He has barely been sleeping.

But his eyes shine so bright, it almost looks like they are some stars that have fallen from the sky. His beauty is breathtaking, even more now that things have changed between you. He isn’t the guy who broke your heart anymore. He’s the one who is trying to mend it.

You nod before saying, “Yeah, we should. Sleep well, Jungkook.”

“I will,” he smiles, but you notice that he’s hesitating to say something else, so you kind of encourage him through a small smile. “I definitely will sleep well to the thought of you.”

Fuck, how can he be so sweet right now? Where’s the man who would clap back with the harshest words? Where’s the man who let you hate him?

His words give you the courage to say, “I will think about you, too.”

His lips crash against yours once more before you both go back to your respective rooms, happier than ever.

The full executive and productive team from the record house is currently listening to the songs the band has been working on for almost six weeks now. Obviously, since you wrote some of them, you’re also present in the improvised studio, in the annex. They are all serious, not saying a word.

Namjoon presents all the songs written, even though they currently have like thirty or forty songs. It takes like ages for them to listen to all of them, and you bite your nails with nervousness, waiting for ‘Miss You’ to play.

The boys have decided to put it last since it is sung by only one member and someone external to the band, but it only makes you extra nervous. The fact that they are expressionless when your and Jungkook’s songs are playing is already too much to handle.

Nevertheless, the second your and Jungkook’s voices echo in the room as the first notes of ‘Miss You’ play, they all appear surprised. Their manager looks instantly at you, which unsettles you even more. He frowns, and you don’t really know how to interpret that. 

Noah holds your hand, squeezing it in a way to comfort you, but nothing can relax you right now.

When the song ends, the entire team and the manager look at you and the boys. Can you just die right now? You’ve never been this nervous before, not even before sending your books to the editor.

“This is promising,” a guy says.

“Might need some reworking for some of them,” another one adds. “But everything sounds great.”

“We would then need to decide which ones will make it to the album,” Jinwoo announces.

“There is one we’re certain we want in the album,” your brother announces. “The last one, ‘Miss You’, is non-negotiable.”

Their manager seems to think, his eyes going from you to the boys. He’s already fully aware that you help them write some songs, and you’ll be credited no matter what, unless they end up not choosing any of your songs. But he wasn’t aware of ‘Miss You’. The boys wanted to surprise him.

“Okay,” he ends up saying. “Hope you know what you’re embarking on,” he says to you.

You nod, fully aware that the moment this song is out, people will want to know who you are. It stresses you a bit out because you’re scared people might end up connecting you to your writing’s name. Normally, with your real name, nobody can find out.

“As long as it doesn’t end up being linked to my books, I don’t care,” you admit.

“Noah already told me you want to be credited under your real name, so it should be fine,” he explains.

You nod once more. Obviously, it’s useless to say that you won’t give any performance; otherwise, everyone will know, and you’re also absolutely scared to be singing in front of a crowd full of people. You’re already extremely nervous about having people hear you sing, and let’s keep it that way.

They all start talking about the next steps. After this retreat, they’ll gather to check which songs will be released, and might as well rework some of them. Jinwoo tells you that the lawyers will prepare all the legal documents for your involvement, and he’ll contact you once everything is ready.

You’ll be granted fifteen percent of the royalties of each song you wrote, if they are released. And for ‘Miss You’, since there is only you and Jungkook involved in all aspects—singing, writing, and producing—it’ll be twenty-five percent. Apparently, the label takes half of each song as they are the publisher, which leaves the other half to be split between you and Jungkook.

Anyway, once you receive the legal docs, you’ll go over them with Wendy. This is too much legal blabla that you don’t really master, and she’s a specialist in agreements. She’ll be able to spot any weird things and make sure you’ll have the right percentages.

When your presence isn’t needed anymore, you leave them, but you remain outside. You sit on a bench, looking at the view the garden gives you of the mountains around the house. This looks like a postcard, but it’s even prettier when seen with your own eyes. Even though this retreat has been a hell of an emotional rollercoaster, you don’t regret coming.

Building songs from scratch was an incredible experience, and it disconnected you from the pressure of writing a book. It also inspired you a lot. Every night, before going to sleep, you’d write little ideas here and there in your notebook. And you might actually already have the main idea for your next book.

After a while, everybody leaves the annex for lunch. Jinwoo called a super chef to prepare a feast for fifteen people. Since you’re in the middle of nowhere, finding a good restaurant that would welcome fifteen people is almost impossible. Also, they have the money to hire a chef.

The discussions at the table are animated, work long forgotten. You talk with one of the executive team—a guy super important at the label, and who you didn’t know up until today—and he’s actually super nice. He’s absolutely astonished when you reveal your writer identity, and he literally begs for a picture and an autograph for his sister, who’s a big fan of yours.

From time to time, your gaze ends up on Jungkook, and to your surprise, he’s already looking at you. This reminds you of the stolen glance five years ago. It genuinely warms your heart.

When lunch is over, which is around 5 PM, the executive and productive team leaves with The Devil Lovers’ manager. And somehow—it’s still not very clear how—you end up being alone with Jungkook in the house.

The second you’re both alone, his mouth crashes into yours, devouring you in an ardent kiss. His tongue meets yours inside your mouth, and slowly, this kiss takes a heated turn, clearly showing how desperate you both are. While still kissing, you both walk to his room, leaving no room for interpretation about what is about to happen.

Do you want it? Absolutely.

Once inside, he closes the door, presses you against the wall next to it, and keeps kissing you so fervently and passionately. His hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer and squeezing you. Your hands, on the other side, tug at his hair.  

When you break the kiss, you’re both out of breath, panting heavily. None of you moves as if you’re scared to shatter the moment.

“We can stop here if you want,” Jungkook whispers, his thumbs caressing your skin over your shirt.

You shake your head, “I don’t want to. Just promise me you won’t be running—”

“Yn,” the way he says your name sends shivers down your spine. “I’m not going anywhere unless you don’t want me in your life.”

Your hands move down to his neck before your fingers lock around him, pushing him against you. You press a gentle and soft kiss on his lips.

“I really want you,” you confess, “but I’m still scared you’d leave me.”

One of his hands tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll spend the rest of my life compensating for all the pain I put you through.”  

You kiss him once more, overwhelmed with the weight of his words. Who would have thought you’d end up here with him?

“I’m not leaving you anymore, trouble,” he murmurs against your lips.

His lips find yours again for a kiss filled with emotions you don’t dare to speak out loud. You let your love for each other consume you like it should have always been.

Those past five years feel like a complete waste of time; you could have been doing this instead of screaming at him. But deep down, this moment feels even better, more intense because of all the hate you once felt for him.  

This time, his hand slips under your shirt to caress your bare skin. The cold sensation of his fingers against your hot skin makes you moan—one that he swallows instantly with his mouth. He presses you further against the wall, his knee positioning itself between your legs as his tongue plays with yours. You’re both so fucking desperate.

Your lips are parting, panting as you catch your breath before he kisses your lips again. Your nails dig into his neck as the pleasure courses through you, thighs clenching around his thigh as he presses it higher up.

This man is absolutely addictive, and you don’t want to let go of him. Ever.

While his lips never leave yours, he lifts you up, which makes you gasp. Your hand holds his jaw as you kiss him desperately, and your legs wrap around his waist. His tongue is warm in your mouth as he leads you to the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says while lying you on the bed.  

 A smile grows on your face as your cheeks burn on the inside. Him complimenting you makes you shy, but it feels so good at the same time.

Jungkook wastes no time in lifting your legs to remove your pants and panties, tossing them somewhere on the floor. He pushes your legs apart, pupils completely blown while you’re still trying to recover from the intense make-out.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he groans while his eyes never leave your exposed pussy.

His thumb comes down and rubs through your soaked folds; your hips jerk in surprise. “Jungkook,” you moan.

“Damn,” he whispers, his gaze now meeting yours, “I love the way you moan my name. Might need to record it.”

Your eyes widen. “What for?”

“To hear it when you’re not around,” Jungkook instantly replies.

You hide your face behind your hands, which makes him chuckle. The simple thought that he wants to hear you moan when you’re not together is such a turn-on that it makes you feel ashamed.

“Don’t be shy, trouble,” his free hand—the one not torturing your folds—tries to push your hands away from your face.

“It’s just weird,” you admit as your hands are brushed aside.

“Me jerking off to you? Or the fact that I want to record you?”

Your mortified expression makes him chuckle. Where can you hide yourself away from him?

“Trouble,” he whispers while he leans down, his breath brushing against your face, “I’ve already jerked off to the thought of you a loooot of times. That wouldn’t be new.”

“How can you admit that so confidently?” you ask.  

“Because I’ve nothing to lose now,” he kisses you again before his teeth graze your lower lip. “Now, I actually even know how my name sounds on your lips.”

Without wasting more time, his lips move down on your body to seal around your sensitive bundle of nerves. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth, and your eyes look down at the man pleasuring you. He’s eating you out like a starving man.

Your hands reach for his black hair to tug it, your hips bucking forward to push his face closer. His mouth works you over with hunger, tongue perfectly torturing you, while his lips seal around your clit. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement.

Your eyes flutter shut as you enjoy every second of his mouth on your pussy. You throw your head back while moans flow out of your mouth. With every flick of his tongue, you feel the coil begin to wind up, and your body trembles beneath his relentless tongue.

A satisfied hum vibrates against you, sending shocks through your core. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan.

By instinct, your legs try to close around him, but his hands wrap around your thighs to push them even more apart. Before you even realize it, your orgasm violently hits you, your legs shaking, and your walls clenching around emptiness.

Even though you’re coming hard against his lips, Jungkook doesn’t stop lapping at your juices falling all over his tongue.

Jungkook barely gives you the time to recover that he’s pushing a finger inside, his thumb pressing against your clit. A strangled moan directly leaves your lips before you moan his name for the zillionth time.

“Too much,” you tap against his hand resting on your thigh.

His eyes look up at you, pupils fully dilated. This Jungkook is literally the dead of you; he looks so fuckable and hot.

“We need to stretch you out before,” he tells you.

Slowly, he adds a second finger, his gaze locked on you while he licks his lips. Your moans get louder, and you’re thankful right now that the boys left, especially your brother. You’ll die if he ever hears you having sex with someone. It’s just awkward.

His torture with his fingers makes you come the second he adds a third finger. Nobody ever made you come twice this fast. His tongue and finger technique are on point. And you don’t even want to imagine how it will be the second his manhood is inside you.

Your legs are trembling as he pulls his fingers out, popping them in his mouth to suck them clean. “You taste so good, trouble.”   

Jungkook takes your shirt and your bra off, tossing them aside before he stands up to remove his shirt. You choke on your own saliva when your eyes meet his toned torso. Fuck, he’s even better than you imagined. His abs are sculpted to perfection, and you finally get to see the full arm covered in tattoos. It’s hot.

He unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down in one quick motion, pushing his boxers down as well. His cock instantly springs out, slapping against his abs. Your pupils dilate at the sight, especially when he smears the precum that collects around his tip. When you look up at him, you’re graced with his dark eyes filled with lust.

“I don’t have a condom,” he tells you with a hoarse voice. “It wasn’t really in my plans to have sex during this writing retreat.”

You nod; you also didn’t think this would happen, but here you are, lying in his bed with him standing next to you, fully naked.

“I’m clean,” he adds as he notices the hesitation in your face, and hearing him say that is an absolute relief.

Even though you’re using a contraceptive right now, it doesn’t protect you from any sexually transmitted disease. And you don’t know what this man has been doing for the past five years.

“I’m clean too,” you tell him, “and I also use a contraceptive vaginal ring.”

Jungkook nods before he climbs on the bed again and rests between your legs. His lips find yours again, and he rocks his cock through your folds, collecting your wetness to coat his length. You’re humming in delight against his lips.

His lips move down to kiss your jaw, shoulder, and collarbones, and he stops right above your breasts. His teeth sink in as he presses the tip to your entrance. Slowly, he pushes his tip in. A deep and guttural moan breaks through. You’re clenching around him while he continues to push inside.  

Jungkook crashes his lips into yours, and he doesn’t even let you adjust to his size before he plants his knees into the bed to start thrusting into you. You can feel every vein and ridge of his thick cock inside you.  

“Fuck, trouble,” he grunts against your lips while your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to find something to hold onto.

His hips snap against you, grunting in your ear every time you unintentionally clench around him.

“It feels so good,” you whine, back arching as he continues his relentless pace.

The room quickly gets filled with the slick sound of your moans, the headboard hitting the wall, and your bodies slapping together. The heat builds in your core as he slams into you, filling you completely with each thrust.   

Your hands grip his shoulders as hard as possible to steady yourself from Jungkook’s hard thrusts, but it only makes him groan against your ear even more. His lips meet yours for a sloppy kiss while his thrusts grow rougher and quicker.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach while he moans your name. Hearing him say your name this way feels wonderful. Jungkook seems just like you, completely consumed and overwhelmed with pleasure.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” you say with desperation filling your voice.

His cock twitches inside you, and well, that simple action makes you orgasm for the third time today. When your orgasm hits you completely and violently, your walls squeeze him tightly. Jungkook groans when he feels your wall clenching around his cock.  

His thrusts get more desperate as he chases his own high. You can tell that he’s so close when he flutters his eyes shut. Your walls keep tightening around him because of your own orgasm, but it’s obvious that it is an absolute torture for him.

“Fuck,” he groans.

And then, with one last thrust, he falls apart. Deep groans fall from his lips as he releases his hot semen inside you. His hands tighten around your waist, holding you still while he releases himself. He looks incredibly sexy when the orgasm hits him.

Before you can even do or say anything, he says with heavy breathing, “On your knees, trouble.”

Since your mind is completely clouded by the hot and steamy sex you’re having, you follow his instructions. You press your chest against the bed while you push your ass in the air. His hands instantly stroke your ass cheek.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, while his fingers are back to teasing your folds. “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he whispers.

He gently removes his fingers before you look behind you, admiring the singer of The Devil Lovers. He rubs his shaft along your folds, little moans leaving your lips as you close your eyes. And then, in one smooth stroke, he pushes into you. Your cry is instant, fingers clawing at the sheets as he bottoms out.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if he’s giving you both some time to recover. Before you can even comprehend, he slowly starts to thrust into you. At first, he goes slow and deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Moans leave both your lips as pleasure consumes you both. This feels marvelous.  

His thrusts slowly become more brutal, which makes you jolt forward, your breasts rubbing against the sheets with every bounce. The wet sounds between you are unforgivable, together with the loud moans leaving your lips.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this,” he mutters. “Between your sweet moans, your fucking addictive pussy, and your pretty body, I don’t know what’s driving me crazier.”

Well, honestly, he’s the one driving you completely crazy. He’s the one with his dick buried deep inside you.  

“It feels so so good,” you manage to say.

Then, Jungkook shows no mercy to you. His thrusts are absolutely wild, deep, and brutal, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Next time, I’m definitely recording you,” he grunts. “Need to hear you on repeat while on tour and far from you.”

Your fingers twist in the sheets as a shiver runs through you. Fuck, the only thought of him jerking off to the recording of you two having sex turns you on beyond comprehension. His hand slides to your hip, gripping hard before pushing your back against him.

“Next time?” you ask.

“Yeah, trouble,” he says out of breath. “I can’t let go of you, especially not after this.”

His pace turns downright ruthless. Your eyes roll back, the pleasure slowly becoming overwhelming. He presses his chest against your back, his tongue licking the inside of your ear. This catches you by surprise, which makes you moan louder.

“You’re so loud, trouble,” he whispers against your ear. You’re a complete moaning mess by now. “I hope none of the boys is back. We don’t want them hearing how I’m fucking you,” he adds.

You definitely don’t want that for many reasons. They like to tease each other, and if they have an excuse to tease Jungkook, they’ll seize it. And this would be the greatest opportunity ever, but it’ll mortify you instantly.

Then, the second and most important reason is your brother hearing you moan as Jungkook literally destroys you. You won’t ever be able to face him.

“I hope too,” you say in between moans. “Don’t want Noah to hear this.”

He chuckles, and you’re not sure what’s funny here. He slaps your ass, making you moan even louder. By now, you’re convinced that he definitely wants the boys to hear what’s going on here. He’s doing everything to make you moan louder and louder. He goes deeper, his hips meeting your ass with a loud slap that echoes in the room.

Jungkook grips your hips tight and fucks you rough and fast now. He doesn’t show any mercy to you. He’s driving into you so hard that it makes you see stars. The two of you are reaching your orgasm; you can feel it. Your legs are shaking, your moans are completely out of control, while his thrusts are sloppy and deep.

One of his hands slowly goes down on your body, landing on your throbbing clit. His fingers start to rub your sensitive spot as his cock keeps slamming roughly inside you. His fingers on your clit make you explode intensely, and you come hard around him. Your walls squeeze him over and over again while you come all over him. 

Your orgasm pushes his out of him, his cum coating your walls. His loud groans echo in the room as he continues thrusting inside you to push his leaking cum as deep as possible inside you. His orgasm definitely hits him hard since your name is rolling off his tongue like it’s a prayer.

Once his balls are fully drained, he takes his dick out of you, his cum instantly leaking from your pounded out pussy. You whimper when he gently fingers it back inside you, scooping it up and massaging your clit with it, making you cry with overstimulation.

His fingers show you no mercy, thrusting like he hasn’t fucked the shit out of you with his cock seconds ago. In a matter of seconds, your legs are completely trembling.

“Too much…” you pant, your hands trying to push his fingers away, but he taps your hand.

It seems like he absolutely doesn’t care that he’s overstimulating because he doesn’t stop. And just like that, you’re coming again over his seed-slicked fingers. A smile grows on his face, noticing that he made you orgasm for the fifth time.

You both collapse on the bed with heavy breathing. Jungkook rests next to you while his hand strokes your back. “How are you feeling?” his eyes scan your face.

“Dead,” you admit. “Nobody ever pulled five orgasms out of me that fast.”

He chuckles. “Glad I’m the first.”

You shake your head before pressing your face against his chest, his arms wrapping automatically around you. The rhythm of his heartbeat slowly rocks you to sleep. This sex session with him has drained your energy.

“Yn,” he whispers against your hair. “Let me just grab a towel to clean you up.”

Your eyes follow as he puts his underwear back on to leave the room. He reappears seconds later with a towel. You whimper as he’s gently cleaning your legs and pussy. Once he’s done with you, he pushes his boxer down to clean his softened length.

Jungkook throws the towel somewhere in the room before getting back in bed with you. His hands place the sheets over your bodies, his arms wrapping once more around your body while you fall asleep against his chest.

Luckily for you, the intense, intimate moment you shared with Jungkook wasn’t heard by any of the boys, but when they came back, you were sleeping peacefully in his bed, so they understood straightaway what had happened.

Needless to say that Noah made a disgusting face, and the boys teased you two until the end of the retreat. It was weird to be in a place where you could coexist with Jungkook without feeling the need to strangle him. It was even weirder to fall asleep in his arms, kiss him like you always wanted, and just love him.

You wished you could go back in time and tell your younger self that things will eventually get better. For sure, you’re still afraid to have your heart broken by him, but you’re ready to give him a chance. You’re ready to give love a chance.   

And yeah, ‘Miss You’ was a total success—one of the best songs of the album. But beyond that, this song carries a special place in your heart because it’s the song that brought you and Jungkook closer all over again.

This song isn’t just about missing someone you love; it’s about two people who madly fell in love and made the promise never to let go.

“Every memory, every heartbeat, Leads me back to you. I don’t know if I should love you… But God, I miss you.”

Jungkook grabs tightly the little hand of his five-year-old daughter, Hana, as they walk down the street. A couple of days ago, he promised her to buy some books in the little shop that her teacher advised. Apparently, she read a story that Hana adored, and she wants to have it at home. At least, she wants her dad to have it.

His eyes scan the street, hoping nobody will recognize him under his hat and sunglasses. He rose to fame when he became the hottest quarterback, something he didn’t really ask for, but as long as people leave his daughter alone, he absolutely gives no shit about this madness around him.

His eyes quickly look down at his baby before a smile grows on his face. Being her father is his biggest achievement and a role he absolutely adores. Being around her makes him extremely happy, and for a long time, it compensated for the fact that the relationship with her mother was a complete failure.

Jungkook met Miji, his ex-girlfriend and Hana’s mother, when he joined his current football team. They started dating quickly, but he knew he had never fallen in love with her. But he liked her. She was nice, funny, and caring. They stayed together for a solid six years.

Jungkook believed that he’d stay with her forever—yeah, even though he wasn’t in love with her. Hana joined them four years later, and her arrival made them extremely delighted. However, things began to change slowly when he gained fame. Miji wasn’t handling it very well.

For a while, he believed that she just needed time, but things got absolutely nasty. Living in the city was slowly suffocating her. People were jealous of her and were not being super nice to her. She wanted to move out, which they did. But it didn’t help. She clearly didn’t want to be in the relationship anymore.

Instead of leaving him and breaking up in a ‘correct’ way, she decided to cheat on him with her best friend. It was ugly, and Jungkook was hurt. He wasn’t really heartbroken, but it doesn’t erase the pain that cheating brings.

After the breakup, things got even messier. She kept the house; her best friend moved in, she asked for full custody of Hana, and for money because she couldn’t afford Hana’s upbringing. Jungkook didn’t give in. He refused to give her anything, and even less his daughter’s custody.

So now they share her custody, and he doesn’t give anything to Miji. The saddest part is that Hana hates being with her mother. She doesn’t like her new boyfriend and cries every time she has to go to her mother’s house. It devastates him, but he can’t do anything.   

As he pushes open the library’s door, he gently lets his little princess step inside first. He follows, closing softly the door behind them. The moment he sets foot inside, his heart stops beating for a second before pounding with a force he hasn’t felt in years. It’s like the world completely vanished around him. It feels like he’s seventeen again.  

You’re there.

You’re standing there, looking for a book on the shelves while you’re joyfully talking with someone else, completely unaware of him. The sound of your voice pulls him in before his eyes do. His gaze lingers, drinking you in.

You’re wearing a blue floral dress with a beautiful pair of grey sandals. A few silver rings catch the light. And then, his chest tightens. You’re still wearing the bracelet. The one he gave you before one of your big competitions, meant to be your lucky charm. Maybe it still is. Maybe it never was.

You haven’t seen him yet, too caught up in your conversation with the woman next to you. Deep down, he is grateful. He needs a moment to just look at you, to take in how much you’ve changed, and how much you haven’t.

“Daddy,” a small voice tugs him back.

He looks down. Hana is clutching his shorts, eyes wide and expectant.  

“Yes, boo,” he murmurs, forcing his eyes away from you. “Let’s go find that book.”  

She offers him the brightest smile on earth before they both walk inside. Jungkook removes his sunglasses before they begin walking together toward the kids’ section, his hand wrapped protectively around hers, but his heart is still pounding with every step that brings him closer to you.

As they walk, Jungkook keeps glancing in your direction. He’s not sure why his hands are clammy, or why his chest aches in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Maybe it’s because for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all.

You’re still you. The same softness in your voice. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re thinking. And that bracelet. The one he bought for you in secret because he couldn’t find the courage to tell you how much you meant to him.

He never imagined you’d still be wearing it.

His fingers twitch at the memory of that day, handing it to you awkwardly, pretending it was nothing, just a good-luck charm. But it wasn’t. It was everything he didn’t dare to say out loud.

Then, you look up.

At first, you think that it’s just your imagination, but when you hear him talking to the little girl next to him, you know it’s him. For a second, you freeze. Your breath hitches. That jawline. That smile. That voice.

It can’t be.

But then he speaks again—soft, tender—and the warmth of recognition spreads through you like sunlight through glass. It’s him. It’s really him.

Jungkook.

Your heart lurches in your chest. Not just because he’s here, standing in your library like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world, but because he hasn’t changed. Or maybe he has, but the way you feel when you see him, that hasn’t. Not even a little.

He’s holding a little girl’s hand. His daughter, maybe? You swallow hard, unsure what to do with the storm of emotions building inside you: joy, fear, longing, and the familiar ache of everything you never said.

You don’t really listen to the woman next to you. She’s far gone now, and you don’t even feel sorry about it.

Jungkook is literally standing in your library and not in the billboard in front of the library, abs on full display for that Calvin Klein advert. Honestly, it was hard to see him every day for a month. It was a constant reminder of the massive crush you had on him at seventeen.  

Suddenly, he turns around, his eyes meeting yours.

At first, you think that he probably doesn’t recognize you, and you wouldn’t blame him for that. It’s been eleven years since you last saw each other. However, he starts walking in your direction, his hands pressed behind the little girl’s head, inviting her to follow him.

Your heart beats crazily inside your chest, wondering if he has, in fact, recognized you or if he’s going to ask for a book.

He stops in front of you, a smile spreading across his face before his sweet voice reaches your ears.

“Yn,” his honey-like voice says. “It’s been a long time.”

Honestly, you don’t really know what to reply to him. He still looks like he was handcrafted by god himself, but somehow, he got even better. His body has become even broader than before, which you didn’t think was possible.

Of course, you noticed it on the Calvin Klein ad, but seeing it in real life is completely different.

His shoulders have expanded in an impossible way, his arm is fully hidden behind tattoos, and his black t-shirt can’t even hide his toned chest. Well, for sure, being a quarterback is responsible for this change, but it’s incredible.

However, the one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time is his big doe eyes. They can still make you melt—as they also do with any other girl.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he adds.

Well, you too. And you never pictured your reunion in your own library. This was the last place on earth you’d imagine to find him. You can still remember how much he hated to read. He’d always ask you to summarize the books you needed to read at school.    

“Me neither,” you reply.

Your eyes drop down to the little girl standing beside him. She looks exactly like him. There’s no doubt she’s his daughter. It was no secret that he became a father long before fame hit. He always likes to bring it up in interviews. And according to most women, he is the hottest dilf to ever walk the face of the earth.   

And well, you couldn’t agree more with them.

Jungkook notices when you look down at his daughter. A smile grows on his face because he has always dreamt of introducing her to you. He always hoped that this day would happen.

“This is Hana, my daughter,” he says, his gaze shifting from you to his daughter. “And Hana, this is yn, an old friend.”

She stretches her small hand out towards you.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a bright smile on her face.

You decide to drop down to her level. It startles you how much she takes after her father. It’s like you’re looking at a mini female version of Jungkook. It’s absolutely mind-blowing, but it only makes her even more adorable.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Hana,” you reply before hugging her.

Honestly, you always adored kids, and you’ve secretly dreamt of having children of your own. And whenever a child steps inside your library, you always take the time to interact with them—even sometimes, hugging them. Now, Hana is entitled to have a hug because she’s Jungkook’s daughter.

Her little arms wrap around your neck, and for a second, you close your eyes. Feeling her close to you helps to calm your nerves because having Jungkook right in front of you after all these years is quite something.

“You smell like coconut,” she whispers in your ear.

“It’s my shampoo’s scent,” you whisper back to her.

“It smells good,” she adds, and you can help but smile even more.

Jungkook watches the scene unfold in front of his eyes, his heart heavy with unspoken emotions. This right here makes him melt like never before. He has never seen anything this emotional, despite experiencing many emotions in his life.

You step back, putting an end to this heartfelt embrace, and you stand up again. Then, your eyes meet Jungkook’s once more. There’s something in his gaze that you’ve never seen before, and it surprises you, but you decide not to focus on that.

“I imagine you were looking for a book,” you say, your eyes looking down at Hana.

“Yes,” she happily says before clapping her hands with excitement.

“Her teacher talked about your library, and she bought Hana’s favorite book here,” Jungkook begins to explain. “So, here we are.”

The three of you walk to the kids’ section like it’s the most natural thing when you’re both dying on the inside. This right here feels absolutely unreal, but somehow, it feels good.

Thankfully, you have Hana’s book in store, and you even recommend some other books to her. Jungkook buys them all without even blinking. You can’t help but think that his daughter is spoiled, and it doesn’t surprise you. He definitely looks like a girl’s dad.

“Your number is still the same?” he asks after paying for all the books.

“No,” you shake your head while handing him the little bag containing the books.

You don’t really know what crosses your mind, but you write your phone number on a small sheet of paper. When you hand it to him, his huge hand touches yours, causing a hundred thousand fires to ignite in your hand. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. “And it was a pleasure to see you again.”

You simply nod, your heart beating crazily in your chest. You don’t know how you managed to act normally around your high school crush, but you’re proud you did it.

And now, you’re dying to see him again.

Jungkook is waiting for you at a small café just around the corner from your library. Just a few hours after your unexpected reunion, he had texted you, asking if you’d like to meet again. You had said yes, of course you had. But with his tightly packed schedule, this meeting couldn’t happen until a week later.

You’ve been thinking about it every day since.

As you step into the café, the scent of coffee and warm pastries wraps around you like a hug. Your eyes quickly scan the room, heart fluttering. Then you see him—tucked into a quiet corner near the back, just far enough from the window to keep a low profile.

When your eyes meet, a smile forms on both your faces at the same time—automatic, familiar, like no years have passed at all.

You walk toward him, trying not to overthink each step, but your mind is spinning. He looks effortlessly good—a fitted black Supreme shirt, dark jeans, just the right amount of stubble. On the table, there’s a pair of sunglasses and the same cap he wore at the library. You realize immediately that he still tries to move unnoticed, even now.

There’s something strangely grounding about that.

As you reach the table, your nerves catch up with you. You pause for a beat, standing there awkwardly with a crooked, uncertain smile. Should you hug him? Shake his hand? Say something clever?

But before you can fumble your way into a worse moment, you pull out the chair and sit down.

“Hey,” he says, his voice deep, low—somehow both relaxed and nervous.

“Hey,” you echo, the word coming out softer than you expected.

For a brief moment, there’s silence between you. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full, charged with something unspoken, like both of you are quietly remembering the same things.

“You opened your dream library,” he says finally, breaking the quiet.

You nod. “It wasn’t easy… but I worked hard for it.”

He smiles, eyes warm. He’s always known how determined you were. Always admired it.

“I can imagine it,” he says. “The place was beautiful. Hana couldn’t stop talking about it for days. I think she told every kid in her class.”

You laugh—genuinely, this time—and feel your smile stretch wider, more naturally than it has in a while.

“I’m glad she liked it,” you say. “She was really sweet.”

Jungkook nods slowly, his expression thoughtful, like he wants to say something more but is carefully choosing his words.

“She truly is,” he says while thinking about his little girl.

Before you even get to reply, the waiter appears at your table, his eyes lingering a little too long on Jungkook. He recognizes him, you’re absolutely sure about it, but the quarterback acts like it’s nothing.

“Have you already chosen what you’d like to take?” he asks, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You come regularly to this place, so you already know what you want. It’s up to Jungkook. As he looks at you, he understands that you’re kind of asking if he has chosen.

“Yeah,” he nods.

You both proceed to make your order, and the waiter disappears, leaving you alone again.

“How can you deal with people recognizing you?” you ask with evident surprise in your voice.

Jungkook shrugs before leaning back slightly. He watches you for a moment—not in a way that makes you feel self-conscious, but like he’s memorizing everything about this moment. Maybe even trying to figure out where to start.

“I’m used to it,” he honestly replies. “It’s like that all the time.”

He seems so unfazed about it, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But you realize that it’s normal for him. It just isn’t for you. Maybe if you were in his shoes, it would also be just normal.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“At first, it did,” he replies, “especially since Hana was still a baby, but now, it doesn’t anymore.”

You glance down at the table, brushing your thumb over the edge of your napkin because you feel the need to occupy your fingers.

“I still get nervous if someone compliments my handwriting,” you chuckle. “I can’t imagine people knowing my face.”

A little laugh escapes his lips, and damn, you missed this. You absolutely missed everything about him, and you can’t only blame yourself for this. It’s your fault if you went eleven years without seeing each other.

“If things had gone differently, people might have known you, too.”

“Yep,” you simply nod.

Your true dream was to become a swimmer, like a professional one. You still remember perfectly when it began. Your parents, who are big fans of sports, brought you to the 2008 Olympic Games in China to watch the swimming competition. You were still young at that time, barely entering your first teenage years, but you instantly fell in love with it. 

Back home, you decided to learn it, and very quickly, it became a passion. As you grew up, you worked hard to become a professional athlete and hopefully make it to the Olympic Games one day.

But life had other plans, and they crushed you in a way you can’t even explain. Even today, it hurts to think that you’ll never be able to make it to the Olympic Games. You’ll only ever be a spectator.

“But let’s not talk about it,” you tell him. “It’s in the past.”

Jungkook simply nods, understanding that it still might be a sensitive topic for you. Even for him, it’s such a traumatic memory, so he can’t even imagine how it is for you.

“I’m happy you still managed to open the library you always wanted,” he says with a little smile.

“Thanks,” you reply. “After everything, I guess a part of me needed to prove I could still make something good out of my life. Something that mattered.”

He nods, his gaze softening.

“You always knew what you wanted. I envied that, back then.”

You smile faintly.

“You were too busy being the golden boy to envy anyone.”

Jungkook chuckles at that—low and genuine.

“God, I hated that nickname.”

“Everyone adored you,” you tease, but your voice carries a bit more weight than you’d intended.

The waiter arrives just then with your orders. You both ordered tea, a reminder of the old times. You always enjoyed a good cup of tea together. On top of that, you also took a piece of banana bread.

“So now you’re a dad,” your sentence sounds more like a question than an affirmation, but it’s far from being a question.

“Yep,” he exhales slowly. “Hana changed everything. But in a good way. She saved me from going off the rails, honestly. Gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt loud.”

You nod, watching him, and feeling something inside you stir—a strange mix of admiration and quiet sadness. He’s not just the boy you knew anymore. He’s a man. A father. Still kind, still thoughtful, but heavier now, like he’s carried more than he lets on.

“I’m very happy for you, Guk,” you genuinely say.

Jungkook has it all now, even all the girls in the world. It’s no secret that he dates models or singers, or even actresses. Whenever there are big events, he’s always posing on the red carpet with a new one. Most of the time, you feel absolutely jealous of them. You wished you were the one holding his arm while posing for the cameras.

“You seem to have it all now, and you deserve it,” you add.

He chuckles softly, but you feel like there’s no real humor in it. His fingers tap lightly against his teacup before taking a sip.

 “Yeah, looks like it,” he says with his eyes fixed on the table.

You tilt your head, understanding that he’s not convinced at all by his words.

“I’m doing what I like, so yeah, I have what I always wanted,” he continues, his eyes now shifting up to meet your gaze. “And I have Hana too, but…”

He completely halts, uncertain if he needs to continue and confess to you that he never found love because no girl could ever compare to you. He breaks up with them when he realizes that they can’t give him what you could. Despite what many people think, he has never slept with them. The last person he ever shared an intimate moment with was Miji, Hana’s mother.

It’s stupid because the chances of meeting you again were very low. He could try to find love, but how could he forget his first love? How could he ever forget the first girl he ever loved?

Jungkook never stopped loving you, and he will never. He doesn’t want it.

And somehow, he doesn’t need to say it for you to understand that he’s missing love in his life.

“Not love,” you finish his sentence.

Jungkook simply nods, almost ashamed that you figured it out.

“That’s not how it looks,” you chuckle a bit. “You always have a new woman in your arms.”

He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

“They don’t mean anything.”

In a weird way, his words comfort you. It’s like some hope bloomed in your chest.

“Not nice to say that,” you reply. “Especially since they are all very pretty and very well-known.”

Jungkook takes a moment before replying to you. He just shrugs.

“I don’t care,” he finally says.

It definitely baffles you that such a handsome and good-looking man doesn’t care at all about the women he’s associated with. And most importantly, from what you remember, he wasn’t like that. Or at least, not with you.

“They don’t have what I’m looking for,” he confesses. “And most of the time, they don’t like Hana.”

That is an absolute lie. They all adore Hana, and they adore even more to see him interact with her, but he doesn’t want to sound like an absolute jerk. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s a cold-hearted person.

“Who wouldn’t like her?” you say with surprise. “She’s absolutely adorable!”

“I know,” he smiles with pride swelling in his chest.

You take a bite of the banana bread. You absolutely adore it. The way they do it in this café is mind-blowing. You’ve already begged the owner to tell you her secret, but she refuses.

“This is my favorite banana bread,” you confess with your mouth full.

A smile stretches across his handsome face, and it feels like you’ve been brought back to when you were seventeen and taking lunch breaks together.

Jungkook also takes a bite, and he has to confess that it’s pretty good.

“It’s not bad,” he says.

“Not bad?” you say, widening your eyes. “It’s fucking delicious!”

He chuckles at your reaction. He can’t help but find you extremely adorable. Even though eleven years have gone by, you’re still the same. You haven’t changed a bit.

“I’m kidding,” he replies. “It’s super good. Might be coming back for more.”

After that, you keep talking about random stuff and remembering good old times. Even though things have changed, everything still feels the same. The way your heart beats around each other. The way you smile at each other’s silly jokes. Or the warmth wrapping around you when you’re together.

Despite everything, the love you feel for each other hasn’t changed a bit.

For the past ten days, you’ve been texting nonstop with Jungkook. It has freed thousands of butterflies inside your stomach, especially when it seems that he’s flirting with you.

Obviously, you push that thought away the second it pops in your head because you’re absolutely sure that he doesn’t see you as more than a friend. It has always been only friendship between you two.

At least, that’s what you believe.

jk: how’s your day going?

you: too many clients today 😫 drained all my energy.

At some point, you thought you wouldn’t be able to follow up on how full your library was. Your library has been growing a lot. It was supposed to be a little and quiet one, but it hasn’t been the case lately. You’re unsure why, but somehow, you’re grateful it’s working even better than you imagined it.

jk: you should hire someone to help

you: maybe but it would cost a lot, and i don’t have the funds yet

jk: i could help if you need

You would gladly accept his help, but you want to do this all by yourself. You don’t want him to invest in your library. You’ll feel like you owe him money, and you don’t want that. You already have a bank loan, and it’s more than enough.

you: i can’t accept it, guk

jk: why not? 🤔

He might be super wealthy, and it probably means nothing to him, but it’ll mean everything to you. And you don’t want that.

You’re lying in your bed, stomach pressed on your mattress as you think of an answer. You’re not sure what to say.

jk: i’ve the means to help you out

you: you should keep your money

jk: i’ve too much

You roll your eyes. Of course, he has. That doesn’t surprise you.

you: i still won’t accept it. keep it to yourself, i’ll manage to find a solution. don’t worry about me and my library

You see the little dots appearing before disappearing and reappearing, and then, his answer pops out.

jk: i’ll always worry about you 🥺

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush with warmth.

Why does it still affect you like this—the way he says things so simply, like he means every word?

you: you shouldn’t

jk: of course, i should

His reply makes your heart flutter—as if it remembers something your mind keeps trying to forget.

jk: you’re pushing yourself too hard again. and you know you’re not supposed to. i just don’t want to see you burn out.

His concern softens something in your chest. He’s not wrong, and you know it, but right now, your mind is consumed by one thing: the library’s finances.

you: i know. but i can’t accept your money, guk. i need to do this on my own.

You stare at your message for a moment after sending it. And just as you’re trying to quiet the ache in your chest, your phone buzzes, his name lighting up the screen.

He’s calling you.

Your heart skips a beat. Then it starts to race.

“Yn,” he says when you pick up.

You can perfectly hear the concern in his voice.

“Guk,” you reply.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he instantly says. “I’m—”

“You don’t understand,” you cut him off.

“Then explain me.”

You take a deep breath, thinking about how to formulate your thoughts.

“I want…” you close your eyes, flashes of the past coming out. “I want to do something by myself because I didn’t succeed in becoming a swimmer.”

For a brief moment, he doesn’t say anything. You know he’s thinking about what to say because, yeah, this is more than a sensitive subject, and since he has been back in your life, you’ve been reflecting and thinking more about everything. It’s like he’s a reminder of your failure.

“It’s not your fault, yn,” his voice is super soft. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is,” you answer, trying to keep yourself steady as your throat tightens and tears threaten to fall. “I couldn’t handle my health. I couldn’t save myself from drowning.”

His answer is immediate and firm.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, yn,” he says softly.

“You were sick. You are sick. And none of it is your fault.”

He pauses, like he’s choosing every word carefully.

“You didn’t fail. Your body just… gave out on you. That’s not a weakness. That’s not something you could’ve fixed.”

You’re not really convinced. He can’t understand how devastating it is to suddenly learn that you won’t ever be able to become a professional swimmer.

He can’t understand how much it hurts every day to see that scar on your chest because it constantly brings you back to the day you had a seizure and almost died. He doesn’t know how painful it is to hear the doctor tell you that you have epilepsy.

“You can’t understand,” you snap back. “You became a quarterback like you always dreamed of. I had to give up absolutely everything.”

You hear a small silence before he replies.

“Open the door,” his tone is firm.

“What?” you frown.

“Just open the door.”

The doorbell echoes in your apartment before Jungkook puts an end to the call. You see him in the intercom. How and when did he arrive here? You open the door to him, and when he enters your apartment, you instantly notice the swamped hair, the sweat on his face, and the way his t-shirt sticks to his chest.

“How—”

“I was running, and I wasn’t far from your place,” he simply replies.

Lie. He was indeed running, but he wasn’t close to your place, so he walked because he couldn’t let you say all this nonsense.

“You didn’t need…”

“Of course I needed,” he says before you can even finish your sentence.

You take a deep breath, your gaze locked in his. Jungkook doesn’t look away; he actually takes a step closer. His strong cologne instantly invades all your senses, and your brain only focuses on that.

“Maybe I can’t understand what you feel,” he begins. “I managed to follow my dream, and my health is great, but you can explain it to me. You can make me understand without saying shit about yourself.”

His breathing is now heavy, and somehow, he seems infuriated. It almost sounds like you disrespected him.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he continues. “You almost died, but you still managed to make it through. You opened your library despite all the health complications that epilepsy brings.”

You close your eyes, trying to hold back your tears.

“Yes, you gave up on your dream, but you’re here, which to me is more important than anything else. We both know how hard the first months were after your first seizure,” he shakes his head. “I saw every single seizure you did after, completely powerlessly. I was dying on the inside when you were crying after each seizure, blaming yourself more and more about how you couldn’t control your disease.”

It’s hard to remember those days clearly—not because they weren’t painful, but because your mind was too fogged to hold onto anything. You were barely functioning, caught in a cycle of seizure after seizure, your body aching like you’d been hit by something massive—a truck, a plane.

But worse than the muscle pain, worse than the exhaustion, was your brain.

It felt like it had been electrocuted inside your skull. Everything was hazy, heavy, like trying to think through thick glass underwater. You couldn’t focus. Even simple thoughts scattered before you could hold onto them. You also barely remember what happened, but your body didn’t.

Your body didn’t forget this kind of pain. It actually was traumatic. It still is.

And the worst part? No one could see that pain.

Unless someone’s lived with epilepsy, they’ll never really understand how it rips through your mind as much as your body.

Tears start streaming down your face, and Jungkook grabs you, holding you tightly in his embrace. You don’t hold back anymore, crying in his arms. They bring comfort, the same they did eleven years ago. And right now, you regret how you pushed him away.

As you were trying to hold yourself together in the middle of the seizures you were having, you pushed him away. It happened after he told you that he’d wait a year before going to uni to pursue his dream. He wanted to help you navigate this new journey, but you refused.

You couldn’t be the reason why he’d put his dream on hold. You’d feel guilty, so you did the most stupid thing and stopped talking to him. Didn’t answer his calls or messages. You’d always find an excuse to not let him in the hospital room. You hated yourself, but you thought he’d be better like that.

His fingers slowly and gently soothe your back, trying to comfort you as your tears soak the fabric of his shirt.

“Thanks for offering your help,” you whisper into the crook of his neck. “But I really can’t accept it,” you continue. “Let me just do it by myself.”

Jungkook simply holds you tighter, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, he’ll lose you over again. You can feel his breath slow against your shoulder, heavy with everything he’s not saying.

He really wants to help you, but he can’t force you to accept it. However, what he can do is be by your side now, be an emotional support, and make sure that you take care of yourself.

“Okay,” he says in defeat. “I won’t push, but don’t push me away either, yn. Not this time.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. It’s painful for the two of you to remember the time when you were putting as much distance as possible between you.

“Let me help you in the way you’ll let me. Just let me be by your side.”

You simply nod before holding him tight again in your arms.

“Plus, I’m sure Hana would be happy to spend more time in your library,” he chuckles.

A smile grows on your face as you remember his adorable daughter. He, for sure, did an amazing job of raising her. She’s just as equally charming as he is. Jungkook hasn’t spoken yet about her mother, probably because it’s a sensitive subject. In the end, their relationship didn’t work out, so it mustn’t be easy to speak about it.

Eleven years ago

Your heart is beating crazily in your chest as you stand on the diving board. Your eyes are focused on the water, your ears on the whistle, but your mind is ages away from here. It somehow feels like you’re completely high, while you know you haven’t touched anything.

You think that it could be tiredness, but for the past days, you’ve been sleeping eight hours at least per day. So, it shouldn’t be that. You actually ignore totally why you feel like that. However, one thing is certain: something is off.

But you push the thought away as you need to focus. This is a competition, the biggest one in swimming. You’re already proud to be here. You’ve worked so hard. And now, you just have to give your best.

You’re not hoping to win; some of the best swimmers are standing next to you, so you know you don’t stand a chance. Nonetheless, you still want to impress the jury. You’ll probably see them again in other competitions, and you want them to have a good souvenir of you.

Your parents and Jungkook are present. They always are. They have been incredibly supportive, and it always gives you so much strength when you know they are there. You almost feel invincible.

The starter blows the whistle, announcing the beginning of the competition.

All the swimmers throw themselves into the water, but as you do so, everything goes pitch black. It’s like you’re jumping into the void.

The second Jungkook realizes you’re not going to resurface, he runs to the swimming pool. Everybody around him is slowly understanding that you’re drowning, but by the time they do, Jungkook is already jumping into the water.

He might not be as fast as you, but man, seeing you dying gives him superpowers. He’s invincible now.

A red spot appears around you as it’s noticeable that you’re bleeding. Jungkook doesn’t let himself think; he just swims towards you. The other swimmers are also heading in your direction.

Your best friend catches you while you’re convulsing in his arms, and everybody around him helps him to get you out of the water. They place you in the safety lateral position. The medical staff approaches you all.

“Please take a step back,” one of them yells.

Jungkook does it without even blinking, but his heart is literally dying. He’s powerlessly watching you convulsing on the floor, drool dripping from your mouth, and your eyes rolling back. Your face is as pale as he has ever seen before, but what pains him the most is the blood running through your body. Your blue swimsuit is even turning into a violet shade.

He's trying to see where the blood is coming from, but it feels like it’s coming from everywhere. He knows that the injury is bad, more like really bad. There will be months of recovery from this. Maybe even more.

His eyes are glued to the scene playing in front of him. You’re clearly having a seizure, you were basically drowning, and you’re bleeding from everywhere. Never in his life has he ever felt like this. Powerless and in pain.

“What’s going on?” your mom screams when she calls for you.

“Ma’am,” one of the staff turns around to look at your mother. “Please stay back.”

“That’s my daughter,” her voice trembles as she says those words out loud.

“We need to give her some room,” he explains. “She’s having a seizure.”

The world under his feet opens and swallows him entirely. This is too heartbreaking.

“There’s nothing we can do right now, and it’s best we give her some space so she doesn’t get hurt.”

Your mother simply nods.

Then, you stop convulsing. Instantly, the medical staff checks for your heartbeat. Jungkook can see by the look on their faces that they are dead worried. Your heartbeat is faint. Too faint. For a terrifying second, he thinks he’s losing you.

But for the first time, he finally breathes when he sees you opening your eyes. Without thinking twice, he gets even closer, hoping to reach for you. However, he forces himself to stay back. They are the professional ones. They know what they’re doing. They are the ones who can help you.

You cough violently, water spilling past your lips, your body shaking weakly with the effort. He’s never heard a sound so awful at the same time.

“Yn,” a medical calls for you.

You don’t react at all. You just look into the void for a couple of seconds before falling asleep again. Jungkook’s heart sinks again. Are you dying?

It feels like a lifetime has happened since he jumped into the water, when in fact, it’s been maybe five minutes. Everybody is watching the medical staff taking care of you, hoping to hear some good news in the next seconds.

A minute later, you open your eyes again. You look around with confusion, but as the medical staff speaks to you, you focus on them and reply to their basic questions like ‘what’s your name?’, ‘what day is it?’, ‘what’s your birthday?’, ‘how old are you?’, and ‘where are we?’

Luckily, you manage to reply to all of the questions, which reassures everybody around you.

“My lungs hurt,” you then say. “A lot.”

And before they can even check you up, you’re having another seizure. Jungkook never thought it would be possible to be this devastated. The pain in his heart is something he has never experienced, and it’s not because you rejected him.

It just looks like you’re dying.

The rest blurs together in a haze of sirens and hands lifting you onto a stretcher. The paramedics work quickly, voices sharp with urgency, and before Jungkook can even process it, you’re being rushed to the hospital.

Hours later, the verdict comes: surgery. You’d perforated a lung, water filling where it should never have been. They think you struck something under the surface when you went under. The thought of how close he came to losing you will haunt Jungkook forever.

The following months are nothing short of hell. You’re alive, yes, but barely holding on—your body a battleground of seizures and relentless pain. Nights blur into days filled with monitors beeping, the metallic tang of hospitals, and your quiet sobs muffled against a pillow. Every time you remember you’ll never swim professionally again, the grief rips fresh through you. You cry until there’s nothing left, until anger becomes easier than despair.

And so you push everyone away. Coaches. Friends. Even Jungkook. Especially Jungkook. He keeps trying—showing up, sitting by your bedside, waiting for you to let him in. But every time, your walls are higher, your words sharper, designed to wound because the pain inside you needs somewhere to go.

When it’s time for him to leave for university, Jungkook makes one last attempt. He stands outside your room for a long time, heart pounding, rehearsing the words he’s wanted to tell you for years. But the moment he steps in, the air is heavy with bitterness, and your voice—cold, harsh, nothing like the girl he loves—cuts through him.

He swallows his confession, tucks it away where you’ll never hear it, and walks out instead.

It’s the one decision that will brand itself into him forever—the moment he let fear and heartbreak silence him. The moment he let you go.

The stadium is still humming with leftover energy—a low, electric buzz from the roaring crowd, the echo of the final whistle still hanging in the night air. Fans are filing out slowly, waving flags and shouting chants, while reporters swarm the edge of the field, barking questions into microphones, cameras flashing like tiny bursts of lightning.

But Jungkook doesn’t hear any of it.

He hears her.

“Daddy!”

The moment her voice cuts through the noise, his helmeted head turns, scanning the crowd until he finds her—right where she always waits, behind the security rope near the tunnel. She’s bouncing on her toes, arms waving like she’s trying to flag down an airplane.

She’s wearing his team’s hoodie, three sizes too big, practically swallowing her whole. The sleeves flop past her fingers, the hem brushing her knees. Her cheeks are flushed pink from excitement, and her dark curls are flying in every direction, messy from jumping and cheering.

But that smile hits him like a punch straight to the heart. Pure joy, all for him. Nothing else matters.

He jogs over without even unstrapping his helmet, weaving past the cameras and security. His cleats thud against the turf, the adrenaline of the game still buzzing through his limbs, but everything slows when he reaches her.

He bends down and scoops her into his arms in one fluid motion, lifting her like she weighs nothing.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs.

She squeals as he spins her once, her giggle ringing out over the chaos. He presses a kiss to her temple through her curls, and her tiny arms squeeze tightly around his neck.

“You were so fast!” she exclaims, beaming.

He chuckles, finally catching his breath.

“Only because I knew you were watching.”

And for a few precious seconds, with his daughter in his arms and the world blurring behind them, Jungkook doesn’t feel like the most famous quarterback in the country. He just feels like her dad.

Right next to them stands his mother, fondly watching this scene. When it’s his week and he has a game, his mother comes with her. It is a grandma and granddaughter time before he joins them after the game.

This right here is the only medicine he needs.

But for a moment, his mind drifts to you, and he wishes you were here.   

“How’d I do?” he grins.

She squints dramatically, pretending to think.

“Mmm... six out of ten.”

He seems offended by her answer.

“Six?! I threw two touchdowns and didn’t get sacked once!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t wave at me when they showed you on the big screen.”

Jungkook groans, exaggerated, but it doesn’t surprise him. She always complains when he doesn’t wave at her after he scores.

“I knew I forgot something important.”

She giggles, tugging at his chin strap like she’s inspecting him. Her hands seem so small as she touches it.  

“You’re sweaty.”

Now, he’s the one giggling. Well, it’s more than normal to be sweating after an hour of intense game, otherwise it would have been surprising.

“That’s what greatness smells like,” he replies, his eyes glued to his little girl.

She makes a face, but even like that, he finds her absolutely adorable.

“Greatness smells gross.”

He laughs and sets her down gently before he fully removes his helmet. She immediately reaches for the towel slung over his shoulder and starts wiping at his face, way too seriously for someone who still mixes up her left and right shoes.

“Let me fix you,” she says with a frown of concentration. “You’re all crooked.”

Jungkook kneels so she can straighten his jersey collar, then lightly bops his nose.

His eyes quickly look up at his mother. She’s fondly looking at them, and he offers her a bright smile. Even though he adores having his daughter here, he also always looks forward to seeing her. She’s always been there, long before Hana came into the picture.

“There,” she announces, his eyes drifting back to her. “Superpowers back on.”

He just stares at her for a second, a stupid grin softening his entire face. He’s so weak around her, but he’s also the happiest dad. Everything feels a lot better when she’s near him.

“You know,” he says quietly, “scoring in front of thousands of people doesn’t feel half as good as seeing you right after.”

She beams, rocking on her heels.

“Even if I only give you six out of ten?”

“Even then.”

He grabs her hand and stands up, lacing their fingers together. They walk closer to his mom.

“Wanna go get ice cream? My treat. For surviving another one of Daddy’s games.”

“Only if I get to pick the music in the car.”

“Even if it’s that same song twenty times in a row?”

She nods, and he still asks his mother if she wants to join, but it’s not really a question. Even if she says ‘no’, he’ll bring her along. There’s no way he’s leaving her out when she always takes care of Hana while he plays.

As they walk away, the noise of the crowd fades. Because for Jungkook, the real win is always waiting at the end of the tunnel—hoodie too big, judgment sharp, and love unconditional.

After getting the ice cream, Jungkook drives his mother back home. She’s sitting next to him, in the passenger’s seat. Hana’s booster seat is buckled in the back, her sneakers swinging just above the floor. She had a fancy ice cream. That’s how she calls a chocolate with rainbow sprinkles ice cream.

Her music of choice is playing in the car: a sparkly pop song she knows every word to.

Jungkook drives with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly to the beat. He glances in the rearview mirror and smiles as she sings along, slightly off-key, but with full commitment.

His mother also knows all the lyrics—she also gets to hear it on repeat whenever her granddaughter is around. The three of them happily sing along.

“You know the entire setlist better than me,” he teases Hana.

“That’s because you’re always listening to boring adult songs.”

“Hey,” he laughs, “Queen is not boring.”

“It sounds like something grandpas listen to.”

She goes quiet for a moment, staring out the window. The lights of the stadium are still visible behind them, glowing against the night sky.

“You looked really cool today,” she says suddenly. “When you ran and threw that ball. Everyone cheered.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens just slightly—not from pride, but from how small her voice sounds when she says it.

“Thanks, baby,” he says softly.

Another pause.

“But you’re still my dad first, right?”

That gets him. He glances at her again in the mirror—her face half-lit by passing streetlights, her eyebrows pulled together just a little.

“Always,” he says, his voice low and certain. “Before the game, during the game, after the game. Every second.”

She looks satisfied with that answer and goes silent once more. Jungkook then discusses with his mother about the game and what she did with Hana while watching the game.

It’s more than evident to him how proud his mother is, and although he’s a dad now, he’ll forever do anything to make his mother proud.

“Can we get pancakes tomorrow?” Hana suddenly asks.

“You just had ice cream,” Jungkook instantly says.

“Yeah, but that was for after the game. Pancakes are for the next morning. It’s tradition.”

Jungkook grins, shaking his head.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know,” she mumbles.

Both Jungkook and his mother laugh at her answer. She’s unbelievable.

A couple of minutes later, they reach his mother’s house. Hana almost starts crying when she leaves the car because she doesn’t want her grandma to go, but in the end, his mother promises to come tomorrow.

While he drives back to his place, she falls asleep in the back. A smile grows on his face when he sees her peacefully sleeping in the back.

This definitely was a good day for him.

At night, in his bed, as he’s falling asleep, his phone buzzes, notifying him that he just received a text message. By reflex, he grabs his phone, and a smile grows on his face when he sees your name.

you: i saw the game

Then a second message appears.

you: congrats for the victory 🥳

A strange but welcomed warmth wraps around him like a blanket, and it feels absolutely wonderful. Everything feels wonderful with you.

jk: thanks ☺️ it wasn’t an easy win

His heart burns for you. It always has. But now it burns differently. Slower. Deeper. Steadier.

Back then, it was all adrenaline, fleeting glances in crowded hallways, nerves before a text, the ache of wanting and never quite saying it. But now, it’s something else.

you: yeah, seems like it, but you smashed them all 👀

Jungkook hesitates for a long time. Does he tell how much he wanted to have you there? Does he not? What’s sure is that he definitely wanted you there.

jk: wished you were there, too

His heart is beating fast, too nervous about what he is going to say.

jk: like old times

Eleven years ago, you’d go to all his games. You’d never miss any of them, and he’d always look for you in the crowd. When he’d see you, his heart would skip a beat. However, any time he’d find you, you wouldn’t be looking at all at the game which sometimes would make him sad. But in the end, what mattered was your presence.

you: well hopefully next time i’m invited

He smiles because he’ll for sure invite you to the next game.

jk: then consider yourself invited for the next game

Tomorrow morning, he’ll grab a ticket for the next game. Hana will be with her mom by then, so she won’t be waiting by the tunnel, but maybe someone else will.

jk: try actually watching this one this time 😏

He smirks as he sends it, not expecting anything serious. But your reply comes quickly.

you: what!! i always watch 😤

He laughs under his breath. He’s not buying it.

jk: you just stared at the ground half the time & i saw you

you: excuse me i’m offended now

He can see your pouty face. Probably crossing your arms. Maybe rolling your eyes too.

jk: not as offended as i was in high school

He pauses for a second.

jk: you never looked at me when i played

His fingers hover for a second before he types again.

jk: but i didn’t care. you were there and that was enough

This part—that’s the honest part. The one he’s not sure he should’ve sent. He exhales, waiting.

you: i always supported you even when i pretended not to watch

His pulse quickens.

jk: pretended?

You don’t answer right away. He sits up straighter, eyes fixed on your typing bubble.

you: i was always watching, just… not when you looked at me

He tilts his head, lips twitching into a knowing smile.

jk: you got shy?

you: yes

jk: why?

That question hangs heavy. His heart kicks a little harder. He already knows. But still—

jk: we were best friends…

you: you were different on the field

jk: different how?

He already feels where this is going, but he wants to hear it. Needs to.

jk: hotter?

He winces a little. Did he go too far? But then—

you: yes

jk: and now?

He’s not sure if he wants to know the answer, and he closes his eyes when he hears the ping, notifying him that you answered.

The second he reads it, he swears that he will die in his bed.

you: still the case

Fuck, the girl he’s been having a crush on has been finding him hot all this time. And man, it makes him weak. Thank god that he’s in his bed because otherwise, his knees would have betrayed him.

Jungkook decides then to press on the little microphone to record a voice note.

“Fuck… yn—” he softly exhales. “You’ve no idea how fucking hot you are.”

Jungkook knows how to flirt. If there’s anything else other than football in which he excels, it’s flirting. All the girls he has been with, he seduced them before, even though nothing happened in the bedroom.

But here with you, it’s different. It’s not flirting. It’s admitting the raw truth. The truth is that he has been dreaming about you for years. His mind has been going crazy since the second his eyes landed on you. He can’t really pinpoint the moment he fell in love with you because it was happening slowly until he couldn’t think about anything other than you.

“You’re messing with my head right now,” he finishes.

He presses the bottom send and patiently waits for your answer. He was expecting a simple text message, but you surprised him by sending a voice note.

“Jungkook,” you whisper—or should he say, moan.

Fuck, you shouldn’t have sent that. Now he’s growing hard in his Calvin Klein boxers.

“Don’t say it just because I did,” you continue.

He rolls his eyes. This is so typical of you. You’re always scared that somebody might actually be into you. He still perfectly remembers how you were when Jin, another student, was flirting with you. You were convinced that he was doing it out of pity—when, truth being told, he was so down bad for you.

“I’m serious, yn,” he whispers with a deep voice. “You’re so fucking hot that I could come in my pants like a fucking teenager by simply looking at you.”

Jungkook feels so vulnerable right now, but he couldn’t care less. He’s finally confessing his feelings for you, and he wants to do it properly. He doesn’t want to half-confess.

He runs a hand through his hair, his breath shaky.

“God, I sound insane…” he mutters with a breathless laugh, “but I don’t care. I’ve wanted you for so long. I still do. It’s not just the way you look—it’s everything.”

His voice drops again. Slower. Rougher.

“The way you talk, the way you laugh, the way you look at me like I’m still that kid you knew… it drives me fucking crazy.”

He hesitates. Then adds, quieter:

“It always has.”

Then your answer comes quite quickly. His mind is going absolutely feral, and if you were here with him, he’s absolutely sure that it would end with you both in his bed going wild.

“I don’t know how you expect me to breathe after that,” your voice is shaky. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those things since I was 16, and now that you are…”

There’s a pause, your breathing is heavy, and your voice is obviously filled with lust and heat.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you, and it was never just physical,” you say, and for a moment, you seem to hesitate to continue. “But god… if you touched me right now, I’d probably melt.”

Jungkook’s hand is always going south, palming his hard cock.

“A part of me has always been yours, and I didn’t even realize how much,” you pause, your breathing heavier than before, “until you said my name like that.”

He knows he’s fucked. Way too fucked. There’s no way that after this, he’ll keep his hands to himself when he’s near you. Man, if he could, he’d already be on his way to your place to have you contorting with pleasure beneath him. 

“Fuck—,” his raspy voice murmurs. “If I didn’t need to wake up early tomorrow, I would be on my way to your place.”

He knows damn well that you can hear him palming himself, but he wants it. He wants you to know how much he craves you right now.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is your call. You don’t answer with a voice note. No, you’re actually calling him. And the second he picks up, he hears how desperate, needy, and fucked you are. He never thought he’d hear that one day.

“Jungkook—,” you moan when he picks up. “You can’t turn me on like that over the phone,” you’re having difficulty breathing.

And then, he hears it. The lewd sound of your arousal.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asks without answering you.

You hesitate for a second.

“Yes,” you honestly say. “You?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “I’ve been rock hard since you moaned my name.”

You softly moan at his words. Fuck, he won’t last long if you keep moaning like that when he hasn’t even touched you.

“Tell me how you’re doing it,” he says.

He can’t be with you right now, but he wants to imagine it. And he can only do that if you describe it.

“I’m rubbing my fingers between my folds.”

His cock throbs in his hand, his rhythm increasing while he closes his eyes. This pleasure is consuming him like never before.

“But it’s not enough,” you moan. “I need you, Guk.”

Oh damn, you can’t say it like that. You can’t beg him to be with you; he’s losing himself.

“Don’t beg, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I can’t be with you right now.”

Now, he’s cursing his job for being this intense. He doesn’t even know when he can be with you. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to see you before his next game, which is next week. But he can’t wait that long. Not after this call.

“Keep touching yourself,” he continues.

His mind is going crazy with all the things he wants to do to you, so he’s just going to say them out loud to give you a preview of what he’ll do to you.

 “When we’ll be together, I’ll kiss you like a starved man. I’ll take my time to taste those sweet lips of yours before going down to your jaw, then to your collarbone until I reach your perfect breasts.”

You whimper, his name falling from your lips for the thousandth time tonight.

“I’ll suck and lick your nipples while you moan my name like you’re doing right now. And just as you did seconds ago, you’ll be begging me to touch you,” he halts for a second, his breathing heavier than ever. “As the weak man that I am, I’ll give in and give you what you want.”

He has dreamed of this so many times. He has jerked himself off—as right now—to the thought of you moaning his name while he fucks you nice and slow.

“I’ll kiss your pussy before sucking and licking it like my life depended on it,” he exhales softly, his voice only getting deeper and deeper. “And once you’re dripping on my tongue, I’ll push my fingers inside you, showing you no mercy.”

Now, his ears only hear you moaning and the sound of your arousal. It’s the sweetest melody he has ever heard.

“Right after you orgasm, I’ll push my hard dick inside you to fuck you nice and slow.”

He can hear that you’re very close to your orgasm. And that only makes him closer to coming shamelessly on his hand. This time around, he won’t be coming because of his wild imagination. He’ll be coming to the sound of your voice.

“Fuck, Guk,” you moan.

“As the perfect baby girl that you are, you’ll take everything that I give you. You’ll be moaning out loud while I fuck you over and over again.”

Well, he can’t keep talking as he’s moaning too. And well, he absolutely doesn’t care. He just moans to the sound of your voice.

“I’m gonna cum,” you tell him.

“Then come for me, sweetheart,” he barely manages to say. “Let me hear your pretty voice.”

And that’s it, you’re coming loudly, his name falling from your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans, “you sound so perfect.”

Right there and then, he ejaculates, deep groans leaving his lips. His hand goes still while he pushes his dick in it.

You're both breathing heavily, and none of you hangs up. You stay on the phone while recovering from this wild moment.

“Yn,” he whispers your name.

“Yes?” you reply.

“Next time I see you, I’ll fuck you for hours.”

“And I’ll let you do it.”

Now, Jungkook only wants to ruin you even though he hasn’t had sex in a very long time, and he probably doesn’t know how anymore. But man, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is hearing you moan his name over and over again.  

The past week has been intense—exhausting, chaotic, and honestly? Torturous. But in the best way.

The library’s been busier than ever, and it’s becoming painfully clear that you need to hire someone to help. But every night, without fail, you’ve been on the phone with Jungkook. The conversations have gotten… interesting, to say the least.

Ever since that night—the one where you basically confessed how you felt—things escalated. Fast. You’ve had phone sex. More than once. And let’s just say: no one’s ever made you come that hard without even laying a finger on you. His voice? Dangerous. His dirty talk? Absolutely filthy.

And today? It’s game day.

Which means you’ll finally see him. In person. And you’re excited—probably just as excited as Hana was when she visited your library for the first time.

But you’re also a little nervous. Because if his voice alone can undo you… there’s no telling what will happen when you’re alone with him.

You’ve finally reached your seat located in the VIP area. The area where only close friends and family are allowed. It’s a bit weird to be here, but somehow, it makes you feel important. Like really important.

Jungkook explained to you how to access the area, especially since it was your first time. You’ll also get the opportunity to walk to the tunnels before the game ends, so you can see him right when he leaves.

The VIP area is already buzzing when you arrive, eyes following you as you find your seat. For a second, you feel like an outsider—like you’ve stumbled into a world you don’t quite belong to. But honestly? You couldn’t care less. You’re here for Jungkook.

So you give a polite little smile to the curious stares. Some of these people are probably insanely famous. Or ridiculously important. Or maybe both. But you don’t know any of them.  

After a couple of minutes, the team bursts onto the field. The supporters instantly start clapping, screaming, and chanting. On TV, the noise already seemed huge, but in person, it seems electric. You can feel it in your bones.

Then, through all that chaos, Jungkook looks up. His eyes scan the stands until they lock on you. Just like he does when his daughter is present, he waves at you.

From an outsider's perspective, this would seem rather normal. But you know better. There’s nothing fatherly in the way he’s looking at you right now. It’s a slow burn—intense, direct, like he’s already undressing you in his head.

You try as much as possible to remain composed, but your pulse is racing. This right here makes it even clearer that after the game, things will get very heated between you.

And if this is how he looks at you in front of thousands of people, you can only imagine what’s coming after the last whistle.

Jungkook was a beast during the game. Nobody could stop him, not even a bit. He has scored more than usual, bringing his team to the victory. It was absolutely impressive, and it felt like old times. It felt like you were sixteen again, and Jungkook was a machine.

However, this time around, whenever he’d look at you, you wouldn’t look away. You’d look back at him with the same intensity.

Towards the end of the game, you’re almost panting because he’s looking hotter and hotter. Maybe, you can barely see him under the helmet, but you see enough.

“Jungkook is on fire,” someone says behind you. “Not sure why but I hope he keeps playing like that. We’ll win everything.” 

A smile grows on your face as you hear those people talking behind you about the man that has been making your heart beats for years.

As you used to before, you’re only watching him. You’re not even following the game. You don’t even know and realize what’s going on, but you’re certain of one thing: he’s leading the team to victory.

Every time he scores, he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face, winks and finally waves. Your cheeks heat at his attention, and you get all shy, but it definitely warms your heart. It means more than you can put into words.

As the game edges toward its final minutes, you slip out of the VIP section and make your way toward the tunnels. Jungkook had asked you to wait for him there just like his daughter and mother always do when they come to watch him play.

The fact that he wanted you in that spot, part of that circle, made something warm settle deep in your chest. You couldn’t have said ‘no’ even if you’d tried.

You walk in the tunnel, the roar of the crowd still echoing through the stadium. Every cheer vibrates through the concrete, the sound wrapping around you in waves. Out here, it feels different—contained, heavy with anticipation. Your hands clutch the strap of your bag as you’re holding it with your dear life, your pulse already picking up even though the game hasn’t officially ended.

After this entire week of teasing and steamy phone calls filled with moans, it feels unreal that you’re finally going to be standing in front of him. You’re finally going to be with him, and lord knows what will happen. But you can’t wait to see him.

From your spot, you can glimpse the edge of the field. The clock is winding down. The noise swells, then explodes into deafening celebration. The game is over. Jungkook’s team has won, and the full stadium is cheering their victory. You can’t be prouder.

And then—he’s there.

Jungkook steps into the tunnel, helmet dangling from his fingers, hair damp. His chest is still rising and falling with the aftershock of adrenaline, the black streaks under his eyes making his gaze even sharper. For a moment, he scans the space, searching. Searching for you.

When he finds you, everything about him shifts. His posture straightens. His steps quicken. His eyes—God, those eyes—are locked on you, unblinking, like nothing else exists.

“Yn,” he says as he’s closing the last few feet between you.

You smile at him while you’re simply looking at each other, the world completely disappearing around you. There’s only you and Jungkook. Nobody else.

After all these years, he finally knows about your feelings for him. It makes you feel absolutely vulnerable because he could break your heart. Nevertheless, it feels like a heavy weight has been taken off your shoulders.

But what truly warms your heart is the fact that those feelings have been reciprocated all these years. Jungkook has always loved you more than a friend, and that changes everything.

“Guk,” you say.

“I’m happy you came,” he says with heavy breathing.

The way his eyes linger on you feels like he’s memorizing your face, afraid it might vanish if he blinks.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitch, almost a smile, but there’s too much emotion in his gaze for him to hide it behind something casual. His hand comes up slowly, hesitating for a second before cupping your cheek. The warmth of his palm sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb traces lightly along your skin, and you can feel his breath growing warmer as he leans closer.

It's absolutely clear what is about to happen, but it doesn’t frighten you. You’ve been dreaming of this since the moment you first met him. You’ve been dreaming of it since you’re sixteen so it’s definitely been a while.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his breathing caressing your lips.

You simply nod, knowing perfectly that your voice will betray you if you speak.

And then—his lips are on yours. It’s not tentative. It’s not a test. It’s a collision.

His mouth moves over yours with urgency, like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy him. You taste salt and heat, his breath still fast from the game.

Your fingers clutch the front of his jersey, feeling the damp fabric, the solid wall of muscle underneath. His arms slide around your waist, pulling you closer—tighter—until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the thud of his heartbeat against your chest, matching your own.

The world around you fades—no crowd, no team, no cameras. Just the muffled roar in the distance and the way he’s kissing you like he’s afraid to waste another second.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and almost reverent. His lips are still so close you can feel the ghost of his breath as he murmurs, low and certain: “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s kissing you again.

This time it’s slower, deeper—less the urgency of a first taste, more the ache of finally getting to savor it. His hand slips into your hair, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as his mouth moves against yours, coaxing rather than claiming.

You melt into him, your palms sliding up over the broad plane of his shoulders. The world is still there—teammates jogging past, the faint metallic clatter of equipment—but you couldn’t care less.

He tilts his head just slightly, changing the angle, and the kiss deepens. A low sound rumbles in his chest—half sigh, half growl—and you feel it reverberate through you.

When he breaks away, his thumb brushes over your lower lip like he’s memorizing the shape of it. His gaze locks with yours, heat simmering there, and you know this isn’t just a kiss—it’s a line you’ve both finally crossed.

Somewhere, someone calls his name, but he doesn’t look away. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Jungkook opens the door of his impressive apartment, but he doesn’t really give you the time to admire it. It’s crystal clear that he’s fucking desperate, and he only wants you to see his bedroom for now. Maybe later—or tomorrow— he’ll give you a little home tour.

Once inside his bedroom, he hungrily kisses you. His hands are everywhere on your body, worshipping every part of you. He’s touching what he’s been craving for a damn week, even more if he’s honest.

The kiss is intense, filled with hunger and passion. Somehow, it feels like you’ve been doing this for years when your first kiss only happened minutes ago. But damn, his lips are addictive. You could kiss them forever.

When he breaks the kiss, his lips get closer to your ear, whispering what his mind has been thinking of during the entire game.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you?”

You nod with no hesitation. There’s nothing else you’d want right now.

Your hands slide up his chest, greedy now, and your fingers trace the lines of his muscles under the shirt. He’s so bulky. You always knew it. You’ve seen him shirtless many times, but this time around, it feels different.

Your eyes are mesmerized by the way your fingers move along his chest, and Jungkook just takes in the view before him. He shivers at the contact of your hand on his body. It feels even better than in his wildest dreams.

“You look so pretty,” he says, voice low and teasing. “Got all dressed up for me?”

A smirk arises on his face while you look up at him. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. It takes you a couple of seconds to answer him.

Of course, you dressed up for him. You fucking knew what to expect after the game. You knew he’d ruin you after playing like a god on the field. But you wanted to impress him. To look good just for him. To look good before you have sex with him for the first time.

“Yes,” you finally say. “Black is your favorite color.”

When you first met him, he was constantly wearing black, which you found odd for someone so bright like him. So, one day you asked him why, and he simply said that it was his favorite color. And you never forgot it.

His heart flutters. He thought you’d forget it. That it was just a simple detail, but he’s starting to realize that you remembered every single detail just like he did.

“Fuck,” he swears before his lips find your neck.

His hands grip the back of your thighs and ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulls you closer. The dress rides up shamelessly, bunching at your waist while he grinds against you—hard and getting harder.

Yes, he’s fucking desperate, and he doesn’t even hide it. He doesn’t want to. He wants you to see it. Feel it.

“I need this so bad, sweetheart,” he groans, rutting his hips against you. “Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

A chuckle leaves your lips, which causes him to tilt his head, looking up at you.

“I guess I can imagine,” you say, your hands cupping his cute cheeks. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was sixteen.”

His eyes widen.

“Probably since the day we met.”

To say he’s surprised is an understatement. Yes, he’s been craving you with his entire soul since he was young, but probably like two or three months after meeting you.

“Do you remember that day?” you ask, your thumbs stroking the skin of his cheeks.

That simple touch comforts him in a way he can’t explain.

“How could I forget it?” he admits. “For sure, my chest didn’t forget how you hurt it.”

A smile grows on your face. His favorite smile.

“You were late for your swimming training, and I was warming up on the running track of our high school,” he says while he perfectly remembers that moment. One that shook his world completely. “You hit me so violently that we both fell on the floor.”

“And when you made sure I arrived safe and sound at my training, it’s when I fell in love with you,” you confess. “I had literally hurt you, but you didn’t care. And that meant a lot.”

Back then, Jungkook wasn’t yet the golden boy that he’d become. He was still training a lot to get better, but he was already a great player. His mind was only focused on improving. He’d train night and day. And then, after your embarrassing meeting, you trained together.

“And after that day, we’d run together every day,” he concludes.

It feels like it was a lifetime ago. So many things have happened since then, but one thing hasn’t changed. The way your heart burns for him.

One of his hands slides to your chest, his gaze locked on yours. His eyes watch the way you shiver under his touch. It’s the best feeling in the world. Without an ounce of hesitation, he pulls down the cleavage of your dress, revealing your red bra underneath.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Red looks good on you. Might be my new favorite color.”

Before he goes deeper, his gaze shifts up to you.

“Is sex safe with epilepsy?” he asks with concern. “Pleasure won’t be too overwhelming for you?”

His concern warms your heart. Your epilepsy is well under control now, so there’s nothing to worry about.

“No, everything will be fine, Guk,” you press a quick peck on his lips. “As long as you don’t push me to exhaustion and let me sleep after, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’ll be careful then,” he smirks. “I’ll let you sleep in between rounds, but I intend to go wild all night long.”

You shake your head with a bright smile on your face.

“You’re incredible,” you whisper before he intensely kisses you.

“I’ve been craving this all my life,” he murmurs, “and I intend to make it memorable.”

And then, he strips you out of your dress and unhooks your bra. He lets out a soft and filthy sound as he traces your nipples with his thumb. Then, he dips his head to suck at the sensitive skin on your neck.

“Guk,” you gasp.

Your mind keeps going to his hard cock pressed against your belly. He’s so fucking hard, and it’s turning you on incredibly. Your hand then slips between you two, pressing against the thick bulge in his pants and rubbing gently.

He hisses before his hands roam lower again, squeezing your ass harder this time. His eyes look down at you for a moment, appreciating the view before his hungry eyes.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, his lips finding yours again for a filthy kiss. “So fucking perfect.”

And even though he regretted his entire life for not having confessed his feelings for you, he knows that this right here wouldn’t feel this great. All the longing is making this moment a hundred times better than if it had happened years ago.   

Jungkook pushes you against his pretty big bed, and you gasp as you feel it pressed against the back of your thighs. His hands are everywhere now as he kisses you again. The kiss is hard, messy, and full of tongue. His hand slips between your thighs and pushes them apart. His fingers drag up the heat between your legs, over the soaked fabric of your panties.  

“Fuck,” he breaths, pulling away. “You’re dripping.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a full week,” you admit.

As he did. The burning longing between you has been consuming you more and more as time goes by. Surviving this week with only phone sex was like training nonstop for days. It was nearly impossible.  

And somehow, you don’t really know how, you get bold.

“I’ve been thinking how it’d feel to have your dick in my hands,” you whisper in his ear. “How it’d feel against my tongue, and how I’d suck it.”

“Do as you dreamed, sweetheart,” he growls, low and dangerous.

You get down on your knees while Jungkook pushes his pants down. You look up, your heart hammering and your breath shaky.

Yes, it’s about to happen. You’re about to engage in sexual intercourse with the man of your dreams. You’re literally about to blow him off.

When he frees himself, your eyes widen.

Fuck.  

He’s thick and heavy, tip flushed and glistening, veins running the length like something carved out of marble. It should be a sin to possess such a cock.

“How?” you whisper.

He furrows his brows, not quite understanding your question.

“How did you contain this beast all this time?” you ask, eyes looking up to meet his.

He giggles as he wasn’t expecting this question.

“Don’t know,” he admits. “But it wasn’t easy when my mind would get lost on you.”

“Oh,” you simply say.  

You wrap one hand around him, trying to understand how much you can fit in your mouth, and honestly, you don’t know how.

“Tell me what your mind would think,” you say as you lean in and lick a stripe from the base to the tip, your tongue tracing the curve of a vein.

 The taste of him makes you moan. An honest and desperate sound that vibrates against him. He swears that he’ll come right now if you keep moaning like that.

“You’d be exactly like this,” he begins to say, his hand moving to your hair while his head falls back and his eyes close. “On your knees, your hand around my cock before you’d engulf it in your mouth.”

You wrap your lips around the head, following his words. 

“Fuck—,” he groans. “You’d suck it like a good girl.”

You gently suck the tip, swirling your tongue. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take yet, which honestly is already a lot. Jungkook doesn’t dare to look down because he doesn’t want to come yet. It’d make him look like a weak man while he clearly wants to impress you tonight, even though he doesn’t know how. He hasn’t done this in a while.

“Just like in my dreams, you look so fucking pretty,” he groans. “Mouth full of cock…”

You moan again, louder this time, as you take more. Well, Jungkook is absolutely sure right now that he won’t last long. You’re the death of him.

“You’d even choke on it because of how big it is,” he continues.

Spit drips from the corners of your mouth while you suck him harder and deeper. Your makeup is probably starting to look like a mess, but you don’t care. You’re enjoying having him inside your mouth, and you even let yourself choke on it.

Jungkook looks completely wrecked. His lips are parted, chest rising like he’s barely holding on. The fact that he hasn’t had sex in a long time and the fact that you’re sucking him off are making him extremely sensitive.

You don’t know how, but you suck him even harder, your hands gripping his thighs now, and your cheeks hollow with every movement of your head. Nobody has ever driven him this crazy. The pleasure is taking full control of his body.

“Sweetheart—” he mumbles.

You can feel him getting closer and closer to his release. It’s in the way his body tenses and his cock throbs inside your mouth, and you really want him to come inside you. You want to taste him. 

And just when he’s starting to tremble and your throat is getting used to it, he pulls you off with a wet and obscene pop.

“Don’t wanna come inside your mouth,” he admits. “At least not the first time.”

 You’re a bit sad, though, but now, you’re closer to having his dick inside you, which excites you more.

Jungkook kisses you like a starved man, then spins you around to bend you over the bed. His eyes instantly move down to your soaked panties. He pulls them aside and wastes no time in sliding two fingers into you.

You cry out, your fists holding the soft and silky bedsheets like your life depended on it.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Let me open you up, sweetheart.”

He fucks you with his fingers, slow and deep, while watching you fall apart in front of him. Jungkook bends down, his chest pressed against your back, and his fingers never stop torturing you.

“You’re taking my fingers so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl.”

Before Jungkook, you didn’t know you were into dirty talking. You actually never imagined yourself enjoying it. At least, your exes would never talk during sex. But he takes the dirty talking to another level. He could have you come just with his deep voice murmuring the deepest filth in your ear.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out to remove your panties. He then removes the only remaining piece of clothing from his body. Now you’re both naked. You look over your shoulder and admire the man behind you.

He’s a literal god.

It seems impossible to be this hot, and at this precise moment, you feel lucky that, amongst all people, he chooses you. His eyes meet yours, and the softest smile appears on his face. He looks so adorable in the middle of this filthy and steamy moment.

“Put your knees on the bed,” he gently slaps your ass.

You nod before following his instructions. You press your chest against his bed while you push your ass in the air. His hands instantly stroke your ass cheek.

“Please stop me if you don’t feel right, okay?” he asks.

“I told you that it’s safe,” you repeat what you said minutes earlier.

“I know,” he replies. “But I just want to make sure.”

He sounds like a baby, and that couldn’t make you melt more. He’s simply adorable. That’s unfair!

“I’ll let you know in case something happens,” you reassure him.

You bury your face in the bedsheets while his eyes remain on your body. His hand caresses your back, moving down to your ass.

The position is filthy. Your knees are spread wide, your back arched, your ass up in the air, while his fingers are back to teasing your folds. Your heart is hammering in your chest, waiting patiently for him to push his monster inside you. You’re not really sure if you’ll be able to handle it, but you just want him to stretch you out. To make love to you.

“You’re so beautiful, yn,” he whispers more to himself than to you.

He gently removes his fingers before looking through the drawers of the nightstand next to his bed. A couple of days ago, he bought condoms to be ready for when the real deed with you would happen. But he can’t seem to find them.

 “Fuck, I can’t find the condoms,” he says with frustration.

You look behind you, watching him go a bit crazy as he searches for the condoms.

“It’s okay,” you softly reply. “I’m clean. I haven’t had sex for the past three years,” you explain.

Admitting that you haven’t been sexually active in so long makes you feel vulnerable, but you feel absolutely safe around him.

“I’m clean too,” he confesses. “Haven’t done anything in years.”

To say that you’re surprised is an understatement. How can Jungkook not have had sex in years? This man has been dating women over women for years now, and now, he’s telling you that he hasn’t done anything with them. That’s a shock.

“Really?”

He chuckles when he sees your surprised face.

“Yep,” he admits. “Nobody was ever worthy of my dick.”

Now, you’re the one chuckling. This sounds so like him.

“But we’re not going to talk about my lack of sexual activities for the past three years,” he adds as he steps closer to you, his body right behind you.  

“It’s for sure something we need to discuss after,” you reply.

He shakes his head with the biggest smile on his face. He’s not sure he really wants to discuss that with you, but if you bring the topic to the table, he’ll be honest with you. He’ll tell you just how much he couldn’t fuck anyone if it wasn’t you.

“Are you on the pill?” he then asks.

“No,” you answer. “There was no need if I were single.”

And also, it’s not really recommended to take the pill when you’re under an epileptic treatment. Well, your previous partners always used condoms, so you’ve never really discussed the pill with your gynecologist.  

“Right,” he nods. “So we will need to be careful.”

He rubs his shaft along your folds, coating himself with your arousal. Little moans leave your lips as you close your eyes, enjoying this sensation. He’s not teasing; he couldn’t do it. He’s simply preparing the two of you for what’s coming.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asks.

“I’m absolutely sure, Jungkook,” you answer.

And then, he pushes into you in one smooth stroke. Your cry is instant, fingers clawing at the sheets as he bottoms out. The stretch is almost impossible. He’s massive. He feels massive. But fuck, it feels so good.

You haven’t had sex in three years. But god, you missed it. Your body was calling for it. And now, you have it with none other than Jungkook, the guy you had a crush on for more years than you can count.

“You’re so big,” you say.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you reply as you turn your head to look at him. “It feels so good.”

“Really?”

While this man is so good at dirty talking, he sounds so innocent right now. Like it’s the first time he’s having sex. Like he’s about to lose his virginity. But in fact, he has a daughter, so he’s definitely far from being a virgin.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, giving you both time to adjust. This all feels new to you two, and well, your walls are swallowing him in a way nobody ever did before. You’re so tight around him, which could make him come undone right now.

And then, slowly, he starts to thrust into you. At first, he goes slow and deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Moans leave both your lips as pleasure consumes you both. This feels marvelous.   

“Yn,” he moans your name like a prayer. “You’re taking me so well.”

His praise causes pride to swell in your chest. Nobody ever said that to you. And honestly, it looks almost impossible to take him inside you, but you’re doing it. Like a good girl.

His thrusts slowly become more brutal, which makes you jolt forward, your breasts rubbing against the sheets with every bounce. The wet sounds between you are unforgivable, together with the loud moans leaving your lips.

“This is better than anything I imagined,” he mutters. “Wayyy better.”

Then, Jungkook starts to show no mercy to you. His thrusts are absolutely wild, deep, and brutal, but you wouldn’t want it any other way. It feels so fucking good. The sound of his creaking bed starts the echo in the room while you get further lost in the kingdom of pleasure.

“Look at you,” he growls, his voice breaking between thrusts. “Taking my cock like you were made for me.”

Your fingers twist in the sheets as a shiver runs through you, the filthy praise making you grow wetter.

“I’ve thought about this for years,” he confesses, low and rough in your ear. “But nothing—nothing—compares to feeling you like this.”

His hand slides to your hip, gripping hard before pushing your back against him.  

“You feel so fucking perfect. So tight. So warm. Like you never want to let me go.”

Your moan is answer enough, and his pace turns downright ruthless.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Let me hear you. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good,” he hisses, his hand wrapping around your throat.

Jungkook doesn’t tighten his grip; he just applies pressure on your throat. That alone makes you grow wetter, something that he feels as his dick pistons inside you. Your eyes roll back, the pleasure slowly becoming overwhelming.

“You like being choked,” he whispers in your ear. “Such a dirty girl.”

His words send shivers down your spine. This man has you literally wrapped around his fingers. He can make whatever he pleases with you.

“Luckily for you, I love dirty girls.”

He licks the inside of your ear, and god, you’re completely falling apart. But you wouldn’t have it in any other way.

You’re a complete moaning mess by now, only adding to the obscene symphony in the room—the creak of the bed, the wet slap of skin, the tangled chorus of your moans.

“So good,” you manage to say in between moans.

His eyes take a moment to look at you. Your body is trembling with every punishing thrust from behind, your breasts are bouncing at the rhythm of his thrusts, his hand is wrapped around your throat, and your back is pressed against his chest.

It’s a fucking sight he’ll burn into his memory.

His hand lets go of your throat, and you instantly fall forward. He slaps your ass, watching it jiggle. He goes deeper, his hips meeting your ass with a loud slap that echoes in the room.

Jungkook grips your hips tight and fucks you rough and fast now. He doesn’t show any mercy to you.    

“Fuck—” he whimpers. “Wanna cum inside you so bad.”

“Do it,” you reply without any hesitation.

You pregnant with his child… Damn, there’s nothing in the world he’d like more. The simple thought brings him closer to the edge.

Fuck, he wants to get you pregnant so badly. He wants to lie in his bed with you in his arms and dick deep inside you, cockwarming you to sleep. And just to be sure it took, he'd give it to you again and again until it did. And then he’d give you more. 

Until his balls were fully drained and the sheets beneath you soaked, a mix of both your juices sticky over your thighs and his belly, his cum leaking from your pounded out pussy.

The way you'd whimper when he'd gently finger it back inside you, scooping it up and massaging your clit with it, making you cry with overstimulation just to make you cum again with his seed-slicked fingers…

But he can’t.

Not right now.

“Not this time, baby girl,” he replies.

He’s driving into you so hard that it makes you see stars. The two of you are reaching your orgasm; you can feel it. Your legs are shaking, your moans completely out of control, while his thrusts are sloppy and deep.

Jungkook decides to help you out. One of his hands slowly goes down on your body, landing on your throbbing clit. His fingers start to rub your sensitive spot as his cock keeps slamming roughly inside you. 

His fingers on your clit make you explode intensely, and you come hard around him. Your walls squeeze him over and over again while you come all over him. Jungkook doesn’t stop at all; he even speeds up his torturing pace. The coil in his lower stomach tightens, and he knows it’s a matter of seconds before he comes undone.

So he takes his cock, leaving a feeling of emptiness inside you, before he strokes it above your ass. He groans when his orgasm hits him hard, your name rolling off his tongue. His eyes roll back with pleasure, and his body tenses up, his sperm now falling over your ass cheeks.

You both collapse on his bed with heavy breathing. Jungkook rests next to you while his hand strokes your back. After a couple of seconds, he stands up to disappear into the bathroom. He comes back with a towel.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he says as he gently slaps your ass.

You whimper as he’s gently cleaning your legs and pussy. It feels good to be taken care of, especially from the guy you’ve had a crush on for years. Once he’s over with you, you turn around to look at him. A smile appears on his face when your eyes meet.

Your eyes flicker down to his hand that is cleaning his softened length with the towel. Flaccid, he almost looks ordinary—almost. But you know better. You’ve felt just how far from average he really is.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is low but edged with worry as his eyes search yours. He’s not asking out of politeness; he needs to know.

“Barely alive,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. But Jungkook doesn’t really smile. His brow stays furrowed, jaw tense, like he’s replaying every second in his head to check if he pushed you too far.

You rise onto shaky legs, your body deliciously sore, and step closer. Your fingers trace lightly over his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under your touch.

“I’m really fine,” you whisper, softer now, wanting him to hear the truth in your voice. “This was… mind-blowing, yes. And sure, I might need a couple of days to recover from you…” you tease, lips curving. “But other than that, I feel good. I feel safe.”

His shoulders ease, just barely, but his gaze doesn’t waver from you. There’s still that flicker of fear in his eyes—that he might have hurt you, triggered something, missed a sign.

You cup his face gently. “Guk,” you murmur, “you could never hurt me. As I said before, everything is under control now.”

He simply nods before wrapping his strong arms around you. He’s definitely worried about you and probably will for a long time, but that’s only because he deeply loves you. He never wants to relive again the day he had to save you in the pool.

“Let me get us some water,” he whispers, his lips getting closer to yours to press the most gentle kiss.

As he leaves the room, you take a look around. His bedroom is impressive, like anything else about him, and surprisingly, it’s not devoid of decoration. Of course, he chose darker colors for the wall painting, but it feels like him. Being here is the same as being cuddled by him.

There are pictures of Hana everywhere. In some, she’s just days old. Some other, she’s a couple of months old. In some other, she’s already two. And there’s one on his nightstand. It’s your actual favorite. He’s holding her on his shoulders, and they have the brightest smiles.

“That picture was taken a year ago,” his voice comes from behind you, warm and low. “On her birthday.”

Jungkook steps closer, handing you the glass of water.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers brushing his as you take it and sip. “It’s a really good picture.”

He places his glass of water on the nightstand before his hands wrap around your waist, his head placed on your shoulder.

“It’s nice having you here,” he whispers.

You smile, but you don’t dare to look at him. You know you’ll fall even more for him, or worse, you’ll get on your knees.

“It’s nice to be here, too,” you reply.

Jungkook peppers your neck with kisses while you close your eyes, your hands wrapping tightly around the glass of water. As his kisses start to move to your jaw, little and barely audible moans leave your lips. Slowly, his bulge grows against your back. No doubt where this is going.

“Round 2?” he whispers against your jaw.

Things have completely changed since Jungkook came back into your life. Everything is lighter now, as if some invisible weight has been lifted off your chest.

You even stopped fighting him in the library. Eventually, you accepted his financial help, and now it’s thriving even more, which you didn’t think was possible. Every day, when you walk in and see more people, more laughter, more books in readers’ hands, you’re reminded that he didn’t just save the library—he saved a piece of you, too.

And it’s not just you who’s thriving. Since you’ve been back in his life, Jungkook’s been sharper, faster, hungrier on the field. The fans call it his best season yet, and every time he throws that perfect pass or crushes another record, he swears it’s because of you. He says you’re in his head before every snap—your smile, your laugh, the sound of your moans keeping him steady and reckless all at once.

But the real change happens at night. Behind closed doors, your world narrows to him—the rasp of his voice, the heat of his skin, the relentless way he claims you over and over again. Your bedrooms have become sanctuaries of fire and whispers, where moans echo against the walls, skin slaps in frantic rhythm, and headboards knock like desperate applause.

Sex has never been like this before. It’s not just good—it’s consuming. He doesn’t just fuck you; he ruins you, bends you until you’re trembling and begging, only to drag another orgasm out of you when you swore you had no more to give. He never seems to tire. Sometimes he teases you slow, murmuring filth against your ear until you’re dripping and desperate. Other times, he takes you like a man starved, pounding into you until you can’t think of anything but him.

And the craziest part? Every time, he makes you feel like this is the best he’s ever had. Like nothing else has ever compared. His praise is endless—you’re so fucking tight, yn… look at the mess you’re making for me… taking me so good, baby—and the more he talks, the hotter it gets.

Still, when it’s over, when your bodies are tangled together, slick with sweat and trembling, there’s a softness in the way he holds you that no words can match. The man who spends his days destroying defenses and his nights destroying you is the same man who pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head, and whispers like you’re his whole world. And that, more than anything, is why everything feels better now.

he grins at that, dimples flashing, and goes back to fiddling with cables. the glow from the monitors hits his face, painting his skin in pale blue light. you hate how good he looks like that— sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy, eyes sharp with focus.

it’s unfair!

later that night, the room smells faintly of coffee and plastic wrap from the unboxed hardware. your new pc hums quietly next to his, the two setups facing each other like mirror images. you can’t help but stare.

“you actually did it,” you murmur.

“of course i did,” he says, pulling his chair closer. “you didn’t think i’d let you stream from a laptop, did you?”

“i was fine with that!”

“no, you weren’t,” jungkook teases. “you complained every time it lagged.”

you open your mouth to argue, but he’s already leaning over your shoulder, pointing at the power button. “press that. you’re officially one of us now.”

the startup lights flicker on, and you smile despite yourself. “it’s… kinda pretty.”

“you’re welcome,” he says, voice softer this time.

you don’t look at him, because if you do, you’ll start thinking about how close his face is— how you can feel the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

it starts as a joke, the streaming thing. jungkook convinces you to play a few games with him ‘for content’, saying his chat would love to watch a noob play with a pro like him. the first time, you’re nervous, your voice too high and your laugh awkward. but he’s patient, talking you through every step like it’s his second nature.

“no, no— don’t go that way!”

“why not?”

“because that’s a cliff!”

you fall anyway. the sound of him wheezing with laughter fills your headset.

“you’re impossible,” you groan.

“you’re entertainment gold,” he counters.

after that, it becomes a routine. friday nights, snacks on the desk, controllers tangled together. you never plan to stay for long, but somehow it’s always past midnight when you finally log off. sometimes you catch him watching you when the screens dim— not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but in a way that feels like he’s memorizing something.

and you pretend not to notice.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

one night, rain taps softly on the window. you’re both tired, the game paused mid-round. the only light that is coming from is his monitors, washing the room in neon blue. jungkook’s hair is damp from a shower, curling a little at the ends. he’s wearing your favorite hoodie of his — the one with a tear on the sleeve.

“you should stream solo sometime,” he says, voice quiet.

“me? alone? no way!”

“why not?”

“because i’d miss your commentary,” you say before thinking.

he glances over. “yeah?”

you fumble. “i mean— it’s easier when you’re here. you make it fun.”

he smiles at that, something small and knowing.

the shift happens slowly, over weeks. his laughter starts feeling warmer, your teasing lasts longer, and your heart races a little faster every time he says your name.

mutual pining, that’s what your friends would call it. and torture, is what you call it.

he starts waiting for you before logging into his games, saving your favorite snacks, fixing your chair height when you forget. you start making him coffee before long sessions, adjusting his mic cable so it doesn’t tangle, and pretending not to notice when he stares too long.

every little thing blurs the lines— shared dinners, lazy mornings, movie nights that end with both of you asleep on the couch.

and yet, neither of you says a thing.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

the confession happens without warning.

you’re both in the studio, monitors still glowing after a long co-op stream. you’re sitting sideways on your chair, scrolling through chat comments while he tidies up the desk.

“people really think we’re dating,” you say, laughing softly.

jungkook pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “do they?”

“yeah. they said our chemistry is too real.”

he hesitates. “and what do you think?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“about us.”

your throat goes dry. “i— i think we’re good friends.”

he hums, but it sounds more like a sigh. “right. good friends.”

you stare at his reflection in the monitor, heart pounding. “why do you sound disappointed?”

he turns then, leaning back against the desk, arms crossed. “maybe because i am.”

you freeze.

he steps closer, slowly and carefully. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to say something.”

“say what?” you whisper.

his voice drops. “that i like you. like, like you.”

you laugh softly, nervous. “you’re joking.”

“do i look like i’m joking?”

you shake your head, but your chest feels tight. “no. but— why didn’t you say anything before?”

“because i didn’t know if you felt the same.”

“and now?”

his gaze holds yours, steady. “now i think you do.”

the silence stretches, thick and heavy. his hand reaches out, brushing your wrist, tentative but sure. and you don’t pull away.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

the clock on the monitor read 3:30 a.m., the apartment hushed except for the soft hum of your rigs cooling down after the late-night co-op stream. neon pinks and purples from the setups cast a dim glow over the shared living room, your streaming space cluttered with half-finished drinks and snack wrappers. the city outside slept soundly, leaving only the faint playlist murmuring in the background and the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a secret.

jungkook sprawled across the couch in his oversized tee and loose shorts, legs stretched out, while you sat on the floor, back against the couch arm, scrolling through clips from earlier. your own loungewear clung comfortably—baggy tee slipping off one shoulder, shorts riding up your thighs. your back brushed occasionally as he shifted.

“you’re way too focused,” he murmured, half-laughing, his voice low and teasing. “wanna take a break?”

“i am taking a break,” you muttered, not looking up, though your fingers paused on the screen. “this is relaxing.”

he scooted closer towards your back anyway, his hand resting merely few inches away from your shoulder. “doesn't look like it. you're all tense.”

“i’m not tense,” you insisted, but your voice cracked slightly, giving you away. months of built-up tension— teasing during streams, lingering touches hung heavy in the dim light.

jungkook leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. the warmth of his touch sent a flutter through your stomach. “sure you’re not,” he teased softly, eyes locking with yours.

“jungkook…” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, the heat radiating from his body.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice dropping to a low growl, gaze softening but edged with desire.

your chest tightened, and before you could overthink it, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours. it started tentative— a soft, testing brush—but deepened quickly, slower, like he was savoring every second. you gripped the back of his head, tugging him closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. he hummed against your lips, a low rumble that weakened your heart.

his hand slid to your underarms, pulling you up against him fully so now you’re sitting in his lap, while the other hand tucked into your hair, fingers threading through the strands at your nape. your hands wandered clumsily over his chest, tracing the firm curve of his muscles beneath the shirt.

you were both inexperienced, kisses bumping awkwardly at first, breaths hitching, but it only fueled the urgency.

“god, you’re… so soft,” he muttered against your lips, making you shiver as he nipped lightly at your bottom lip.

you pulled back for a breath, eyes dark with want. “you’re… driving me insane,” you admitted, voice small and shaky.

he smirked, teeth grazing your lip again. good. i wanted that.

his hands roamed lower, thumbs brushing your hips, fingertips tracing the edge of your thighs. your breaths quickened, shallow and mingling with his deeper ones. every touch tingled your skin, every brush of his lips sparked through your chest.

he pressed you back against the couch cushions within a moment, and you let him, heart hammering inside your rib cage.

jungkook leaned down, kissing a trail along your jaw, neck, collarbone— each one slow, deliberate, almost worshipful. you trembled, arousal blending with the warmth of your unspoken longing.

“please…” you whispered, barely audible, but it was enough.

he paused, looking at you with reverence and hunger. “i’ve been waiting to hear that,” he said, voice husky, lips brushing your temple.

his fingers trembled as he slid under your shirt, exploring your skin, cupping your breasts with gentle squeezes, thumbs teasing your nipples until they hardened. you arched into his touch, moaning softly, while your hands pushed up his tee, feeling the heat and tension of his abs. it was messy, awkward and desperate— your inexperience showing in hesitant strokes and shared nervous laughs but all-consuming.

jungkook pulled your shirt off, then his own, exposing his toned chest. he lowered his mouth to your breasts, sucking one nipple while his hand kneaded the other, tongue flicking and teeth grazing in light bites that made you gasp.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, voice laced with awe, worshipping your body with kisses trailing down your stomach. you threaded your fingers in his hair, pulling him back up for another kiss and slide your tongue against his messily.

emboldened, you reached for his shorts, palming the hard bulge of his cock. he hissed, hips bucking, and helped you shove the fabric down, freeing his throbbing length. your hand wrapped around him tentatively, stroking from base to tip in awkward pulls— a slight handjob that had him groaning, face burying in your neck as he bit down softly on your shoulder. “fuck, that feels…” he trailed off, thrusting into your grip, both fumbling but lost in the sensation.

he tugged your shorts off next, fingers tracing your inner thighs before parting them. “tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, always checking, that gentle confidence emerging. you nodded, and he circled your clit slowly, then slid one finger inside your wet heat, curling it experimentally. you bucked, clenching around him, and he added a second, pumping in a rhythm guided by your moans. his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles, building your pleasure as he watched your face, nipping at your earlobe.

“jungkook… please,” you gasped, hands clutching his back.

his fingers moved with careful intent, scissoring inside your pussy to stretch you further, the slick sounds mixing with your ragged breaths. you clenched around the intrusion, hips rolling up to meet each thrust, chasing the pressure building low in your belly. jungkook's eyes stayed fixed on yours, dark and intent, reading every flutter of your lashes, every bite of your lip.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice roughened by restraint, his free hand pinning your thigh wider to give him better access. he crooked his fingers just right, brushing that sensitive spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

you cried out, back arching off the couch, nails digging into his shoulders as waves of heat pulsed through you.

he leaned in closer, lips capturing yours in a kiss, tongue mirroring the rhythm of his hand— deep, insistent strokes that left you whimpering into his mouth. his thumb pressed firmer against your clit, circling faster now, the dual sensation pushing you closer to the edge. your walls fluttered, tightening as pleasure coiled tighter, every nerve alight under his touch.

“jungkook… i’m—” you gasped, breaking the kiss, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling hot and fast.

he didn't stop, pumping deeper, urging you on with soft encouragements whispered against your skin. “let go for me, baby, i’ve got you.”

the orgasm built relentlessly, crashing over you in shuddering tremors, your pussy spasming around his fingers as you came with a broken moan, soaking his hand. he worked you through it gently, slowing his movements until you sagged against him, boneless and panting, a shy smile tugging at your lips amid the aftershocks.

jungkook fumbled for the condom inside the small drawer under the table in front, his fingers trembling as he tore open the packet. he rolled it down his hard cock with unsteady hands, his gaze fixed on yours, dark and full of raw need. the neon lights from the apartment’s rigs cast a soft, electric glow across his skin, highlighting the tension in his jaw as he positioned himself between your thighs in the missionary hold.

he lined up carefully, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. with a shared breath, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, both of you gasping at the intense stretch. your pussy clenched around him tightly, your shared inexperience turning the moment clumsy— pausing to adjust, breaths hitching as he sank deeper. it was raw and real, the slight awkwardness only heightening the intimacy.

“look at me,” he whispered, his voice husky and breathless. those beautiful eyes, now shadowed with desire, locked onto yours as he finally bottomed out, filling you completely. the connection sparked something profound, a silent promise in the way he held your stare.

he stayed still, his body taut above you, waiting for your nod— a small, affirming tilt of your head that unleashed him. then he began to thrust, deep and deliberate rolls of his hips driving into you with measured passion. one hand found yours, fingers interlacing in a firm, grounding grip, while the other braced beside your head, his forearm muscles flexing with each movement. you hooked your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to pull him even closer, your bodies finding a syncing rhythm. the soft, wet slaps of skin meeting skin echoed faintly against the hum of the rigs in the background.

leaning down, he nipped at your neck with gentle teeth, the sharp sensation sending shivers through you, followed by the warm press of his lips soothing the spot. he trailed bites along your collarbone, each one lighter than the last, interspersed with tender kisses that made your heart swell. “y/n,” he murmured against your skin, your name a soft vow repeated like a heartbeat, laced with emotion that mirrored the passion building between you.

your nails raked down his back, leaving faint trails as moans spilled from your lips, the coil of tension winding tighter in your core. he groaned in response, his thrusts growing just a fraction more urgent, chasing the mutual pleasure that had you both lost in the moment.

your climax crashed over you first, waves of ecstasy rippling through your body as you cried out, your pussy pulsing and clenching hard around his cock. the sensation pulled him over the edge moments later— he buried himself deep with a final, shuddering thrust, groaning low and guttural as he came, his release spilling hot into the condom while your bodies trembled together in shared bliss.

carefully, jungkook eased out of you, his touch gentle as he disposed of the condom in the nearby trash. he returned swiftly, drawing you into his strong arms beneath the soft throw blanket draped over the couch. you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as it slowed. his fingers traced lazy, affectionate patterns along your bare skin—swirling over your shoulder, down your arm—each stroke a quiet affirmation of the bond you'd just deepened.

soft giggles bubbled up between you as your breaths evened out, sleepy smiles tugging at your lips in the dimming neon haze. the rigs continued their low hum, a comforting underscore to your private sanctuary, where the world outside faded, leaving only warmth, connection, and the tender afterglow of your first time together.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

later that evening, the two of you stream again—same setup, same banter, same chaos. but this time, your knees brush under the desk, a subtle spark of warmth that lingers, and you don’t move away.

the chat explodes immediately, messages flooding the screen in a frenzy.

chat: they’re matching hoodies omg

chat: roommates my ass

chat: we knew it!

you roll your eyes, quickly muting your mic. “they’re gonna eat us alive,” you murmur, the words half-exasperated, half-amused.

jungkook leans in just enough, his breath warm against your ear, voice low for only you to hear. “let them.”

you try to glare at him, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away, softening the edges of your feigned annoyance.

the match starts, the game loads with its familiar hum, and he turns to you, eyes glinting with that playful spark. “ready?” he asks, his voice carrying that easy confidence you’ve come to crave.

you glance at him, the look soft and knowing, a quiet thrill humming between you. “always.”

author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!

In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.

One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.

It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.

You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.

Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.

It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.

Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.

Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.

You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.

Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.

But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.

You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.

You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.

You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.

You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?

You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.

“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.

After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?

And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.

While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.

You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.

There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.

You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.

Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.

You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.

His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”

Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.

He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.

You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”

His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.

To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”

You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.

You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.

It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.

His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.

Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.

“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”

As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.

Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.

Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.

That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.

He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.

It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.

You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.

The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.

You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”

Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.

Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”

He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”

“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.

“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”

Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.

The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.

But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.

You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.

Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.

It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.

That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.

He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.

Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.

Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.

But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.

You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.

When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.

You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.

The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.

You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.

You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.

But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.

You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.

Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.

When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.

His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”

Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.

At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.

You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”

He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.

The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.

You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.

Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.

Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.

He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”

The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.

The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”

Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.

But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.

It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.

You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.

When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”

The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.

His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”

”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.

He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”

”Have it, then.”

With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.

There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.

Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.

The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.

He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.

His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.

His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”

You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”

Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?

What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.

It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.

It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.

Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.

As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.

Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.

It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.

But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.

You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.

If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.

Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.

You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.

Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.

The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.

His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.

Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.

It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.

A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.

Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”

You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”

“Nothing, but—”

You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”

The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.

You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”

“C’mon, tell us!”

You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”

The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.

Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”

A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”

You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.

He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.

Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.

Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.

But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.

He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.

Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.

Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.

It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.

Jeongguk wants you.

He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.

Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.

There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.

Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.

The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.

You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.

But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”

The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.

Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.

Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.

“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.

But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.

Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.

When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.

Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”

The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.

The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.

Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"

For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”

Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”

He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”

It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.

He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.

When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”

You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”

She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.

His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.

Now, it’s just the two of you.

The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.

You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.

Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.

“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.

“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.

Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.

Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."

Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”

His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”

You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.

There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.

Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.

At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.

A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.

Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.

When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.

You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.

It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.

His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.

"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."

Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.

But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.

Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”

It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.

If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.

You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.

At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.

You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.

But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.

It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.

Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.

Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.

You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.

Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.

He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.

The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.

You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.

You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.

You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.

With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.

You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.

If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.

“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.

Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”

Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.

There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.

You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.

When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”

The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”

He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.

He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.

You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.

He’s a gone man.

His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.

You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.

You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.

He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”

Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.

Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.

His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.

Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”

You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.

Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”

He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”

Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.

You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”

Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”

The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.

You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.

“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.

You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.

“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.

He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.

“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”

“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”

Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.

He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.

The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.

Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.

His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”

Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.

He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.

The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.

He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.

You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.

You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.

He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.

When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.

You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”

You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.

With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.

His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.

He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.

When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.

His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”

Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”

You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.

His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.

Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.

He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.

When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.

The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.

You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.

But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.

He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.

“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”

This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.

It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”

Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.

It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”

He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.

Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.

The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”

You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?

The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.

Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.

That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.

You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.

With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.

The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”

You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.

The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.

With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.

The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.

You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.

The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”

You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.

Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.

He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”

It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.

The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.

He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.

You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”

Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.

You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”

The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.

You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”

“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.

You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.

He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”

You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”