KHRYSTALSNOW

Blueberry cheesecake, the sweet and sour flavor that melts on your tongue… your favorite cake, the one Jungkook gets for you every birthday without fail, because he memorized your order long before he memorized his own.

Pastel pink, the soft girly color that clings to every part of you. Your clothes, your bedsheets, your hair clips, every little thing you own carries a touch of pink somewhere. Whenever Jungkook spots the shade in public, his thoughts find their way back to you.

Romantic novels, anything that leaves your heart racing and your feet kicking against your mattress. Jungkook always finds himself wandering into bookstores because of you, scanning shelves for stories he thinks you would like, only to end up buying more books than he originally planned.

Makeup, oh you love makeup. Pink glitter brushed over your eyelids, glossy lips shining beneath the light, sparkly blush dusted across your cheeks. Jungkook swears he finds traces of your glitter everywhere… on his hoodies, on his fingertips, sometimes even on his face after you hug him too close.

Vanilla oatmilk latte, the coffee you order every single morning before school. Jungkook learned how to make it himself after watching you drink it so often, memorizing the exact measurements because you love them.

Powder cologne, soft, delicate and comforting. A scent Jungkook knows too well, one that settles into his hoodies whenever you steal them, one that drives him crazy whenever you lean too close without realizing what you’re doing to him.

Countless things. 

Your habits, your favorite foods, the songs you replay until you get sick of them, your random mood swings, your little mannerisms, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard, the way you avoid eye contact whenever you lie. 

As your childhood best friend, Jungkook almost knows you better than you know yourself.

You were seven when you first met him, while Jungkook was already twelve.

Your mothers were close friends, living in the same village with houses only a few blocks apart. The first time your mother introduced you to Jungkook and his parents, you were painfully shy. Tiny hands clutching your barbie doll against your chest, pink shoes tapping nervously against the floor, you hid halfway behind your mother’s leg while peeking at him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, only looked at you with indifference. 

He had been building legos upstairs before his mother called him down to greet the guests, and judging by the slight furrow between his brows, he was more irritated about being interrupted than interested in meeting you. 

Dressed in a baby blue jumper, he looked like a tiny builder himself, big round eyes already drifting elsewhere as if he couldn’t wait to go back to his room. 

You were an only child, and so was he, which was exactly why your parents thought the two of you would get along perfectly. They insisted you become playmates, excited over the idea of their children growing up together.

The problem was that the two of you liked completely different things.

You wanted barbie dolls, toy kitchens, dollhouses and tea parties. 

Jungkook liked legos, robots, mini cars and toy dinosaurs.

So sitting inside Jungkook’s bedroom for the first time felt painfully awkward. Your mothers stayed downstairs, happily chatting over coffee while the two of you remained trapped upstairs in complete silence. 

You sat on a small soccer-ball bean bag, clutching your barbie tightly in your lap, glossy eyes wandering around his room filled with boyish toys and shelves crowded with action figures. Your pink glittery dress looked so out of place, matching the headband resting neatly in your hair and the tiny dress your barbie wore.

This was not your kind of playtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat at his tiny blue table, completely focused on stacking legos together like you didn’t exist. His brows pinched together in concentration, lips slightly puffed out as he connected the pieces one by one, so serious for a twelve-year-old boy.

You stayed quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, too shy to disturb him despite desperately wanting someone to play with. But as the minutes dragged on, boredom slowly began to creep in. You carefully stood from the bean bag and walked towards him, still hugging your barbie doll against your chest.

“C-Can I join?” you asked softly, curiously staring down at the colorful legos despite not understanding what he was even trying to build.

Jungkook glanced up at you, brows furrowing immediately.

“No,” he dismissed flatly before returning to his legos again.

Jungkook was serious about legos. His playtime revolved entirely around building them, fingers busy connecting tiny pieces together for hours without getting bored. Before that, he had been obsessed with dinosaurs, carrying them everywhere around the house, but eventually he discovered a new fixation. He realized he liked building things. Finishing a set only to display it proudly in his room like a trophy.

You pouted beside him. “Do you have barbies?”

Jungkook frowned immediately, glancing between you and the barbie doll smiling brightly in your hands as if the question itself offended him.

“No,” he said bluntly. “But I have dinosaurs.”

Maybe it was a strange combination.

You were sitting on the soft floor mat with barbie dolls while dinosaurs surrounded them like predators.

He only let you borrow the dinosaurs to keep you occupied enough not to disturb him while he played.

Still, you were entertained.

Cute little noises left your mouth as you imitated roaring dinosaurs and dramatic barbie voices, completely immersed in your own little world. Your giggles often filled the room while Jungkook remained focused on his legos, though sometimes his eyes would flicker towards you for a second before returning to his build.

And somehow, it became a routine.

Every Saturday, your mother would bring you over to Jungkook’s house… excitement would bubble inside you the moment you stepped through the front door because it meant running upstairs to his room again. By then, you already expected the sight waiting for you.

Jungkook sitting in his usual spot near the little blue table, focused on a brand new lego set.

And the dinosaurs already arranged neatly on the floor mat for you.

The two of you barely talked. But neither of you minded. 

At your age, all that mattered was having toys to play with. While for Jungkook, happiness meant building something piece by piece until it was complete.

So every weekend, you would bring over a handful of barbies for the dinosaurs to chase around while Jungkook built something different each week. 

Sometimes it was a car. Sometimes a house. Sometimes an entire little town slowly formed beneath his careful little hands.

It was one quiet afternoon when you finally decided to talk to him properly.

You had just entered his room, wearing your usual pink puffy dress with your hair tied into cute pigtails. After setting down your backpack filled with barbie dolls beside the bean bag, your eyes immediately landed on a brand-new set of dinosaurs arranged carefully across the floor mat.

Your eyes widened. “New dinosaurs!” you exclaimed excitedly, small hands already grabbing one of the unfamiliar dinosaurs to inspect it closer.

Across the room, Jungkook looked up from his lego table. His hands paused mid-build the moment he saw your expression. Your wide sparkling eyes, your bright smile, the way your excitement completely lit up your face over something as simple as mini dinosaurs.

For a second, he only stared. Then he quickly looked back down at his legos with a small pout tugging at his lips.

“M-Me and my mom went toy shopping for a new lego set,” he mumbled. “I saw a new edition of dinosaurs.”

A soft giggle escaped you as you hurried towards his table, clutching the dinosaurs tightly in your small hands. “Really?” you asked happily. “I thought you didn’t play with dinosaurs anymore?”

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, slightly distracted by how close you suddenly were to him.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “But you like them.”

He almost fell from his seat when you suddenly crouched down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a sweet habit of yours whenever your parents did something for you.

“Thank you, Koo!” you giggled, hopping back towards the soft mat while Jungkook remained completely stunned.

Slowly, heat crept across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His boba eyes wide and sparkly like a candy was given to him. His cute brows furrowed, and when he picked up a lego block… all he could think about was your cute smile and soft kiss.

At first, you truly thought you and Jungkook would never become close.

He was too quiet, too focused on his own little world of legos and building sets while you lived inside glittery barbie dream houses and dramatic dinosaur adventures. But as the months slowly passed, you found yourself growing fond of him. And somehow, Jungkook slowly grew fond of you too.

The distance between the two of you became smaller little by little. 

From sitting separately in silence, you were now beside him at his table helping him build lego sets together, your tiny fingers handing him blocks while he taught you where they belonged. It felt almost special, like Jungkook had finally lowered the invisible walls around himself enough to let you into his space.

Quietly, you started wondering if maybe one day…he would want to play barbies and dinosaurs with you too. 

“A brachiosaurus!” you gasped happily, excited when you realized what the two of you were building together.

Jungkook tried to hide the smile threatening to tug at his lips, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck slowly turning red.

"Y-You like it?'' he said in a small voice.

You nodded happily, eyes sparkling as you held up the long-necked lego dinosaur. 

Jungkook smiled, unconsciously leaning closer, his cute bunny teeth showing as he made a mental note to buy more lego dinosaurs for you.

As the weeks passed, moments like those became more common. Then one Saturday, your tiny dream finally came true.

“Hi, Koo!” you greeted softly after entering his room, only to freeze slightly when you noticed his lego table untouched for once.

Instead, Jungkook was crouched beside the floor mat near the dinosaurs.

Your eyes widened.

“Wanna play with you,” he said with a shy smile, as he held a few dinosaurs in his tiny hands.

For months, you played alone while he focused on his lego sets. 

The first time he finally let you help him build one, you were so happy that you started looking forward to every new set the two of you would make together.

It quickly became your favorite part of visiting him.

So seeing him willingly sit beside you now… actually wanting to play with your barbies and dinosaurs instead of his beloved legos—made excitement bubble in your chest.

It felt special, like he was stepping into your world the same way he had once invited you into his.

“O-Okay,” you said excitedly. “You can be the spinosaurus and I’ll be barbie.”

Your small hands shakily arranged the dinosaurs into a circle while Jungkook quietly watched you.

And the truth was, for the past few months, Jungkook had already been watching you more than he should.

Whenever you weren’t looking, his eyes would drift away from his legos just to watch you playing on the mat by yourself. Your cute little dinosaur noises, your giggles, the way you became completely immersed in your stories somehow made him happier than finishing any lego set ever could.

Sometimes he took days to finish builds that normally only needed hours, just because he kept getting distracted by you.

And whenever you paused your playing to look over at him with one of your cutest smiles, his chest would start beating strangely fast.

A small, innocent crush began to bloom in the little boy whose heart had only been filled with lego blocks—the very first piece quietly clicking into place inside him, setting the shape of something he didn’t yet understand.

At the age of eight and thirteen, the two of you became inseparable. 

Whenever your mother got too busy with work, you would immediately beg her to drop you off at Jungkook’s house instead of leaving you home alone, and eventually it became normal for you to spend almost every weekend there. Your mothers didn’t even question it anymore. If you disappeared, they already knew you were upstairs in Jungkook’s room.

And somewhere along the years, you got to know him better. Jungkook only looked snobbish at first glance. Quiet, a little intimidating, always serious whenever he focused on something. But once someone truly got close to him, they would realize how sweet he actually was.

Especially with you.

As your friendship grew, so did the amount of time you spent together. Before long, sleepovers became common too.

The two of you would lie beside each other beneath the blankets, talking about random things for hours instead of sleeping. Sometimes you hid underneath the covers with a flashlight between you, pretending you were camping in the middle of a forest while whispering ghost stories and silly secrets to each other.

Jungkook would pull you close while you giggled uncontrollably, pressing playful kisses against your cheeks before dramatically pretending to die in your arms whenever you hugged him too tightly. 

“I like the stars on your ceiling,” you murmured sleepily one night, while lying beside him on his bed. “Mine is just plain pink.”

Tonight was another sleepover. Your sleepy eyes struggled to stay open because you wanted to spend more time with him before falling asleep. The two of you were even wearing matching pajamas, yours covered in tiny pink hearts while his had blue ones, a matching set you had begged your mother to buy days before the sleepover.

Jungkook turned his head towards you, smiling softly when he noticed your eyes slowly drooping shut.

“You’re sleepy,” he giggled, poking your cheek gently with his finger when your eyes closed for a second too long.

You immediately pouted at him. “Am not,” you mumbled stubbornly. “We still have to play camping later, Koo.”

Playing camping beneath the covers with a flashlight was one of your favorite bedtime routines together, but tonight exhaustion was beginning to betray you. School had drained you completely, your body heavy against the mattress no matter how much you tried to stay awake.

Jungkook's lips curled into a small smirk, an evil little prank brewing in the back of his mind.

With a mischievous grin, he suddenly grabbed his throat dramatically, choking and panting before going completely still on the bed, eyes shut and tongue sticking out slightly like a fish… as if he had died.

“I think it would look cute to have planets too, what do you thin—Koo?” 

The drowsiness vanished from your body the moment your eyes landed on him… frozen beside you.

“Koo?” you whispered, sleepy brows furrowing.

When he didn't move, panic bloomed instantly in your chest.

You sat up so fast the blankets tangled around your legs, tiny hands immediately grabbing his shoulders as you shook him desperately.

“Koo! Wake up, Koo!” you panicked.

Your glossy eyes widened further when he refused to move, his face still scrunched into that horrible dead fish expression. Heart pounding loudly inside your chest, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to wake him up while tears quickly gathered in your eyes.

“Boo! I got you—” His laughter stopped halfway when he saw your face. Fat tears rolled down your flushed cheeks while you stared at him in genuine fear.

A soft sob escaped your lips. “T-That’s, that’s not funny,” you sniffled quietly. “I thought you were dead!”

Jungkook instantly softened. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at how adorable you looked.

“Aww, baby...” he chuckled softly, opening his arms for you. “Come here.”

He always called you his baby. Partly because you were younger than him, but mostly because you acted like his cute little girl half the time, clinging onto him whenever you got scared or upset.

When you glared at him through your tears, he only chuckled quietly instead of feeling guilty. Seeing your pouty face, your sleepy swollen eyes and pink cheeks somehow made his chest feel weirdly warm.

It made him want to hug you forever.

Jungkook moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your smaller body until your back rested against his chest. His laughter became softer when he caught your deadly glare again, leaning closer just to press a small apologetic kiss against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, peeking at your face with the cutest pout.

When you still didn’t answer, he immediately resorted to the one thing he knew you could never say no to.

“Hmm, do you want some ice cream?” he whispered beside your ear, wiggling his brows playfully. “Mom bought some earlier.”

You stayed silent for a moment, still pretending to be upset while staring down at his hands tracing little circles against your palm.

Then your pout slowly weakened. “Okay,” you mumbled. “What flavor?”

Jungkook grinned immediately, bunny teeth appearing the second you gave in. He always knew how to melt your heart. Always knew exactly how to make you smile again.

And just like you spent countless days at his house, Jungkook spent plenty of time at yours too.

The first time he stepped inside your room, he looked completely stunned by the overwhelming amount of pink surrounding him.

Pink walls, pink blankets, shelves lined with barbie dolls, and plushies piled so high on your bed that there was barely any room left to sleep. Even the little lamp on your bedside table was dusted with glitter.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stood in the middle of it all, clutching a backpack filled with toy dinosaurs and looking painfully out of place in your princess-like bedroom. His usual blue jumper was the only thing that didn't blend into the sea of pink.

During sleepovers, you would force him to hug one of your teddy bears while you cuddled your favorite bunny plushie against your chest, proudly telling him it reminded you of him. Jungkook would always pout whenever you said that, his nose scrunching at the sight of you kissing the bunny.

Quietly, somewhere inside his heart, another tiny lego piece snapped into place whenever he watched you hold that bunny so tightly.

Most nights, neither of you slept early anyway. Your mother would occasionally scold the two of you after hearing nonstop giggles coming from your room late at night, the sound muffled beneath blankets while you whispered stories to each other instead of sleeping like you were supposed to.

You and Jungkook were always entertained by each other’s presence. And as the years slowly passed, both of you began to change. Your hobbies evolved just as naturally as you grew older together.

Jungkook slowly drifted away from legos and video games, while you traded barbie dolls and dress-up games for makeup and novels.

It wasn't surprising when Jungkook pursued engineering. He had always loved building things, ever since he was a little boy…carefully connecting blocks together at his tiny blue table.

The rooms that once overflowed with toys changed too.

Jungkook’s room became crowded with sketches, papers, blueprints and a laptop constantly left open on his desk. While your room transformed from shelves of dolls into a vanity covered with makeup, skincare products, perfumes and stacks of romance novels scattered across every surface.

And by the time you were eighteen and Jungkook was twenty-three, something between the two of you had quietly shifted.

Jungkook became protective over you in a way he never was before. Maybe it was because you were no longer the tiny little girl who followed him around with barbie dolls clutched in your hands.

Your cute colorful headbands became dainty little hair clips. Puffy dresses turned into soft sundresses that showed off the softness of your legs, always paired with small heels that made you look older than he was prepared for. Even your eyes had changed. Still sparkly and sweet, but now carrying a teasing playfulness beneath them. A bratty little glint that appeared whenever you wanted something.

But despite everything changing, some things about you stayed exactly the same.

You still hugged him constantly. Still kissed his cheeks whenever he did something sweet for you. Still clung onto his arm whenever you got excited over something small.

To you, those gestures were innocent, familiar, and natural.

But for Jungkook, they no longer felt innocent at all. 

Somewhere throughout the years, your harmless affection had started affecting him differently.

A simple kiss against his cheek suddenly made heat spread through his body in ways that felt wrong to him. Your random hugs made his muscles tense instantly, his breath hitching whenever you pressed your soft chest against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

And whenever you played with his hair while sitting a little too close beside him, or wore those cute little sundresses that clung softly to your curves and showed off your legs, Jungkook would find himself swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to ignore the strange tightness spreading through his pants.

You were still the same sweet little girl. But Jungkook was no longer looking at you the same anymore. 

The lego pieces inside his heart were stacking faster now, building into something so deep and overwhelming that even he could no longer keep track of it.

“What’s cuter, this one… or this one?” you asked, holding up two dresses for Jungkook to see.

Today, the two of you were spending the day at the mall. After having lunch at your favorite restaurant, you immediately dragged Jungkook into a boutique, eager to shop for new dresses—your latest obsession.

Jungkook tilted his head, “The pink one,” 

“I know! Okay, I’ll get this.” you smiled brightly.

By the time you finished shopping, you had already bought three more dresses from the boutique alone. Meanwhile, Jungkook sat patiently on the couch outside the fitting rooms, paper bags hanging from both of his hands while he waited for you without a single complaint.

When you finally turned to look at him after paying, your expression softened slightly. His head rested against the couch, eyes closed as if he had accidentally fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He looked exhausted. Lately, Jungkook had been reviewing nonstop for his engineering board exam, barely getting enough sleep between studying and helping around the house. 

You were still in college, while Jungkook was already preparing for the next stage of his life.

It made you a little sad sometimes.

Weekends had become your favorite days because those were the only times he was fully free for you anymore.

You quietly sat beside him, and the moment the cushion dipped, Jungkook’s eyes immediately opened.

“You done, baby?” he asked softly, still half sleepy while instinctively reaching for your shopping bags to carry them himself.

You pouted… he looked so tired—wearing a black shirt that was a bit wrinkled from the day, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose and his hair a little disheveled. He still looked utterly handsome.

Without thinking much about it, you scooted a little closer to him. His brows furrowed immediately as your soft, powdery scent wrapped around him.

“Yup!” you smiled softly while fixing his slightly messy hair. “Let’s go home.”

His lips twitched. “Thought you wanted to visit the bookstore after this?” 

You shook your head. “No, wanna rest.” Your voice turned softer. “Let’s take a nap at your house?”

Jungkook’s jaw immediately tensed. His tongue briefly swiped across his lower lip before he looked away for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as he tried to gather himself together. 

“Hmm…” he bit his lower lip, heavy-lidded eyes staring back at you. “You’ll go home after, okay?” he said, his voice coming out raspier than intended. “I still need to finish some reading, baby.”

A small sigh of relief escaped him when you nodded innocently. You never really noticed the change in him.

To you, Jungkook was only becoming busier as he got older. You didn’t notice how quickly he started declining sleepovers once his feelings for you began changing into something deeper. 

He spent most nights trying to break the blocks apart—convincing himself it was wrong to think about you that way, trying to shatter the lego pieces inside his heart that kept snapping back together every single time he looked at you.

But he was failing, miserably. The little boy who was so good at building legos cannot break his own blocks apart.

Jungkook learned how to make the perfect vanilla oatmilk latte simply because you loved drinking them every morning. 

He once rushed across three different bakeries just to buy blueberry cheesecake after hearing you complain over accidentally receiving strawberry cheesecake instead.

He started buying powdery perfumes, candles and diffusers whenever he saw them because every scent reminded him of you. He even found himself wandering through makeup stores looking at glittery products because your eyes always lit up whenever something sparkled.

You wanted something? He gave it to you. 

Almost every single time.

Still, he buried his feelings carefully beneath years of friendship because the last thing he wanted was to ruin what the two of you already had. 

He tried to stay close without wanting too much. Tried to act normal despite the growing warmth that spread through his chest and cock whenever you touched him carelessly. Tried to ignore the dangerous thoughts beginning to bloom inside his mind whenever you leaned too close, smiled too sweetly or hugged him for too long.

And some days, Jungkook truly thought he was doing a good job at hiding it.

“But Koo, I missed you…”

You followed Jungkook around the kitchen with a pout, trailing behind him like a lost puppy while he tried to ignore the way your voice instantly weakened his resolve.

It was summer break, and all you wanted was a sleepover.

Lately, Jungkook has been declining every single time you asked.

At first, you tried to understand. He was busy drowning himself in thick engineering books and endless papers for the upcoming board exams. But eventually, even weekends became off limits, which felt strange because Jungkook had always found a way to make time for you no matter how busy he was.

“Baby, I have some reading to do,” Jungkook said slowly while grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

You groaned dramatically, folding your arms while leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes following his every movement as he prepared coffee for the two of you.

One black. One vanilla oatmilk latte. 

“I won’t disturb you,” you insisted stubbornly. “Promise I’ll behave!” You whined softly, stepping closer before lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. 

It’s not like you would stop him from reading, you just wanted to be around him.

Jungkook sighed deeply before finally turning to look at you properly. “I really can’t, baby…promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Your pout deepened immediately, heart slightly breaking when you saw his brows furrowing at you.

With a defeated sigh, you gave him a small nod. “Alright.” 

The second your shoulders dropped sadly, Jungkook’s grip unconsciously tightened around the milk carton in his hands.

His eyes lingered on your face, a tiny pout forming on your lips as disappointment clouded your sparkling eyes.

God, it almost made him give in immediately.

The last sleepover had nearly cost him his patience. That night, he forced himself to stay awake, reading until sunrise just to avoid looking at you too much while you slept in his bed. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the words in front of him, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

Your soft body was sprawled across his mattress, your pretty face nestled against his pillows, your hair fanned out messily like a constant temptation pulling at him.

The next morning, you were disappointed to find him asleep on the couch. You assumed he had stayed up late reading and eventually drifted off there, too exhausted to make it back to bed.

In reality, he had locked himself in the bathroom, guiltily jerking his aching cock before the temptation of sharing a bed with you became too much to bear.

“Baby…” Jungkook said slowly, voice rough from exhaustion as he lowered the teaspoon and carton of milk onto the counter.

You pouted. “If you don’t want me sleeping over, then can I at least visit you every day?” you asked softly. “I really, really miss you, Koo. I don’t have school anymore and I miss coming here.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly at your words. The urge to take back what he said just to see your pretty smile again was strong.

But no. 

Another sleepover meant another guilty night spent in bed, every time he can still smell your scent on his sheets, his hand would wrapped around his throbbing cock, burying his nose against the pillow because it smelled like you, his cock leaking whenever he recalls how your sleepwear would rise up every time you moved around his bed.

It made him so guilty, but it was better than corrupting you.

“Alright,” he finally sighed in defeat. “But I come home late these days, baby… you know that.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Lately, Jungkook practically lived in the library. He spent most nights surrounded by thick books, highlighters scattered across tables while he studied until sunrise just to become the best engineer he could possibly be. Everyone around him already knew how hardworking he was.

And you knew it better than anyone. That was why your chest softened instead of growing upset.

You missed him terribly, missed the days when the two of you spent almost every second together without responsibilities pulling him away from you. But at the same time, you never wanted to become a distraction standing between Jungkook and his dreams.

You had always supported him. Always believed in him. And the last thing you wanted was to become the reason he couldn’t reach the future he worked so hard for.

You smiled immediately, happiness softening your features now that he wasn’t completely stopping you from visiting him every day.

“Okay, Koo. That’s fine!” you chirped happily. “I’m visiting Mama Jeon too, you know!”

Jungkook chuckled softly at your playful tone, warmth spreading quietly through his chest now that your pout had finally disappeared.

Sometimes Jungkook genuinely feared he would eventually cross boundaries he shouldn’t… just to keep you happy.

And honestly, maybe he already was. Because after that conversation, you truly didn’t miss a single day at the Jeon's house during summer.

Some days you baked desserts in the kitchen while laughing with Mrs. Jeon. Other days you helped water flowers in the garden beneath the afternoon sun, your sundress swaying gently while dirt stained your fingertips. Sometimes you stayed quietly in Jungkook’s room, reading books while waiting for him until sunset painted the windows orange.

And every evening, Jungkook would come home to you waiting for him. A warm meal already prepared. Your bright smile greeting him at the door before he could even set his bag down.

Every single time, it made his heart feel unbearably full. 

The sight of you peeking excitedly through the living room window the moment you spotted him outside. The way you lightly bounced on your feet before greeting him with a soft hug. The way you always asked him about his day first before talking about your own.

The way you asked what food he was craving just so you could attempt cooking it for him afterward. 

The way you loved him through the smallest things without even realizing it.

And Jungkook kept falling deeper and deeper for you because of it.

“Are you gonna wait for Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon asked one evening after finishing dinner. “You sure you don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head immediately. You always ate dinner with Jungkook.

He usually arrived home around five in the afternoon, which wasn’t too late, so waiting for him became another small routine you loved. During weekends, he sometimes studied at home instead, filling the house with the sound of flipping pages and keyboard typing while you quietly stayed nearby.

Your Kookie was very smart and hardworking after all.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeon smiled warmly while cleaning the table. “Good thing he’s been coming home early these days.”

Early?

Your brows furrowed immediately. “Early?” you repeated slowly, leaning against the table in confusion. “Isn’t that his normal schedule at the library?”

You knew Jungkook’s routine almost by heart, which was exactly why her words caught you off guard.

Mrs. Jeon nodded before taking a sip of water. “Yes, that used to be his normal schedule,” she explained casually. “But before summer started, he was staying until eight p.m because he wanted to aim for topnotcher.”

She laughed softly afterward, shaking her head fondly. “I kept telling him it’s okay even if he doesn’t become one, but my son always wants to be the best at whatever he does.”

Your lips parted slightly, realization crashed into you all at once. 

Jungkook had been coming home early because of you.

Because you said you missed him. Because you wanted to visit him every day.

Your chest tightened painfully, you hadn’t realized his original study schedule changed at all. Hadn’t realized Jungkook was cutting hours from his studying just so he could spend more time with you.

The realization made your heart ache in two completely different ways at once. Guilty. And terribly, terribly happy.

When Jungkook got home that evening, he expected you to greet him the same way you always did. A bright smile, soft eyes, your little footsteps rushing towards him before wrapping your arms around him in a hug that somehow always managed to melt the exhaustion off his body. 

But the second he stepped inside and looked at you properly, he noticed it immediately. The smile on your lips looked smaller than usual, hesitant, not quite reaching your eyes. And Jungkook knew you too well not to notice.

“I cooked teriyaki chicken today,” you smiled softly, quickly turning away from him to open the lid of the food on the dining table. “Mama Jeon loved it.”

Jungkook followed behind you quietly, his tired eyes never leaving your figure. You were about to grab a glass of water when his hand suddenly wrapped around your arm gently, stopping you in place. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked softly, brows furrowing with concern. 

He was exhausted from studying all day, his navy green sweater slightly wrinkled, glasses a bit foggy, hair messy from constantly running his fingers through it. Yet the moment he sensed something was wrong with you, the exhaustion vanished beneath concern.

You shook your head quickly. “Just…” Your voice trailed off when your eyes landed on the small paper bag hanging from his other hand. “W-What’s that?”

Jungkook glanced down at the bag before looking back at you carefully. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked again, quieter this time.

With shaky hands, you slowly reached for the paper bag in his hand.

Blueberry cheesecake. 

Tears instantly welled in your eyes at the sight of it, your heart aching so badly it almost overwhelmed you. 

“K-Koo…” your lips trembled softly as tears blurred your vision.

Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately. “Hey, hey—” he quickly set the paper bag down before gently holding your arms, thumbs soothing over your skin. 

“What’s wrong with my baby, hmm?” he whispered softly, crouching down so he could properly look at your face.

And God, he looked so handsome like this. Tired but still so soft for you. 

His sleepy doe eyes behind his glasses, messy hair falling over his forehead, large hands holding you so carefully like you were something fragile enough to crack beneath his touch. 

You lowered your gaze, lips forming into a pout. “Y-You were coming home early for me…” you whispered quietly, guilt curling painfully inside you. “You don’t have to do that, Koo.”

Jungkook’s thick brows furrowed deeply. “Is that why you’re crying?”

Avoiding his gaze, you nodded slowly while staring down at your own fingers. Jungkook looked at you for a moment before gently tilting your chin upward, forcing your eyes back to his. Amusement slowly softened his tired features despite the concern still lingering there.

“Stop pouting.” he bit his lower lip, a low chuckle escaping beneath his breath as he listend to your tiny sniffles, almost relieved that his poor little baby was crying over something he didn’t even consider serious.

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you protested, weakly hitting his chest. “We’re talking about your future here! Why would you do that?”

He caught your hand easily before you could hit him again, fingers wrapping around your fist while his thumb slowly traced circles against your skin. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured softly. “I can handle my studies just fine, okay?”

You frowned harder instead. “But you’re coming home early, Koo. How is that good?”

You tried hitting him again, but Jungkook only tightened his hold around your wrist, enough to stop you without hurting you. 

He leaned closer, lowering his head until your faces were only inches apart, as if getting nearer would somehow make you understand him better.

“Need to see my baby for motivation,” he admitted softly.

Your heartbeat stumbled violently inside your chest. Jungkook grabbed the paper bag again before carefully placing it into your hands. “So I can work hard,” he continued quietly, eyes never leaving yours, “and buy you all the things and blueberry cheesecakes you want.”

Your eyes widened instantly, heat rushing across your cheeks and ears while your heart pounded so loudly it almost frightened you. 

“Do you want that?” Jungkook asked gently, his eyes lowering to your quivering lips.

“O-Of course I do, but I swear—”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he interrupted quietly, like your answer alone was enough for him. 

Enough to make every sacrifice worth it.

When uni started again, you still never missed the chance to visit Jungkook whenever school wasn’t too hectic, and whenever days passed without seeing you, he would be the one visiting instead. 

At first, you tried giving him space because of the boards, but Jungkook always insisted on meeting somehow. Like your presence alone kept him going. Like every sleepless night, every exhausting study session, and every struggle he endured became worth it the second he saw your smile waiting for him at the end of the day. 

Only sleepovers of course is where he drawled the line.

Sometimes, while staring at blueprints and thick documents until dawn, Jungkook would imagine finally succeeding, finally becoming the best engineer he could be, earning enough money to spoil his baby with everything you wanted. And somehow, those thoughts alone were enough to keep him going.

At twenty-one and twenty-six, both of you had changed so much from the children you once were. 

The boyish softness he used to carry had long disappeared, replaced by tattoos and piercings that contrasted almost unfairly against the intelligent image everyone had of him. 

His once lean frame broadened into toned muscles that stretched beneath his shirts, shoulders wider now, veins more prominent across his hands and arms. The boy who once ate lollipops while building legos now smoked cigarettes absentmindedly after stressful nights at work. 

And the engineering student who used to stay awake studying until sunrise had officially become the topnotcher everyone admired.

You still remembered the exact moment he first mentioned wanting his arms decorated. You used to tease him constantly for being such a nerd, especially with his glasses, organized notes and old obsession with building legos. 

Which was exactly why you nearly choked in surprise the first time he casually mentioned wanting tattoos and piercings.

“Huh? Really?” you immediately sat up straighter from the picnic mat, staring at him with wide eyes.

The two of you were spending the afternoon at the park, sunlight pouring warmly across the grass while snacks and drinks were scattered around your little picnic setup. Jungkook looked unfairly handsome sitting there beneath the sun, sleeves pushed slightly upward, dark hair messy from the breeze, soft eyes following your every move.

“Yeah,” he answered casually. “I also plan on getting piercings.” he tilted his head, waiting for your opinion.

“You are not serious,” you gasped loudly, quickly scooting closer towards him in disbelief.

Jungkook glanced down instinctively the moment your body moved closer to his. You were wearing a short pastel sundress perfect for the sunny weather, your hair tied into a loose side braid while your glossy lips formed into the cutest pout he had ever seen.

He swallowed harshly before quickly looking away. Sometimes it genuinely amazed him how you could still sit this close to him so innocently while he struggled to keep his thoughts clean.

“And tattoos?” you continued dramatically, eyes sparkling with excitement now. “Like… what kind? This is bomb info, Koo. Thought you were too nerdy for that.” you teased.

The thing is, he never forgot that moment—the time you were shopping for toys and spotted a limited-edition Ken doll with sleeve tattoos, immediately saying how good Ken would look beside Barbie. His little child mind, his wide doe eyes, quietly took that in and stored it somewhere deep. 

And somewhere in that simple, fleeting comment, his stupid lego heart decided that when he grew up, he wanted tattoos too.

So Jungkook would look good beside his Y/N.

Jungkook pouted slightly at your teasing. “Thought they looked pretty,” he admitted shyly. “I think I want my arms decorated.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “That’s a baddie move right there!” you giggled.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his right arm excitedly, examining it carefully like you were already planning the tattoos yourself. 

Jungkook stared down at your smaller hands wrapped around his arm, heart beating strangely harder inside his chest while your soft perfume drifted towards him beneath the warm summer air.

He bit his lower lip, staring at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You think I’ll look good with them?” he drawled lazily.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Course you will! You’ll be a baddie nerd,” you teased, fingers lightly grazing the muscles of his arm.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly softened at your touch, his gaze growing hazier by the second. Not because he was tired, but because you were intoxicating him again. 

“Stop calling me a nerd,” he groaned, though there wasn’t a single ounce of annoyance in his voice. If anything, his tone sounded far too fond to be offended.

“You are,” you giggled immediately, poking his cheek playfully. “You’re so smart. My smart Koo.”

Before he could respond, you suddenly stole the glasses off his face, laughing to yourself while slipping them onto your own nose. The prescription immediately blurred your vision, making you squint dramatically while Jungkook stared at you in complete adoration.

“Hello,” you mimicked in a deeper voice, trying to imitate him. “I’m Jungkook and I love math.”

You burst into laughter at your own joke while Jungkook only watched you. God, you looked so cute wearing his glasses.

“Baby, stop it,” he chuckled softly, finally reaching towards you to take them back.

You quickly leaned away from him with another laugh, refusing to give them up. Jungkook sighed through a smile before grabbing your waist without thinking, pulling you closer against him, wrapping his arms around your waist while you squealed in surprise.

“Koo!” you giggled loudly, twisting your body away so he couldn’t reach your face. But in the motion, your neck tilted back, your throat exposed right in front of him.

His eyes narrowed, staring at the soft skin of your neck as he bit his lower lip hard, leaning in closer… his pointed nose slowly grazed your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Fuck.

“You smell good,” he whispered, already distracted.

Since you and Jungkook were close, you didn’t think much of it, still giggling as you tried to dodge him, unconsciously giving him more access to your neck. “Koo! That tickles.”

He was getting lost in it, inhaling your scent like he was getting addicted, his nose brushing down towards your collarbones. 

You were moving too much, wriggling in his hold, but his hands on your waist only tightened. “Stop moving,” he groaned, now pressing soft kisses along your throat, his nose burying deeper against your skin.

When a soft gasp escaped you, he stopped immediately, like he’d been pulled out of a trance. His jaw tensed as realization hit him, fear flickering across his expression at the thought that he might have made you uncomfortable.

But you were still oblivious, treating it like nothing more than a game so he wouldn’t get his glasses back, unaware that his soft kisses had already crossed a line—no longer innocent like the soft shallow kisses you shared when you were little.

“Let’s go home,” he suddenly muttered, gently pushing you away from him while clearing his throat. 

“What?” your giggles slowly faded, confusion replacing the smile on your face. “Why?”

You carefully removed his glasses from your face, leaning closer to place them back on him properly, but Jungkook instinctively moved back slightly before you could.

Your expression fell immediately.

“A-Are you mad?” you asked quietly, lips forming into a small frown.

Jungkook swallowed harshly at the sight. “I’m not,” he answered quickly, taking the glasses from your hands this time before putting them back on himself.

But your frown only deepened. “Then why do you suddenly wanna go home?” you asked, sadness creeping into your tone so naturally.

Jungkook nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

Wanted to pin you down against the picnic mat beneath the warm sunlight and lose himself completely in you. His body was reacting so badly to you that it was becoming painful to sit this close without crossing boundaries he had no right crossing.

Still, even while it was slowly killing him, Jungkook reached for your hand again. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your palm, the familiar motion instantly soothing you the way it always did.

“I don’t,” he sighed quietly. “I just-” 

“Don’t be mad, Koo… please?” you murmured softly, tilting your head slightly to peek at his face while your eyes stayed focused on his hands holding yours.

Fuck. He was so hard.

“I’m not,” he groaned, trying to smile at you despite the chaos inside him. “You know I won’t get mad at my baby.”

Piercings and tattoos suited Jungkook almost unfairly well. He looked more manly now, sharper in a way that made people stare a second too long without realizing it. 

The ink on his right arm wrapped around his skin like it had always belonged there, and the silver piercings he wore caught the light whenever he moved, subtle flashes that only made his presence more noticeable. The lip ring sat against his lower lip in a way that somehow emphasized his natural pout, softening the intensity of his face just enough to be dangerous. And yet, despite all of it, he still wore his glasses when he needed to work, the familiar frames making him look serious and composed while his eyes still carried the same quiet shine they always had when you were kids.

After passing the boards, everything had changed quickly for him. Phone calls from companies came one after another, clients stacking up so fast it barely gave him time to breathe. Within a short span of time, Jungkook had saved enough to buy a brand new house for his parents, choosing to live alone in his childhood home afterward. 

It was almost ironic, how the boy who once built lego structures on a small table was now designing real ones for a living, turning imagination into something tangible and permanent.

Not realizing he wasn’t just building things with his hands—but quietly building a lego heart of his own while watching you grow, piece by piece, until you became the only design that ever made sense.

On his first payday, he didn’t think twice about how to spend it. He took you out to your favorite restaurant, the same one you used to mention randomly in passing, and spoiled you with gifts you didn’t even ask for. 

Because that was always his dream in the end. 

At twenty-one, you had stayed mostly the same… still girly, still drawn to pastel pinks and soft colors, still wearing dresses that made you look like you stepped out of a memory he refused to forget. Your body had also changed in ways that made you more aware of yourself, curves developing naturally and beautifully.

In college, people noticed you too. A lot of them, actually. 

Guys who tried a little too hard to make you laugh, to impress you, to take up space in your attention the way they wanted. You went on dates here and there, curious more than anything, but none of them ever stuck. 

None of them ever felt right.

You were laying on Jungkook’s bed while he worked at his desk, fingers playing with his pillows as you babbled about college life. 

About lectures, assignments, and then, eventually, about the guys who kept asking you out.

“He's not even bad, I guess,” you said with a small shrug, “just… kind of clingy? I tried to give him a shot cause he's kinda cute you know.” you giggled.

Jungkook had always been the one person you could talk to without filtering your words, without rehearsing your tone or worrying how you sounded. 

So you kept going, still unaware of the way his pen had slowed in his hand, or how his gaze had subtly shifted towards you instead of the papers and laptop on his desk.

He didn’t interrupt you. Instead, he just listened, nodding occasionally, offering soft hums at the right moments like he always knew how to make you feel heard. 

He didn’t want to hold you back. You weren’t his. 

Instead, Jungkook kept his distance exactly where it needed to be.

He even asked questions sometimes—small ones, careful ones—because he wanted to understand, wanted to know what kind of people were entering your life. 

Not to control it. Never to control it. Just to make sure you were okay. To make sure no one hurt you.

And every time you smiled about something new, every time you tried something different, he swallowed whatever it did to him and smiled back.

Because loving you, for him, had never been about possession.

It’s about standing at the edge of something he desperately wanted to step into, and choosing not to, again and again, because you deserved freedom more than you deserved him holding you too tightly.

Even when it hurts.

“Do you plan on going on a date with him again?” he rasped, eyes still fixed on his laptop even though the words on the screen had long stopped making sense. 

You rolled your eyes. “No! Like I said, he’s so clingy,” you groaned dramatically, turning onto your side. “He kept texting me during class too. And he was kinda touchy.”

Jungkook froze, Touchy.

He raised a brow, slowly… he turned his swivel chair away from his desk to face you fully.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

You blinked, sitting up a little on his bed and smoothing out your pleated skirt. “Huh? Which part?”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face. His expression was unreadable now, serious in a way that made your teasing mood falter slightly.

“Touchy?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue. 

He knew you had never had a boyfriend. 

Picky in your own quiet way, always rejecting people politely, never really giving anyone the chance to stay. 

That was something he had always told himself was a good thing. But there was one thing you told him once that lingered longer than it should have.

Your first kiss. 

You had laughed it off back then, saying it was just stolen during a stupid drinking game in high school, something meaningless, something you didn’t even care about anymore. But Jungkook had gone still in a way you didn’t notice fully at the time. And after that night, the thought never really left him.

The first broken lego piece in his heart.

Jungkook never acted on it. Because he knew where the line was, even if it blurred more and more every time he looked at you. 

Every time he imagined someone else touching you, his mind would go blank for a second, like something inside him short-circuited and restarted wrong. 

His love that was freeing, turning into something selfish and possessive. 

Jungkook knows that he was no better.

Even if he acted like the responsible one, the always-focused engineering nerd with books and goals, there were parts of him he couldn’t control. 

The desires, the sexual frustration, the way he had nowhere to put everything he was feeling for you. 

So he let it out elsewhere… hard, rough and merciless—like he was always unsatisfied. Because no matter what he did, no matter who he fucks, it was never you.

“Well...y-yeah, I thought it was sweet since he seems to be very kind and perfect,” you started, shifting slightly on his bed as you tried to recall your date earlier. “But it was starting to get irritating—”

“Where did he touch you?” Jungkook cut in sharply.

His tone made you pause immediately. You blinked at him, a little stunned by how fast and firm it came out. “Uh… just my thighs—”

He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw tightening like he was trying to hold something back.

At your bratty age, you had tried to explore, you would let them kiss you, let them touch you a little, only when you thought there was something there—some special connection, some feeling that made it worth it. But it always disappeared too quickly, leaving you bored, unimpressed, or just… disconnected.

And sometimes, in the quiet parts of your mind, a small thought would surface.

Why had no one ever truly impressed you? Why did everything feel like it was missing something you couldn’t name?

But you always pushed it away.

Because growing up, it had always been Jungkook.

What you didn’t know, what you never really saw—was that Jungkook had already fallen long before you ever started trying to figure yourself out.

He ended up fucking every women who looked like echoes of you—same powdery scent, similar hair length and color, soft features that almost resembled yours if he stared long enough. He didn’t realize it at the time, how every fling carried traces of you in them, like he was trying and failing to recreate something he couldn’t replace. He never stayed long enough for anything serious. Because none of them were you.

His lego hearts were never complete without you filling them.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

You blinked slowly when his gaze dropped to your thighs again, his eyes lingering a little too long, scanning like he was replaying something in his head. Instinctively, you tugged your plaid skirt down a bit more, suddenly aware of your own body in a way you weren’t before.

“Kookie—”

“Were you uncomfortable?” he asked, voice strained.

His hand came up to his temple, rubbing slowly as if he was trying to steady himself, jaw tightening slightly. You could see it in him clearly now—the tension he always tried to hide whenever it came to you.

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

“Come here.”

You hesitated for a second, then slowly walked towards him. “I swear, Koo, I’m fine—”

“You know what to do when you don’t want something, right?” he sighed, voice lower now, almost careful, like he was choosing every word with restraint.

He reached for your hand, holding it gently before squeezing them. Like he was trying to calm himself through the contact just as much as he was trying to calm you.

“Course, I do,” you replied in a small voice.

And you did. Because this wasn’t new.

The same Jungkook who used to patch your scraped knees when you fell in the backyard. 

The same Jungkook who always made sure you weren’t left out when his friends came over. Even if his friends, Jimin or Taehyung teased you too much and made you cry. 

The same Jungkook who would sigh, drag you away from them, wipe your tears with frustrating gentleness, and buy you ice cream like it would fix everything.

Like a good older brother who never let anything truly hurt his little sister.

You would come to Jungkook when something confused you, when something annoyed you, when something made your chest feel too full and you didn’t know where to put it. You would talk, ramble, complain, overthink out loud, and Jungkook would just listen. Always.

He never really stopped you from anything. He never imposed his choices on you in a way that felt forceful or strict. 

Instead, he would give you advice, calm and steady, letting you talk yourself through your own thoughts. And when you reached the end of it, he would always say the same thing.

“As long as my baby’s happy.”

And somehow, every time, you did exactly that.

Neither of you really questioned it. It just felt like balance. Like the dynamic between you had always existed in that shape and was never meant to change.

His quiet dominance, your easy submission to his judgment—it fit too well to ever feel wrong.

“I think red hair would look good on you,” you murmured, sitting beside him as you absentmindedly played with the back of his hair while he stayed focused on your papers.

The two of you were at a quiet library near your school that day. You had told Jungkook you needed help with math, and like always, he gave in without much resistance. He finished his own work earlier than planned just so he could sit with you, his pen already marking through your problems with that effortless confidence that made everything look easy.

“Or maybe blonde again?” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you tugged at a few strands. “Remember when you went blonde?”

Ken Doll. He remembers.

Jungkook let out a low groan. “Do you want me to finish your papers or not?” he reprimanded.

You pouted immediately, leaning back slightly in your seat, your peach-manicured fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. 

A color he had picked for you before.

“I do,” you said softly, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m behaving.”

He raised a brow at you, finally glancing up from your papers. His gaze flickered down for a second—too quick to be casual—landing briefly at your neck before returning to your eyes.

“Then behave,” 

You pouted… but still sat properly, letting out a small huff as you adjusted yourself in your seat.

Jungkook, meanwhile, looked completely absorbed in your work. His thick brows were slightly furrowed behind his glasses as he scanned your notes, lips pressed into a thin line while he analyzed every mistake. He looked older like this…serious, composed, almost intimidating in a quiet way. 

His crisp white long sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, tattoos peeking through with every movement of his hand as he turned the page. Dark slacks fit neatly against his frame, and his hair was styled back with gel, though a few loose strands had fallen onto his forehead anyway, softening the sharpness of his face.

He looked like he had come straight from work without even stopping to breathe.

The lip piercing caught the light whenever he moved, a small glint against his pinkish lips as he exhaled quietly through his nose. 

Everything about him felt controlled, grounded, intentional.

And sitting beside him in your school uniform—white button-down slightly loosened at the collar, plaid skirt resting neatly at your thighs, makeup soft and sparkly pink—you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in the same frame as him. 

Like you were trouble sitting next to something dangerously stable.

“Answer this,” he said finally, sliding a paper towards you.

You frowned immediately, staring at the equations like they had personally offended you. “Huh? I thought you’d answer it for me.”

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek, clearly unimpressed but still patient. “You need to learn. Once you’re done, I’ll check it and teach you how to do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back slightly. “But Koo! It’s hard, my head is literally aching from all these numbers.”

He raised a brow at you, expression flat but not unkind. “How are you going to pass math if I keep answering everything for you?”

“But—”

Your protest died the moment you met his gaze. There was that look again. Calm, firm, unbothered in a way that made it impossible to argue for long.

You sighed dramatically and took the paper anyway. “Fine,” you muttered, already giving in. “But you’re buying me oat latte after this.”

Jungkook’s lips curved slightly, good girl. 

“Only if you get it right,” he raised a brow.

You groaned under your breath and finally focused on the equations, forcing yourself to concentrate.

Most of your homework was done by him, even when math wasn’t even involved.

And whenever Jungkook did try to refuse, you always found a way around it.

You’d show up at his house with his favorite ice cream, lingering by the doorway like you weren’t already certain he would let you in. 

Sometimes you’d lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, gentle and quick, like it meant nothing at all. Other times, you’d just look at him with those puppy eyes of yours—smiling in a way that made it seem like he was the only thing in your world.

And Jungkook would always fold. Every single time.

It didn’t even feel like a decision anymore. It was instinct. The way his expression would soften the moment you appeared. The way his shoulders would loosen, like all the tension he carried everywhere else had nowhere to stay when you were near. 

If you asked him for the stars, he would’ve probably tried to figure out a way to reach them.

He didn’t just like you. He prioritized you. 

You were very spoiled. Jungkook’s hard-earned money always ended up on you—whenever he got his salary, he would immediately take you out for a nice dinner, shop for clothes and makeup you liked, buy your favorite cheesecake, get you more books—everything you wanted, and half the things you didn’t even realize you wanted yet.

It made you happy. Every time you showed up at school with a new bag or a new pair of shoes, your friends already knew Jungkook had bought them for you. Every time you got perfect scores, they would roll their eyes, assuming it was because of Jungkook’s help and hard work behind it.

At first, your friends were very nice to you—almost overly so. They tried to get close quickly, always lingering around you, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes. 

And it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Because they noticed Jungkook first.

They would see him picking you up from school in his black shiny Cadillac, the kind of car that made people turn their heads. They would watch his tall, lean figure step out, his arms decorated with tattoos that became more visible when he rolled his sleeves up, silver piercings catching the light, jet-black hair neatly styled, and sharp honey doe eyes that softened the second they landed on you.

Sometimes he would smoke a cigarette while waiting, immediately putting it down when he saw you coming. He wasn’t someone people could ignore. Not with the way he looked, and not with the way he carried himself.

And when they found out he wasn’t just good-looking but also the top engineer in town, already successful and earning far beyond most people his age, their curiosity shifted into something heavier. So they stayed close to you—not always for you, but for the possibility of him.

Then, when they finally realized you weren’t related, everything changed. 

The smiles faded just slightly, the energy dropped, shoulders slacking like something they thought they could reach had suddenly been pulled away. It was subtle, but you felt it. That quiet shift in how they looked at you, like you had become the reason they couldn’t get closer to him.

From there, the judgment slowly followed. To them, you were just a spoiled girl, someone using Jungkook for attention, comfort, or material things. Something easy to label rather than understand. And over time, that assumption hardened into quiet resentment.

But you were never trying to be anything more complicated than you were. You were kind in a way that came naturally, warm without effort, too soft to notice when someone’s intentions weren’t pure. You didn’t see the resentment clearly, because you were too friendly, too open, too willing to believe the best in people. And that very same softness made it easy for others to either like you quickly… or envy you just as fast.

“Another bag?” Sana raised a brow at you the moment you walked into the classroom, eyes landing immediately on the new pink bag hanging from your arm.

You grinned without hesitation, completely unbothered by their stares. “Yes! It matches my nails, see?” you said excitedly, holding your hand out so they could see your freshly done manicure.

Your friends leaned in slightly, but the look in their eyes wasn’t as excited as yours. It was something sharper…envy, carefully disguised under curiosity.

“Was your nails paid by Jungkook?” Riri asked, her tone slipping into something almost accusatory.

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “Yup,” you admitted. “I accidentally told him I needed a fresh set, so…”

Over the weekend, Jungkook told you he had just received his pay. You always told him to save it—a detail your friends didn’t know…but he still insisted on treating you to dinner, telling you not to worry and to just buy whatever you wanted.

In passing, you mentioned your nails, how you wanted a fresh set for the upcoming semestral break. You didn’t mean it as a hint for him to pay; you always tended to babble randomly around Jungkook.

But then he immediately handed you his card.

“Koo, you don’t have to…” you pouted, though your smile was already forming before you even finished the sentence.

Jungkook didn’t even answer you properly. His large hand simply took yours, fingers warm and steady as he guided you through the mall. 

“What design are you gonna get?” he asked once you reached the nail salon.

You pouted, “Maybe flowers? what color do you prefer?” you asked now, giggling as you showed him your hands cutely.

He didn’t even hesitate. He always leaned toward soft, pastel tones for you, like he already knew what would look best on you before you even decided.

Light pink.

You nodded immediately when he said it, already excited again, rambling about adding tiny hearts and small details on top. Jungkook just watched you softly, expression unreadable in a way you didn’t notice, before he glanced away and told you he’d walk around for a bit while you got your nails done.

You blinked. That was new.

Because usually, when you were in treatment or stuck in a salon chair for hours, Jungkook would be waiting for you nearby. Either waiting on the couch or answering work calls outside the salon.

But this time, he left.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” you smiled at the staff, not surprised when they told you everything had already been paid for. That part was normal by now. Sometimes you even tried to sneak and pay yourself, but it never worked. Jungkook always stayed one step ahead of you.

When you stepped out later, freshly done nails drying as you adjusted your bag, you were about to text Jungkook when you suddenly saw him coming.

A little distance away with multiple paper bags in his hands.

Your eyes widened instantly. Jungkook lifted the bags slightly when he noticed you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked closer.

“Done with your nails, baby?” he asked softly, eyes briefly dropping to your hands like he was checking them properly.

“What’s that?” you asked, voice already shaky, excitement mixing with confusion as your heart started to pick up.

He handed you the paper bags, and you immediately looked inside, your heart thumping when you realized he had bought everything you had been eyeing earlier—the bag, the clothes, the makeup… it was all in there.

“Koo…” you said weakly, your voice trembling the moment you realized he really bought everything, even the lipstick you had only tried on for fun.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your face buried itself against his neck, hiding away like you didn’t want him to see how emotional you were getting. 

“Thank you,” you muffled against his skin, your cheeks burning from how overwhelming it all felt.

Jungkook buying you things wasn’t new. It happened often enough that you were used to it by now. 

But this felt different. 

Because you had told him earlier you didn’t need anything. You had insisted you already had enough—bags, shoes, books still brand new at home. You had tried to sound firm about it too.

And for once, Jungkook had actually listened. Or at least, you thought he had.

Because instead of arguing like he usually would, he had simply taken you to all your favorite stores anyway. Letting you walk around, letting your eyes wander, letting you stop for a second too long at things you pretended not to want. You kept telling yourself you were just window shopping. That you didn’t need anything. That you were being responsible.

But Jungkook was watching you closely, knows what his sweet girl wanted. 

He was unintentionally making you fall harder for him. 

Your young, innocent heart once again threatened to climb his walls. Without realizing that you were already standing too close to where you belonged.

Jungkook chuckled lowly at your reaction, smiling when you clung to him a little too tightly, like you didn’t want to let go yet. His hands gripping your waist in place.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice close to your ear.

You finally loosened your grip just a little, pulling back enough to look at him. Your eyes were still wide and sparkling, cheeks flushed pink, lips slightly parted like you were still trying to process everything.

“I… I’m so happy,” you whispered.

His gaze softened immediately, heavy-lidded eyes dropping briefly to your lips before lifting back up to your face.

“Really,” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer again, just enough that there was no space left between you.

You nodded quickly. “So happy, Koo…”

The following school week, you showed up to class with the new bag already in use, carefully placed on the chair beside you. Your nails were freshly done too, and every time you looked at them you couldn’t help but think of Jungkook. 

“You almost have a new bag every month, do you even know how much that costs?” Nayeon said, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at you with raised brows.

You couldn’t even argue with that. It was true. 

Every month, it was either a new bag or a new pair of shoes, sometimes both.

“And those are branded,” Sana added. “I know Jungkook has a good job, but don’t you think that’s… too much?”

There was concern in her voice, but not really for you.

For him.

To your friends, it looked like he was just spoiling you. Babying you because you were childhood friends, because your families were close.

And from the outside, it probably did look like that.

Like you were simply receiving too much. Like you were just letting it happen.

But what they didn’t see was that Jungkook never hesitated when it came to you. Never treated it like a burden. Never acted like it was something he was losing from.

If anything, it was the opposite. And that was the part you couldn’t explain to them.

Because they only saw what he gave. Not what he felt when he gave it.

“If you keep on doing that, I won’t be surprised if he grows tired of you,” Riri said, shaking her head as her gaze dropped briefly to your bag like it had suddenly become something unpleasant.

The words didn’t land softly. Tired of you.

“That won’t happen,” you said quickly, a little too quickly, like saying it out loud would make it true.

But your friends didn’t look convinced. They rolled their eyes almost in sync.

“Even if you’re close, he’ll still grow tired of you eventually,” Sana added. “Especially if it’s always like that. He’s probably just too nice to say no to you.”

“I honestly feel bad for him,” Riri agreed, leaning back in her chair. “Those things he’s buying? Gosh, he could probably buy a new car already. Everything’s branded!"

The laughter that followed wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It sat somewhere in between—light enough to pass as a joke, heavy enough to stick.

You stayed quiet. Because for the first time, the thought didn’t bounce off you like it usually did.

The dresses hanging in your closet. The bags lined neatly on your shelves. The shoes you barely had reason to wear but still owned anyway. The perfumes that smelled like soft powder and familiarity. The little pieces of gold jewelry he had given you on birthdays without fail.

All of it. All from him.

Your friends kept talking, but their voices blurred into the background. You tried to smile at lunch, tried to pretend you were fine, tried to focus on your notes later like you always did when your mind got loud.

But it kept coming back anyway.

What if he gets tired of you? What if he’s just too nice to say it? 

You were so used to Jungkook spoiling you that it took you a while to even recognize the thought creeping in—maybe you were too much. Maybe you were asking for too much without meaning to. And once that idea settled, it didn’t just sit quietly. It spread.

The possibility that he might look at you one day and feel burdened? That the person you trusted most might start seeing you as a responsibility instead of someone he chose?

That possibility hurt more than anything else.

Because even though, deep down, you knew Jungkook wouldn’t easily do something like that… you were still afraid.

So for the following weeks, you changed.

You stopped calling him for help with your assignments. You stopped texting him every small thing that happened in your day. You tried to answer things on your own, figure things out without leaning on him, even when your first instinct was to reach for him.

You were trying, quietly and stubbornly, to be less.

And Jungkook noticed.

At first, he convinced himself you were just busy. School, friends, life—it made sense. He told himself not to read too much into it, not to assume anything, not to disturb you.

But then it continued.

“It’s okay, Koo. I swear I can do it by myself,” you said over the phone one night when he had offered to come over and help you with your assignment.

Jungkook paused at that, leaning back in his chair, one hand still resting near his laptop. He had just finished working overtime, exhaustion still sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“You sure, baby?” he asked more carefully this time. “What is it about? Maybe I can help.”

Three weeks.

It hadn’t even been that long. Not for most people.

But for you and Jungkook, it felt different.

Because since you were seven years old, you had always been there. Always reaching out. Always calling. Always texting. Even during vacations, even during trips, even during the smallest moments of the day—you were part of each other’s rhythm.

And he was used to it. Used to you.

He missed you in a way he didn’t really know how to admit, even to himself. Sometimes he would catch himself checking his phone in the middle of meetings, expecting your name to appear out of habit, confused when it didn’t.

But more than that, he was starting to overthink.

Because he didn’t want to come off as clingy. He remembered what you had said about your dates before. So he held back.

But you holding back too? That didn’t feel right.

Because you were never like that with him. 

Always and exceptionally, his sweet clingy girl.

His frustration was leading him to pump his cock every night. After going home from work, he would lie down on the bed still wearing his glasses, not bothering to change his clothes or remove his silver wristwatch. With a grunt, he would pull out his cock from his dark slacks, spitting on his tip in frustration, pumping it hard and fast with the thought of you. 

“Fuck, what’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, squeezing the tip of his cock to coax out more precum. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he imagines burying himself between your thighs, determined to eat your wet pussy until you finally tell him what’s been bothering you.

He wanted to please you so badly, kiss your problems away, wanted to fuck you so hard that all your pretty little head would think about was him.

The one-night stands and occasional hookups were not giving him a proper release. He would push the other girls’ heads down harshly on his cock so he wouldn’t see their faces, always fucking them from behind so he could imagine it was you. He would bend their bodies into positions that would make him think it was your sweet little body he was fucking. He always had the stamina to go for multiple rounds because his cock was always so hard even after he came, his mushroom tip pulsing and leaking for you. 

It was so bad, so sinful, so dirty.

He wanted to know what was wrong, the urge to tie you down with his chains growing stronger. Yet he was afraid to do that to you, afraid to scare his precious little girl.

“No need, Koo, it’s an easy project. Besides, I have a girl’s date tomorrow so I kinda need to prepare,” you said in a small voice. That was a lie—you didn’t have a girls’ date tomorrow… but you’d rather stay at home than see him.

For the past weeks, he had noticed that he didn’t receive any of your random texts anymore, your silly calls for help with assignments, your usual chocolate chip cookies whenever you stopped by his house, or your clinginess to convince him to sleep over even when he would always decline.

The fact that you were going out with your friends this weekend was also very unusual. Although you still spent time with friends and other people occasionally, three weeks without seeing him at all, felt odd.

The chains of possessiveness wrapped around him once again.

“Can I at least stop by to see you tonight?” he almost pleaded. “I miss my baby.”

You shut your eyes tight, clutching your phone in your hands at his words. The wild beating of your heart betrayed you.

“I m-miss you too, Koo. But… maybe next time. I’m really busy,” you reasoned, hoping he would just drop it and let it go.

Jungkook groaned. Your sweet “I miss you” went straight to his cock, his jaw ticking in frustration as he loosened his black tie to regulate his breathing.

“Koo?” you said nervously when he didn’t answer, biting your lip hard when he stayed silent on the line.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his serious tone almost making you jump.

It was Friday, and you were rotting in your room. In fact, you had no piled-up projects or assignments due because you finished them all just to preoccupy your mind from Jungkook. 

The urge to disturb him and spend time with him was strong, but you wanted to prove to yourself and your friends that you were not using him. You were wasting a perfectly boring Friday lying on your bed while thinking about… Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“I-I’m in my room, why?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Huh? Koo, you can’t—”

He dropped the call.

Your eyes widened when you realized he would actually come here. 

You quickly scanned your room, sighing in relief when you remembered you cleaned your mess yesterday. Standing up, you looked at yourself in the mirror—your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit messy from lying down, wearing matching ruffled short shorts and a pastel pink spaghetti strap top. You leaned closer, checking if you should apply lip gloss or not.

“Ugh, why am I panicking! it’s just Kookie,” you grunted, pacing around your room, a bit excited that you would finally see him after a long while.

You brushed your hair, cringing when you applied a little bit of lip balm, debating if you should change your clothes or if you would look stupid for getting ready too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone beeped with a text.

Kookie: Do you want anything? I can bring you something to eat.

A loud squeal came out of your lips, and you immediately placed your palm over your mouth in case your mom would come check if you suddenly fainted or something. You read the text over and over again like it would change its meaning.

“This is the reason why no one compares to you, ugh!” you groaned to yourself, comparing his sweet gesture once again to all the boys you had tried dating.

You were about to reply when another text came in, not from him but from your good friend Hoseok, also a guy who had expressed his feelings for you before, which you rejected. He was good-looking, kind and sweet, but with his radiating energy and personality, you only saw him as a friend. You were glad he didn’t take the rejection seriously, though… sometimes he acted a bit too sweet with you.

Hoseok: hEY CUTIE! I’m downstairs!!!! Let’s hang out!

“What the fuck?!” your eyes widened immediately, rushing to the bedroom window only to see Hoseok outside your house, waving at you with a bright freaking smile.

You rushed downstairs and quickly opened the door, ready to scold him, but he only laughed at you.

“Hobi! What are you doing here? It’s late!” you hissed, grabbing his arm to shake some sense into him.

He only smiled brightly, laughing at your panicking tone. “Chill, it’s only like… 9 PM? Besides, it’s Friday! Let’s go out!”

You shook your head. Although he was very sweet and it wasn’t really bad to go out with him, you didn’t want Jungkook to see him here. The fact that you had just told him you were busy and now you had a friend over would make you look so bad.

“I can’t, Hobi- I-I have stuff to do,” you said, pulling his arm again, almost shaking it.

He rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become so boring? Unless…”

His eyes squinted as he leaned closer to your face. “Do you finally have a boyfriend coming over?”

“Hoseok!” your ears turned red. You were about to push him away when you suddenly saw a familiar black Cadillac pulling over.

Jungkook opened the driver’s seat door, his dark eyes immediately landing on your small hands holding Hoseok’s arm.

You gulped harshly and pushed Hoseok away. The way Jungkook looked at you made you feel small—his dark eyes slowly dragging over your exposed skin. In your panic earlier, you didn’t bother changing out of your sleepwear since you rushed out to scold your friend.

“Uhh, I think I should go.” Hoseok chuckled nervously, stepping aside when he saw Jungkook’s serious glare on him. The way Jungkook’s jaw tightened made it look like he could punch Hoseok at any moment.

With a bright, awkward smile, he quickly left, leaving the two of you alone.

Jungkook stepped closer, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “You were busy, huh?” Jealousy dripped from his tone.

“Koo—”

“Are you dating him?”

“What? No, he’s just a friend,” you panicked.

He raised a thick brow at you, stepping dangerously close and invading your personal space, leaning down to whisper near your ear.

“Then why was he leaning this close to you, hmm?” he mocked, his nose grazing your neck.

Hoseok had been close to your face earlier, but not like this. 

Jungkook’s hands circling your waist, pulling you closer until you could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of cigarette, a sign that he only smoked when he was either bored or stressed.

“He wasn’t, Koo, I swear…” you pleaded, your hands clutching his shirt.

You gasped when he softly bit your neck, his hands gripping your hips.

“How about me? Would you let me be this close to you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with heat, rational thoughts flying out of the window.

You nodded almost immediately, eyes soft. “O-Of course, Koo.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and faint. “Yeah?” he asked, gaze lifting to meet yours for a brief moment before dropping again. “Why is that?”

“Cause you’re my K-Kookie,” you said shyly, the words coming out smaller than you intended, but honest in a way that left no room for pretending. It wasn’t just habit when you called him that—it was attachment, something that had grown with you over the years without you even realizing how deep it had become.

He groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. “Yeah? Then why are you avoiding your Kookie, hmm?” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your neck. “Been thinking if I did something wrong baby,” he grunted against you, inhaling your soft scent.

“I’m s-sorry… I just thought you’d get tired of me,” you said quietly, voice breaking as your eyes began to glass over. “I always cling to you Koo… relying on you like this.”

Jungkook stiffened, the fact that you would think about something like that pained him, when all he wanted was for you to cling onto him, to rely on him, to stay close to him.

His gaze lifted slowly, and the moment he saw your face properly—the way your lips trembled, the way you were trying so hard not to cry—it hit him harder than anything else.

“Who put that thought in your pretty little head, baby?” he asked softly, but there was a quiet firmness underneath it, like he didn’t even want the idea to exist. His thumb reached up instinctively, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You know that’s not true.”

You sniffled, trying to breathe through it. “I-I know… I just got scared because…” your voice cracked again, and you hesitated, fingers curling slightly as you looked away for a second before forcing yourself to continue. “B-Because I really like you… and I don’t want that to happen.”

Fuck.

Suddenly, there were bricks in your hands you didn’t remember picking up… stacking themselves, one after another, forming something warm, terrifying and inevitable.

Your small hands reached for him then, hesitantly tugging at his shirt like you needed him closer just to feel steady again.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, something tightening in his chest at the sight of you trying so hard to hold onto him while thinking he might let go.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, pulling you closer. “I like you too,” he said softly, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it.

Your glossy eyes widened, the legos he was trying to build were now finally coming together.

Like your hands had been there all along, quietly sorting through the scattered pieces he didn’t know how to organize, fitting them into gaps he didn’t even realize were empty. 

And Jungkook just looked at you—really looked at you—like something in him had finally stopped pretending too.

Your mother had been pleasantly surprised when she saw him walk in, quickly turning into the kind of delighted smile she always had whenever Jungkook came around. After all, it wasn’t often that he visited you directly anymore—you were usually the one going to him.

The two of them ended up talking for a bit downstairs, catching up on things in that familiar, comfortable way that made it feel like he had never really stopped visiting your home.

And then, eventually, you brought him upstairs.

You were sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed, bunny plushie on your lap while Jungkook stood near your shelves, quietly taking in the changes in your room. It looked different from the last time he had properly paid attention to it—more grown, more you, but still carrying little traces of the little girl he grew up with.

After earlier, your heart wouldn’t slow down, panic lingering beneath your skin at how intimate his presence felt in your room now.

He felt like he was finally your Ken now, but to you, he was the dinosaur to your barbie.

“You still have this,” he said softly, a small smile forming on his face when he picked up the small dinosaur he gave you when you were little.

It was cute, a pink little dinosaur he saw in the mall and gave it to you as a small gift for your eleventh birthday. It was sitting beside your bookshelf, along with some of your favorite books that were given by him.

You let out a small giggle, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. “I actually still have some of your dinosaurs in my storage box,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t throw them away.”

That made him pause. 

He stopped looking around the room and turned his full attention back to you. His dark eyes drifted over your figure, taking in the way your short sleepwear softly clung to your body. 

The gentle curve of your breasts, the softness of your thighs and the bunny plushie resting in your lap—the one you insisted looked just like him.

Jungkook swallowed harshly, tilting his head to regulate his thoughts. “Then why is this the only one out here?” he asked, raising a brow slightly while pointing at your pink dinosaur.

You let out a small giggle, putting your bunny aside and swinging your legs a little where you sat. “That’s my favorite. You gave it to me on my birthday, and it’s pink!”

There was something warm in your voice when you said it, something soft and nostalgic that made it feel less like you were talking about a toy and more like you were talking about a memory you had kept safe all this time.

Jungkook’s gaze softened for a second. 

His cheeks picked up the faintest dust of pink, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking closely. His tongue brushed briefly against his lip ring out of habit as his eyes stayed on you, growing heavier-lidded the longer he looked.

Jungkook took a step closer, the space between you shrank without either of you really acknowledging it, like it was becoming natural to be near each other again in a way that felt different from before.

His hand lifted gently, fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of care that didn’t match how intense his gaze had become. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t fully aware he said it out loud.

You looked up at him, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, your lips parting on instinct.

“Sometimes I still play with them,” you said shyly. “but not like before, I just… talk to them sometimes.”

‘’You do?’’ His brow lifted slightly, but this time there was something darker flickering behind his gaze—interest, amusement, and unadulterated desire.

You nodded, giggling under his touch. “Yeah, I kinda find them cuter than barbies now.”

He shifted his weight, stepping even closer until his hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, holding you there gently but firmly, like he wanted to make sure you stayed exactly where you were.

“Hmm, I miss playing with you.” he drawled lazily, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair.

You smiled, innocently nodding your head. “Me too!’’

He sat down on the bed, a tiny gasp escaping your lips when he easily lifted your body until you were straddling him. The way he moved you so effortlessly sent a shiver down your spine, both of your hands landing on his shoulders for balance.

“Yeah?” he whispered, leaning in to press a small peck against your lips.

Your eyes widened. It was so quick, so light, like a feather brushing against your lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you noticed how dilated his pupils were.

“Was that okay?” he rasped.

You blinked, and then, slowly, a small smile formed on your lips. Leaning in, you cutely pressed a soft kiss to his lips in return.

“Okay,” you giggled, your eyes sparkling.

Lego butterflies erupted on his stomach.

Jungkook took his sweet time with you. His kisses were slow, shallow, and soft, as though he was waiting for you to feel comfortable. When your lips parted slightly, he slowly slipped his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your lower lip and earning a soft whimper from you.

The moment he felt your body relax against him, he deepened the kiss, his brows furrowing as his hands tightened around your waist to keep you steady.

Your breath caught in your throat, the cool metal of his lip ring brushing deliciously against your bottom lip, slick with saliva every time his mouth moved against yours. Whenever soft sounds escaped you, he swallowed them instantly, kissing you deeper as if he couldn't get enough. The wet glide of his tongue against yours became the only sound filling the room.

“Koo…” you murmured softly, your fingers gripping his white long sleeves, a reminder that he had come straight from work.

When he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva lingered between your lips for a brief moment before snapping. His lips were flushed and slightly swollen, mirroring your own, while his glasses sat faintly fogged from the warmth of your shared breath. And when your eyes met his, the dark intensity in his gaze made your heart stutter.

You giggled shyly and reached up to remove his glasses.

“It’s foggy,” you pouted, your cheeks warming as you held them in your hands.

Using the hem of your top, you carefully wiped the fog from his glasses. You were just about to place them back on his face when he suddenly leaned in and kissed you again.

The way he advanced so fast, like you were the cure to his hunger…it made you wet.

This time, the kiss was needier—hungrier. His tongue slipped past your lips as though he was chasing something, as though you were the only thing capable of satisfying it.

He kissed you with a newfound urgency, flicking his tongue against yours, no longer slow or shallow. Saliva gathered at the corner of your mouth as he deepened the kiss, turning it messy and overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

You were still clutching his glasses loosely in your hand, but your grip tightened every time he pulled you closer, his tongue coaxing yours into the kiss again and again.

It still wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair at the nape of your neck before tugging gently—just enough to tilt your head back and draw a soft gasp from your lips.

“Koo…” you breathed shakily, trying to catch your breath.

“Open your lips wider,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and low. “Wanna kiss you more.”

Your thoughts were already turning hazy, your body warm beneath his touch. When you hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair, the edge of his wristwatch pressing against your nape and pulling another gasp from you. Before you could gather your thoughts, he kissed you again, his tongue moving against yours before pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth.

The way he alternated between sucking and biting made heat spread heavily through your body, your mind blurring more with every passing second. Your chest rose unevenly as you tried to steady yourself.

“Kookie-” you tried again, weaker this time.

He finally hummed in response, like he heard you but didn’t fully intend to stop. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, trailing slow kisses downward while his hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head slightly to expose more of your neck to him.

“Wanna play with you,” he whispered against your skin.

“H-Huh?” you frowned, bewildered when you heard what he wanted to do.

“Wanna play with my baby,” he swallowed hard, tilting his head slightly as his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. “Do you want that?”

He gave a gentle tug, just enough to draw a small sound of surprise from you.

“C-Can we do that some other time?” you said shyly, leaning into him, your hands gripping his arms as you tried to pull him closer. “Wanna kiss you more, Koo.”

A low groan slipped from him at that, almost frustrated. He dipped his head and bit lightly at your neck before soothing it with his tongue, the contrast making your breath catch.

“But I wanna play with you, baby,” he cooed, voice softer now but laced with something teasing, almost mocking in the way he echoed your words from when you were younger.

You whined, your cheeks burning, your body already feeling too warm from him, from the way he kept holding you so close like there wasn’t any space left to escape even if you wanted to.

“But Kookie—”

“Please, baby?” he interrupted gently, lips pressing against your neck again, slower this time, more deliberate.

The sound of your breathing changed when he lingered there, and for a moment you just held onto him, torn between what you were saying and what your body was already answering for you.

When he finally pulls back from your neck to look at you properly, you’re already chewing your bottom lip, brows furrowed at his request, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you cling to him.

“Words, baby,” he said quietly.

You hesitated for only a second before finally nodding, your voice coming out small and defeated, like you didn’t really want to stop him but couldn’t fully say yes either.

“Okay.” you frowned.

He let out a soft laugh at your reaction.

“Is my baby girl sad, hmm?” he chuckled, one hand holding both of your cheeks so he could look at your face properly.

“Jungkook, please,” you whined.

“Jungkook, please,” he repeated, mocking you, amusement clearly etched across his darkened expression.

His eyes dropped slowly over your body—your clothed cunt pressed against his hard cock beneath his slacks, your breasts brushing firmly against his chest, your small hands tugging and gripping him for purchase.

“You’re so pretty,” he groaned.

His index finger traced lightly over your collarbones, watching how your skin would turn pink whenever he touches harder.

“So soft,” he cooed under his breath, his hand sliding downward along the curve of your chest, making you hiss softly.

You looked down at his hand. “K-Koo, what are you doing?” you said weakly.

His fingers drifted lower, resting near your belly button, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

“Playing with you,” he said simply, head tilting as he looked at you with quiet amusement.

Heat spread through your body like wildfire, your back arching slightly as realization sank in. A liquid warmth pulsed between your thighs, your panties growing wetter with arousal.

“Koo, that’s so—” you couldn’t finish your sentence, a sharp gasp leaving you when his finger finally traced over you through your thin sleep shorts.

“I wanna play with you here,” he murmured, continuing to trace slow circles over your clothed pussy.

A soft moan slipped from you, almost breaking into a sob at the anticipation alone.

“Do you want that, baby?” he leaned in and lightly kissed your lips, eyes lifting to meet yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with need, but steady—waiting, still holding himself back just enough to give you the choice.

“Yes.” you gulped harshly, eyes getting heavy lidded.

“Yeah? you’ll let me play with your little pussy?’’ he whispered.

“Please…” you moaned, cheeks flushed red, eyes slipping shut as you lightly grinded against him, desperate for friction.

He chuckled softly, pecking your lips once more. “I’ll lay you down, okay? Gonna spread your legs so I can play with you properly.”

He guided you down onto the bed gently, positioning you beneath him and carefully parting your legs. You gasped slightly at the change in position, a wave of overwhelm hitting you. You were about to sit up again, but he quickly followed, covering your body with his and leaning down to kiss you softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered when he felt your panic, his voice low and steady. “We’ll take it slow.”

His left hand cupped your breast gently while the other held your face in place, steadying you as he continued kissing you.

You had never let anyone get this far before. You had shared a few lingering kisses, a few brief touches, but you had never crossed that line with anyone. The thought of letting Jungkook do it now sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your thoughts could catch up.

His nose grazed your neck as he breathed you in, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“Can I remove this, baby?” he asked gently, fingers holding the straps of your top as his lips brushed against your sternum, waiting.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

He smiled, slowly removing your top and exposing your baby pink lace bra. A low groan slipped from him at the sight, and he quickly leaned down, pressing his lips against the fabric, his tongue teasing through the cup as your nipples hardened beneath the sensation.

“Oh, Koo…” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair.

His other hand was already on your breast, kneading it slowly as he worked you over. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips when you felt the fabric growing damp from his saliva, the outline of your nipple becoming more visible beneath it, clearly caught under his gaze.

With a deep groan, he pulled the straps of your bra down, exposing your soft breasts fully. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight. 

“Pretty girl,” he mused.

‘’Kookie, this is so embarrassing.” you avoided eye contact, trying to cover your breasts.

“Shh, you’re so pretty,” he said softly as he slowly removed your arms from your chest, dark eyes roaming over your figure.

“Look at me,” he added, gentle—but with an edge underneath it.

When you finally did, your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him sucking his fingers, bringing them down to your right nipple. He pinched it, spreading his saliva before rolling it between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“Oh my gosh!”

“You like that?” he murmured, leaning down to your other breast. He spat on the bud before taking it into his mouth, sucking it softly.

You were a whining mess, your fingers tightening in his hair from the intensity. It was wet and messy, a soft pop following when he released your nipple briefly, only to switch to the other one—his lip ring brushing against your nipple, adding even more stimulation.

“Mmph, that’s so good-’’

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt his palm press over your mouth, silencing your moans.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Need you to be quiet for me.”

“S-Sorry,” you said shyly, biting your lip as you realized how loud you must have been.

He smiled softly, pressing a trail of kisses from your stomach down to your belly button. “Good girl.”

You quickly covered your mouth when his nose nudged against your clothed cunt, inhaling your pussy as he lingered there a little too long. 

“Mmph!” you shifted your legs, but he held your hips firmly in place.

“Baby, keep your legs open,” he groaned, his nose following your clothed cunt.

After inhaling your pussy like he was addicted to it, he slowly pulled your shorts down. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his hands stopped you, guiding them open instead. The movement exposed the wet patch in your pink underwear, your arousal already seeping through and clinging to the fabric, your inner thighs slightly damp.

“So messy baby, is this all for me?’’ gathering saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowed slightly before he leaned down and spat onto your clothed pussy, watching closely as it mixed with your wetness. The fabric darkened further, your cute slit more clearly outlined beneath it.

You whimpered at the feeling, warmth spreading through you as his spit soaked through your panties. But the moment he leaned in again, your legs instinctively closed around his head, trapping him between your thighs.

“Sorry, I didn’t m-mean that,” you said quickly, loosening your grip and slowly reopening your legs.

He looked up at you, expression softening immediately, a small gentle smile returning to his face. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

Opening your legs wider, he leaned down and ran a slow stripe through your panties, moving from your entrance up to your clit, making the fabric even wetter beneath his tongue. His fingers dug into both of your thighs when you instinctively tried to move again, the sensation overwhelming enough to keep you still for a moment.

He was messily working you through the fabric, groaning softly as he pressed his tongue against you, his mouth trying to suck your clit to make it peek through your panties. The sensation of the wet fabric against your swollen clit was uncomfortable in the best way—overwhelming, and painfully pleasurable.

You quickly bit down on your hand to muffle your moans, but the sounds still slipped out regardless.

When your moans started getting louder, he exhaled sharply and pulled your underwear down, gathering the soaked fabric in his hand without hesitation.

“Open your mouth,” he rasped.

You hesitated for a second before slowly parting your lips, eyes widening when he slid your soaked underwear inside. The taste of your arousal mixed with his saliva hit your tongue immediately.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, voice softer again. “All nice and quiet.”

He leaned in after that, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek like it was a reward. He reached for his glasses on the bed and put them back on before leaning down again.

“Need to see this pretty pussy clear, baby.” he said softly, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at you.

A low groan left him as he slid his hands under your thighs, pulling you closer. His head tilted slightly as he stared at your bare cunt for a moment longer, like he was memorizing the sight in front of him.

“You’re so pretty,” he bit his lower lip.

He used his fingers to part you further, exposing your swollen clit before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Gonna play with you now,” he lowered his mouth to you, tongue slipping into your wet folds, collecting your arousal, tasting you slowly as he began to eat you out properly.

Your moans were muffled by the soaked fabric still stuffed inside your mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, firm enough for you to feel the cold press of his silver watch against your skin, holding you in place as you squirmed restlessly beneath him.

Every so often, he’d pull back just enough to gather saliva on his tongue, before leaning back in to spit just above your hood, pulling your pussy lips apart so it can trail down over your clit. He’d spread it with his tongue, deliberately working it in, just to make you even messier.

The way he ate your pussy was almost the same way he kissed you—messy, pouty and needy. His mouth stayed slightly parted, expression focused, brows faintly furrowed like he was too absorbed in your cunt to care about anything else.

His hips thrusted unconsciously against the bed, his own restraint slipping the more you reacted. Every soft sound you made went straight through his cock, making it harder for him to hold back. His precum was leaking at the tip, almost fucking the mattress everytime your pussy squelches.

“Mmph.’’ you moaned, eyes getting teary because he wasn’t stopping.

The feeling of your clit on his tongue was addictive—how it twitched, how it reacted to every movement. He kept circling it, sucking, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough… you were dripping so much that before it could even reach the bed, his tongue was already there to catch it, eager to taste every drop of you. The wet, dirty slurping sounds filled the room, loud and unrestrained. Every time you tried to wriggle your legs, he only pinned you down more, spreading you wider so he could eat your pussy properly, taking his time while adjusting his glasses whenever he paused to look at you.

Whenever he stopped, he’d either spit or simply stare at your cunt, his thumb pushing your folds apart just to get a better view of your swollen clit, already flushed and sensitive from his tongue.

“My pretty little pussy,” he murmured.

The moment he saw your hole spilling with arousal, he leaned in quickly, tongue already out, licking into you and sucking everything back in like he couldn’t resist it.

Your eyes rolled back, your teeth biting down on the soaked fabric, overwhelmed by the pleasure building too fast. Your vision blurred slightly, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity.

He was edging you on purpose.

Not letting you finish.

Every time you got close, he slowed down or stopped completely, pulling back just enough to watch you fall apart, waiting for you to settle before starting again. It was deliberate, controlled—like he was enjoying every second of keeping you right at the edge.

“Do you like playing with me?” he asked, voice muffled slightly as he stayed between your thighs, still looking up at you through his glasses.

You nodded quickly, too eager, your body still trembling from the way he was eating you out.

He finally pulled back and lifted his head, his chin and nose wet with your arousal. Calmly, he reached up to remove the panties from your mouth, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip as he urged you to speak.

“I-I like playing with you, Koo,” you croaked, cheeks flushed and slightly puffy, eyes glossy, lips red and parted in a dazed pout.

“Course you do,” he said proudly, a faint smile forming as he looked at you. “You’re my girl.”

He softly kissed your cheek, his right hand cupping your swollen pussy while his free hand worked on unbuttoning his white long-sleeve shirt. The belt at his waist pressing lightly against your inner thighs.

When he pulled his top off, your eyes immediately traced his lean frame. His shoulders looked broader up close, easily enclosing your space, his toned tatted arms fully exposed. The way his biceps flexed as he toyed with your pussy drew a soft moan from your lips, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

His left hand rose slowly, wrapping around your throat. The amount of times that watch had pressed against you tonight felt almost sinful.

“Told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” he raised a brow, tightening his grip just enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes roll back slightly.

Your cheeks burned instantly, embarrassed by how easily he pulled those reactions out of you.

You knew you had to stay quiet. Your parents trusted Jungkook completely—after all, he was your childhood best friend. He used to sleep over in your room without a second thought, and the idea that they might hear what he was doing to you now sent a sharp wave of anxiety through your chest.

But it only made you more restless. He was still holding back your release, keeping you right where he wanted you.

He buried his face into your neck, his voice dropping lower as he whispered just beside your ear, “Suck it.”

Before you could react, he slipped his fingers into your mouth. A sob nearly escaped you, your sounds quickly muffled by his long, slender fingers. “Shh, keep yourself busy,” he mocked.

You nearly gagged as he pushed them deeper into your mouth, drool gathering at the corners of your lips and trailing down his hand, dripping onto the face of his watch.

Meanwhile, he used his other hand to slide his middle finger into your tight hole, making your back arch from the sudden fullness. He was so deep already—his knuckle brushing against that soft, sensitive spot inside you, pressing just right.

“You’re so tight, baby. Is this pussy made for me?” he asked in a condescending tone, slowly pulling his fingers out of your mouth so you could answer him.

“Yes, Kookie,” you gasped, struggling to steady your breathing.

“Yes, Kookie.” he mocked, squishing your cheeks with one hand as he repeated your words teasingly.

He pulled his middle finger out of your tight pussy, bringing it up in front of your face. “Spit.”

Still holding your cheeks, he waited, and you obeyed without hesitation, spitting onto his fingers. A gasp escaped you when he spread the moisture between his middle and ring fingers before sliding them back into your cunt, the added slickness making the movement even easier.

“Koo, oh my gosh…” you whimpered, his two tattooed fingers stretching you open.

He quickly found your sweet spot again, the pad of his fingers pressing into it and curling in a slow “come here” motion that made you leak even more around him.

Still holding your cheeks, he leaned in and kissed you—hot, messy, and unrelenting—his tongue slipping into your mouth as he fed you spit, stealing your breath and your sounds all at once. It was as if he didn’t want you to breathe at all, the way his tongue moved inside your mouth mirroring the way his fingers worked inside you.

His hard cock pressed firmly against your inner thighs, grinding against you in slow, circular motions as he kept you pinned beneath him.

When his thumb circled your clit, your body reacted immediately—your pussy releasing so much liquid that you gasped and trembled, watching in disbelief as you wet his hands and his slacks more and more. You tried to push him away, tried to protest, but his mouth only swallowed your moans while his fingers kept massaging that sensitive spongey spot inside you, coaxing you to squirt more for him.

Your legs shook violently, the moment his thumb shifted into a more deliberate rhythm, your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. Your clit pulsed rapidly beneath his thumb, your orgasm crashing through you in overwhelming waves that made your body feel completely unsteady. Your legs threatened to close from the overstimulation, but he kept them spread, refusing to let you escape. His fingers continued working inside you, pushing your cum, just so he could hear how wet you were.

Jungkook groaned against your mouth, you were so warm, wet and so tight—almost painfully sensitive. His fingers became slick with your release, coated in it as your body continued to tremble. When he finally pulled his fingers out, your pussy twitched immediately, still clenching around nothing, leaking more of your cum as your body struggled to settle.

You whimpered when he gathered the cum that dropped, only to push it back inside you. Your weak hands pressed lightly against his shoulders in protest.

“I c-can’t anymore… please,” you muffled, overwhelmed by how sensitive everything felt. Your pussy was swollen, pulsing, too overstimulated to take more.

He finally released your mouth. Your lips felt numb and swollen from his kisses as he looked at you, tilting his head slightly.

“You okay? You’re shaking, baby,” he said softly, concern in his tone—but there was something in his eyes, something almost teasing, like he was quietly pleased at how completely undone you looked.

He lifted his fingers and licked them clean slowly, eyes half-lidded as he tasted you. His cock was leaking so bad, clearly desperate to feel how tight you are.

He rose from the edge of the bed, unbuckling his belt while keeping his eyes fixed on you. His hair was still a mess from your earlier tugging, his pupils dark and blown wide with desire, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he pushed his pants down his legs.

When he finally removed his boxers, your eyes widened as his cock hit his abdomen. It was thick, heavy, and impossibly hard, veins running along the shaft, curving slightly upward, the flushed tip glistening with precum.

He shamelessly rolled the foreskin back, stroking himself slowly… squeezing the base just enough to draw out more precum. A low groan left his throat as he kept his eyes on you, like the sight of your naked body alone was enough to push him over the edge.

The number of times he had fantasized about this—it was almost wrong.

When he placed a knee on the bed, your eyes widened again, that soft innocence still lingering in your gaze. Your legs instinctively closed slightly, your fingers clutching the sheets as if you didn’t know where to put yourself. Your entire body language gave you away—you were still inexperienced, still unsure, your reactions honest and unfiltered.

Everything about you made that clearer. The way you kissed him, the way you tried to touch him, the way you trembled when his tongue met yours—it all showed how new this still was for you. How your body was still learning what it wanted.

And it made him shake.

The way your small hands trembled. The way you whined like you were trying to fight your own reactions. The way you struggled to understand your own desire—it sent a possessive rush straight through him. The realization that he was the only one who had ever seen you like this… the only one allowed to touch you like this.

His expression softened as he slowly crawled closer to you. Instinctively, you shifted back, your spine pressing against the headboard as his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, his hands moving to your folded knees, easing them open with careful pressure instead of forcing them. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You still want to continue?”

He was hard—thick and aching…but he still focused on you, wanting you to be comfortable, willing to do anything for his pretty girl.

You stared back at him. He was still wearing his glasses, his eyes heavy with lust, though he was clearly trying to soften his expression for you. You gulped harshly when his cock twitched on its own, even though he had stopped touching himself.

When you didn’t answer right away, he smiled gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his other hand moved to fix your hair.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want to rest?” his voice was low and raspy.

You wanted him so badly. In your quietest, most private daydreams, you sometimes wished you weren’t just best friends—that he was already yours in the way you secretly wanted. You were too in denial, too afraid to fully admit it, scared of what it meant and scared of losing him if you crossed that line. So you convinced yourself it was just confusion, just feelings being swayed by him.

But deep down, you knew. It had always been there—your childhood dream of being his princess, him your prince. The pink barbie to his blue dinosaur.

“No… I-I want to continue,” you said, immediately closing your eyes after, embarrassed by how unsure your own words sounded.

Jungkook stayed patient, despite the obvious tension in his body. Even with his cock still hard and throbbing, he waited for you, encouraging you to speak properly.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked softly, his weak eyes locked on yours.

You pouted slightly, reaching for his hand as he brushed your cheek.

“I want you, Koo… ever since we were little,” you admitted quietly, cheeks burning red.

His lips parted in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your confession. 

He stared at you for a long moment, as though he were carefully processing your words. Then, gently, he tilted your chin upward, silently urging you to keep your eyes on him. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Is that true? My baby wants me?” he rasped, his heart pounding against his chest. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled shyly. “Want you, so bad.” you slowly reached for his hands, tugging them softly.

He let out a rough groan, immediately kissing you again, swallowing your gasps as he hovered over your body. He opened your legs wider, positioning himself between them as he slowly grinded his cock against your wet pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his kisses turning possessive as they trailed down your neck. You could feel him sucking and marking your skin, leaving bruises in his wake.

The head of his cock dragged slowly up and down your puffy slit, the sensation making your body shiver as arousal built again almost instantly.

“Been trying so hard to be good for my baby,” he murmured like it was something unbearable to hold in. His hand kneaded your breast firmly while his mouth latched onto the other, his brows furrowed in focus as his tongue rolled over your swollen nipple.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as the crown of his cock pressed harder against your wet folds. His hips moved in steady harsh circles, his pubic hair brushing against you with deliberate rhythm. Precum mixed with your arousal, coating your folds and leaving everything slick and messy.

“Every time you went on your little dates, I wanted to tie you down so bad,” he groaned, his tatted fingers sliding down to spread your legs wider.

He lifted his hips and stroked himself once before spitting into his palm and spreading the slickness along his length. Then he guided himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully as he lined up against you.

“Fuck, baby.” he looked down, letting out a rough groan at the sight of how small and tight you were against him. The tip of him was thick and flushed red, spitting down again, even though he was already slick with precum, trying to make it easier for both of you.

“I just wanted to be so good for my baby… guide you, give you everything you want,” he hissed, watching himself slowly push into you, his blunt head sinking in inch by inch. Even then, his other hand instinctively moved up to fix his glasses…watching himself enter your tight hole.

You gasped at the stretch, your walls clenching tightly around him as he entered you. The pleasure quickly turned painful—too intense, too unfamiliar—your hands scrambling for the sheets as your body reacted to the intrusion.

“Koo… it hurts,” you sobbed softly.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he widened your legs further, eyes still locked on where you were connected. His lip caught between his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, watching your body take him in like it fascinated him. There was something almost consuming in the way he looked at your pussy—like he couldn’t look away from the way you were swallowing him.

He spat again, coating what was still outside of him before pushing in further. His thumb moved to open you gently, rubbing slow circles to ease you through it.

“Shh, baby.” he murmured softly.

You gasped loudly when he bottomed out—completely balls deep inside you. His mushroom tip kissing your cervix... your pussy was so stretched, as he filled you fully. 

He cursed under his breath, the veins along his neck stood out as a deep flush spread across his cheeks and down his chest. His lips parted slightly, like he was finally relieved to be inside you.

“Baby…” he said weakly, barely able to move. You were too tight, and he could feel it affecting you too.

“You’re so tight, you feel so good,” he whispered weakly, arms braced on either side of you as he held himself still.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, struggling not to move. The way he looked at you—like he was caught between pain and pleasure—made your body tighten around him even more, causing him to twitch in response.

He kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to pull your focus away from the discomfort. His fingers moved down to rub your clit, and you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body felt so sensitive, so fragile under his touch.

His kisses were messy and hungry, as though he were trying to pour all his frustrations from his hard cock into your mouth. When you shifted your hips slightly, he groaned sharply, biting down on your lower lip in response.

“Baby, stay still.” he breathed, holding your hips firmly in place.

“You can move, Koo… I want you to feel good,” you said weakly, trying to roll your hips against him despite the lingering ache. The pain was still there, but with the way he was kissing you and touching you, pleasure was slowly starting to return. 

He shook his head, tightening his grip on your hips as he kissed you again, trying to distract you—but you didn’t stop. You rolled your hips anyway, chasing the friction you needed, his cock brushing against you in a way that pulled a soft moan from your lips.

“Baby,” he warned.

You moved again, slower this time, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

The moment you let out another soft moan, something in him snapped. He let out a low growl and pinned your hips firmly against the bed, holding you still before suddenly pushing his throbbing cock harder inside you. Thrusting deeper and deeper until your body bounced against the mattress, his grip on your waist tightening enough to leave marks, his palms digging into your skin as your body trembled beneath him.

“Go on, you wanted to be fucked like this. right?” he taunted, his voice strained as he angled himself deeper, his tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.

He tried to circle your hips against him, watching as you arched your back in pleasure and pain.

“Move your hips, baby… fuck me back,” he grunted.

You attempted to follow, but his pace was too fast and overwhelming, your body already slipping into overstimulation. Your moans grew louder as your pussy clenched around him, chasing another peak without even realizing it.

“It feels so good.” you moaned, fingers tangling messily in his hair.

Jungkook groaned, biting lightly at your collarbones in pleasure. “Yeah? Do you like playing with me?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, making your body jolt as your previous cum spilled out with every push.

You shivered at the way he said it—goosebumps spreading across your skin. The phrase no longer sounded innocent like it used to.

“I’ve been wanting to play with you like this,” he rasped, pulling out slightly before adjusting your position with ease, as if your body weighed nothing in his hands.

“Wanted to make you cum like a good girl and give you my well-done kisses,” he murmured in a praising tone, carefully turning you until you were lying on your stomach.

You moaned loudly when he entered you from behind. You tried to arch your back, but his body stayed close—hovering over you, keeping you pinned firmly to the bed. His tattooed arm circled your neck, not choking, but holding you in place so your face wouldn’t press into the pillow. His lips brushed your cheek as his hot breath fanned across your skin, sending a tingling sensation through you.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened—you heard footsteps outside the corridor leading to your room.

You instinctively tried to move, panic flashing through you, but Jungkook pinned your body down, your protests muffled beneath his warm palm.

“Y/N, my dear. Are you awake?’’ your mom’s voice echoed behind the door.

You wiggled, trying to get out of his hold, wide eyes and panicking when you heard your mom twisting the locked doorknob. 

“K-Koo—mmph,” you muffled against his hand, trying to move, but he only pinned you down more firmly.

“What’s wrong, baby? Wanna stop?” he whispered lowly behind your ear, his cock twitching every time you shifted beneath him.

Jungkook slid his fingers into your mouth. “Is my baby a whore? hmm?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he continued moving slowly, deliberately, every drag of him inside you controlled and unhurried.

You tried so hard to stay quiet, desperately sucking on his fingers to keep your moans contained. His other arm stayed wrapped around your neck, holding you just tight enough to make your head spin, your eyes already glassy and red-rimmed.

“Jungkook, dear?” your mom called from outside. Usually, she would scold both of you for staying up too late.

Jungkook didn’t stop. Instead, his lips grazed the shell of your ear, his thick veiny cock grinding and circling. 

“So tight,” he whispered, dangerously low, his pace slow enough that every movement made your walls feel him even deeper. His crown brushed that spongey spot inside you again and again, drawing out your arousal until you could feel it leaking onto the sheets beneath you.

You whimpered, but he only pushed his fingers further into your mouth, keeping you quiet while he continued moving at that slow, torturous rhythm. ‘’Quiet baby, can’t let her know I’m fucking her sweet little daughter, hmm?’’

Your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around him as he groaned softly, his lips parting in pleasure. Every time he pushed in, your body seemed to pull him back in even harder—your warmth swallowing him completely.

You were shaking, saliva pooling messily on his fingers as you moved your legs weakly, trying to stop his movements because it was getting too much.

When you heard your mom sigh and finally walk away from the door, Jungkook slowly removed his fingers from your mouth, immediately tilting your head up so he could kiss you. 

“You’re so dirty,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and degrading. “Getting fucked in your childhood bedroom like a good little whore.”

You came so hard from his words, his dirty whispers sending you completely over the edge. Whimpering when he held you down to chase his own pleasure, your body hypersensitive and trembling uncontrollably.

Jungkook groaned, your orgasm making him twitch as he came hard inside you. He angled his hips deeper, pushing in as far as he could, his cock oversensitive but he didn’t stop thrusting, the sensation making him whimper as he bit his lip hard, pushing his softening cock deeper, his balls tightening as he spilled his hot load inside you.

“Koo…” you said weakly, wincing when you felt his cum being pushed deeper and deeper.

You were about to close your eyes when you felt him harden again, his cock throbbing inside your spent pussy. He suddenly pulled out and lifted your body up, your eyes widening when you saw him— red and hard again, his shaft coated with thick white juices from both of your arousal.

He pulled your hair gently, standing at the edge of the bed, urging you to come closer.

“Play with my cock,” he rasped, letting go of your hair to hold the base of himself, offering it to you.

You swallowed harshly, weakly wrapping your hand around him. His cock felt heavy in your palm, every vein noticeable against your skin.

“Like this?” you asked innocently, looking up at him while moving your hand up and down, rolling your palm over him in slow strokes.

Jungkook bit his lip, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Yes, baby. Give it a nice squeeze for me.” he praised softly.

You smiled, eager to please him, picking up your pace and squeezing his cock while keeping your eyes on his.

His lips parted slightly, jaw tightening at the sight of you. His cock throbbed in your hand, chasing another release, your hand soft and perfect around his girth.

“Suck the tip for me, baby,” he breathed.

You immediately obeyed, opening your mouth and taking just the tip in, sucking on it like it’s your favorite dessert. The moment he moaned, you tried to take more of him, your tongue sliding along the underside of his crown as saliva gathered at your lips.

He cursed under his breath, quickly gripping your hair and pulling you back slightly. “It’s okay, baby… just the tip,” he whispered, softer now when he noticed your teary eyes and flushed cheeks.

You shook your head lightly. “No, I wanna make you cum, Koo. Use my mouth, please,” you said in a small, sweet voice, pouting up at him.

He groaned lowly, the sound strained—like he was barely holding himself together. He swore he almost lost it from your pleading alone.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered.

You obeyed immediately, sticking out your tongue all the way out for him.

He crouched down slightly and spat onto your tongue, holding the base of his cock as he tapped his tip against it, spreading the saliva before guiding you back in.

‘’Put your hands behind my thighs, baby.” he groaned.

Your small hands gripped the back of his thighs for support while both of his hands steadied your head.

You gagged when he pushed in deeper, his grip tightening in your hair every time he pulled back. His tip brushed the roof of your mouth, drawing out a rough moan from him. Your mouth was spilling with precum and saliva, gargling sounds escaping as he controlled the pace.

His cock was so big and salty, his plump crown hitting the back of your throat. You twirled your tongue around his length, occasionally sucking the tip and spitting to make him wetter, tracing the veins with your tongue while your other hand moved to massage his balls.

“Fuck, baby. You're doing so good,” he groaned.

“U-Use me, please.” you cried, letting go of his cock to press it against your cheeks, breathing heavily before spitting on it and catching it with your tongue, licking your dripping saliva from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip, repeating the motion again and again while maintaining eye contact.

Jungkook groaned. You were acting like a perfect little slut for him. “Baby, you’re such a dirty little whore,” he said, pulling your hair until your lips parted from the pain. “Do you like sucking my cock?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to suck his tip again, fluttering your eyelashes as if to impress him.

“Like it so much,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before guiding his hand so he could use you.

Jungkook cursed, his patience running thin at how desperate you were, his eyes rolling back as he saw your inner thighs already dripping with a fresh gush of arousal.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he pulled your hair to guide your mouth, his cock pushing further until your nose brushed against the soft patch of his pubic hair. He kept you still, his grip firm, as you felt him use your mouth like a fleshlight, whimpering harshly when he looked down and saw how beautiful and needy you were for him. With a final swirl of your tongue, he finally spilled inside your mouth, his cock pulsating against your tongue as you made sure to swallow everything eagerly, like a good girl.

When he released you, you almost collapsed onto the bed—dizzy and breathless, your jaw aching from the strain, your cheeks still wet with tears.

He pulled you back up immediately, squishing your cheeks so your lips parted slightly. Leaning in, he kissed you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your swollen mouth. He groaned as he tasted his own salty cum, swallowing it messily before deepening the kiss, licking into you until nothing was left.

“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, fixing a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek and tucking it behind your ear.

You nodded weakly, smiling at him despite everything, a little happy that you made him feel good. “Yes, Koo.”

As the sweet girl you always were, a part of you still lingered in uncertainty—quietly wondering if you really made him feel as good as he made you feel. 

You had no experience, nothing to compare it to. Although you tried to please him as best you could, you were still unsure, a little insecure, your thoughts circling back on themselves in soft, persistent doubt.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. He sat down on the bed and pulled you gently into his lap, concern flickering across his face as he noticed you avoiding his gaze.

“Baby?” he called softly.

He kissed your cheek, and although he was getting hard again, he pushed his own desire aside the moment he saw your sad little pout.

“Baby, was I too rough?” he asked softly.

Your cheeks burned as you fiddled with your fingers. “No, Koo… just—” you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

“d-did I make you feel good too?” you asked, biting your lip as your gaze lifted to him—soft, searching, and a little shy—unable to hide how much you wanted to please him, how deeply you didn’t want to disappoint him.

He groaned lowly, his hold on you tightening as he gently rocked your body. “Of course, baby. You made me cum so hard,” he said, kissing your cheek again.

You pouted, a little relieved at that, your adorable eyes sparkling again.

“My poor clueless, baby.” he murmured, his kisses trailing down your neck as he inhaled your scent. “Your shy little kisses make me tremble, why are you even worried?” he whispered.

Slowly, he shifted you in front of him, lifting your legs and spreading them on either side of his thighs.

You gasped when you saw your reflection in the mirror across the room—your cheeks flushed, your skin marked in places from his kisses and grip, your legs spread open while he continued trailing soft kisses along the back of your neck.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, holding your cheek so you faced the mirror properly, his dark eyes roaming over your reflection.

You tried to look away, shy and overwhelmed at how exposed you were, but he tightened his grip on your cheeks gently, his other tattooed hand sliding down to part your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you, while you could feel his hard cock pressed against your lower back.

You shivered when he licked up your neck messily, his other hand toying with your nipple while he kept your pussy open, your juices slowly leaking from your tight hole.

“Make me cum again,” he whispered, pulling your hood up to expose your swollen clit, his middle finger circling it slowly. “Rub your clit for me.”

Your eyes widened, your small hand shakily reaching down, his dark eyes following your every movement—like a predator watching its prey.

Your breath hitched as you slowly began to rub yourself, his fingers still holding you open while his gaze stayed fixed on your pussy.

“That’s it… rub harder, baby.” he encouraged, pulling at your nipples while grinding his hard cock behind you. You could feel his precum smearing along your lower back as he moved.

You obeyed, rubbing harder, your legs trembling as another wave of pleasure began to build. The way his tattooed fingers kept you open felt so sinful—you could see how pink and swollen you were from how hard he had fucked you earlier.

“Can you feel my cock, baby?” he murmured, his tip brushing against your lower back as his hips pressed into you more insistently. His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “You make me feel so good, I could cum just watching you play with your little clit like that.”

You came hard, your body shaking and gasping as pleasure pulsed through you in overwhelming waves, your clit throbbing rapidly beneath your fingers while his hand kept you open, making sure he could see every twitch and tremble.

Jungkook groaned behind you, eyes widening as he felt himself cum on your lower back, releasing so much that he had to pull you closer, almost trapping you against him. He whispered curses against your ear, grinding through his release until it became too much, overstimulation hitting him hard.

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby.” he breathed, pulling you into a tighter hug.

You smiled weakly, still catching your breath. “I love you too, Koo.”

You turned to face him, reaching for his glasses. He looked at you dreamily, pouting the moment you slipped them off his face.

“Baby, no… I wanna see you,” he said weakly, reaching for you again.

But you only giggled, standing up with wobbly legs, tossing his glasses onto your small pink couch.

“Where’s my nerd?” you teased, circling your arms around him playfully.

He smiled, lips still slightly swollen and red, looking up at you with soft, dazed eyes—completely undone, but warm, and impossibly fond as he stayed right where you pulled him. His hands settled at your waist like it was the only place they were meant to be.

“Still here,” his voice low and lazy, like he had no intention of going anywhere at all as long as you were holding him like that.

Blueberry cheesecake. The kind of sweetness that hits first with a soft comfort, then lingers with a quiet edge of something deeper—something that stays on the tongue long after the last bite…and somehow, like the final piece snapping into place…

the lego hearts he’d been trying to build for years were now finally complete in your hands.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

“Good day, Lady Inna.”

“Good day, Lady ___. What a surprise it is to see you.”

Lady Inna does not wear her signature up-do yet, combing her long hair. She is not wearing any make-up either, looking a lot younger without it. Her rope is a bright pink and slightly out of fashion.

“I hope that I am not disturbing you”, you say, closing the door behind you.

“You aren’t. I hope you do not mind my appearance. I haven’t put on powder yet.”

“You are beautiful, Lady Inna.”

“Oh? Oh my, thank you.” She giggles and turns to you fully. “What can I do for you?”

Nervous, you sit down in front of her.

“I don’t know how to say it”, you confess.

“Perhaps I can guess it.”

“Go ahead.”

“You have troubles in your marriage and you need my advice.”

“Ah, no. The very opposite, actually. We get along well and I want to surprise my husband, which is why I need your advice because I do not know how to do it.”

“Tell me.”

“It embarrasses me to talk this way, but uhm…Lady Inna, I wish to learn how to ride my husband.”

Unlike you expected, she does not seem even the slightest bit baffled by your confession. She hums in understanding and nods her head.

“He must be a great husband if you are willing to do something for him.”

“He is. He is so wonderful.”

“Your husband is General Kim, yes?”

Your face heats up and a giddy smile tugs on your lips.

“He is”, you sigh dreamily.

“Mhhm, a handsome man. Strong as well.”

“Really strong. It makes me hot just thinking about it.” You fluster. “Forgive me, that was improper.”

“Nothing you could say is improper. I earn my money telling stories of passion, my dear.”

“That is true now that you mention it.”

She snickers, nodding her head. She is not in the slightest bit ashamed of her profession and she shouldn’t be. Now that you know how fun passion can be, you admire what she does for the women who perhaps do not have good sex in their lives. You could not imagine such a life for yourself and you feel really bad for any wife who does not get pleasured properly.

“Before I can teach you, I must know a few things. Have you ever been on top?” Lady Inna asks, flustering you. She notices, reaching out to calm you. “There is no judgement here. You can talk freely with me.”

“No, uhm, I haven’t been on top. Ever.”

“I see. Have you been on a horse before?”

“What? Why would I do that with a horse???”

“No gods, not like this. Have you ever ridden a horse the normal way?”

“Ah. This makes more sense. Yes, I have.”

“I see. Very good, then I know what to work with. Lie down.”

“Huh?”

“Lie down.”

You follow her order, albeit very confused. You get comfortable on the floor, head propped on a pillow. Lady Inna gathers her dress so that her legs are free then does the unthinkable thing of climbing your lap.

“Wait! What?!” you gasp, sitting up straight.

She puts her hands on your shoulders and pushes you back down. It knocks the air out of you, her weight on you is burning hot.

“First rule: it is terribly arousing for some men when you pin them down”, she says, running her hands along your arms. “Most are very proud of their muscles, so praise his strength as you touch him.”

She grabs your hands and puts them on her hips, lighting up your cheeks in giddiness. She is very soft.

“He will go mad if you do this.”

She begins to move on top of you, hands covering yours and eyes locked onto your face. You do not dare to breathe. Her hair falls so alluringly, her hips are so active between your hands.

“Can you feel how I move my hips back and forth?” she asks.

“Y-yes.”

“This movement is very pleasurable for you, and gives him a moment to breathe. Use it to guide his hands over your body.”

She shows you. You have never in your life felt a woman’s body as intimately as hers and you are a healer. She even makes you cup her breasts, which are very soft. Gods, you are burning up.

She drops your hands to her hips again.

“If you want to make the pleasure about him, you have to bounce on him up and down like this.”

She places her hands on your shoulders for balance and begins bouncing on your lap. You could take your hands off her hips, but you don’t, gawking at her with parted lips.

“You can control the depth in which he enters you and the speed. Another way to ride him is to bend back.”

She arches her back and puts her hands on your shins. She is more on her knees this way, exposing herself. If she was naked, you would have perfect view of her… This is too sinful to put into words. Oh, you are burning up hot.

“He can touch you this way and because you have to tense to support yourself, you are tighter.”

“O-okay.”

She straightens up again, placing her hands on each side of your head. Her hair falls loosely, framing your face. It smells sweetly floral.

“Look into his eyes, kiss him and his neck. Some men like their nipples to be touched. And most importantly, remember to switch it up if you want him to last long. Men tend to be very eager when a woman rides them.”

“Alright”, you whisper, feeling short of breath.

She smiles, “good. Now let us switch places and let me see how you move.”

It is needless to say that you leave Moonbar embarrassingly damp at the very least, properly soaked at the most. This was the most interesting, yet also highly confusing situation you have ever found yourself in. Lady Inna is truly a woman like no other.

Compromised and struggling to walk, you seek out Taehyung once you are back at the palace. He is on the training grounds, wearing nothing more than loose pants and a linen shirt. His arms are exposed, glistening in the sunlight and his hair is tied up loosely. Gods, this man is going to kill you.

He is currently lost in his training, eyes closed in concentration. With the way Lady Inna riled you up, you wish to be the sweat pearls sitting on his face.

“Mistress, hello”, Jimin greets you with a bow. He is equally as sweaty and loosely clothed. His long hair is tied back in four braids.

“Hello, general.”

Taehyung opens his eyes, gaze softening instantly. He drops the weights. The veins in his arms are bulging all the way up to his shoulders because of working his muscles. You will faint if he continues to exist.

“Beloved. What a surprise. You never visit these grounds.” He furrows. “Wait. You never visit these grounds. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You close the distance to him, pulling him down so you can whisper into his ear. You put your hands on his upper arms unapologetically, considering for a very short moment whether you should lick his ear. Yes, you are very hungry for him.

“I’m aroused. Do you have time?” you whisper, squeezing his arms.

Taehyung steps back, eyes widened. You have never been this bold before.

“Woah. Really?”

You nod your head, staring at his lips and craving the taste of his kiss.

“What’s the matter?” Jimin asks.

“She uh, we uhm.”

“It’s embarrassing, but a very heavy patient fell in my office and I cannot lift him without Taehyung’s help. Please don’t tell anyone, it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh dear, do you need a third pair of hands? I can help.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. If Taehyung has time to help?”

“I do. Oh, you bet I do. Where did you say he was? Your office?”

“Yes, my office.” You grab his hand. “It is urgent so we should hurry.”

“Of course.”

You tug him with you. Jimin lifts his hand in a wave.

“Good luck! Call for me if you need me!”

“We will not call for him, will we?” Taehyung asks you in a whisper.

“Obviously not.”

You pull Taehyung into the office and lock the door.

“Windows.”

“Wait. Here? But I thought you said that you did not want it here in case of patients.”

“I cannot last till home. I need you right now. Close the windows.”

“Alright, wow.”

Taehyung hurries to them to follow your orders obediently. The paper screens let in the sunlight, painting the room in a warm, yellow light. He turns and startles because you are right in front of him. Craze reflects in your eyes like a feral animal, making him gulp.

“We have to be quiet”, you say.

“Okay.”

“Undress me.”

Your orders are clear and urgent. Taehyung obeys happily, albeit very confused. You have never been so boldly aroused before. At least not in public and definitely not with such dominant tones in your voice.

Because it is almost summer, you do not wear as many layers and undressing you is easier than in winter. He unlaces your jacket and helps you take off your pants. Your underwear gets discarded quickly because you joined his hands halfway through it as you could not wait any longer.

Nude and heated up, you face him. This is unbelievable to him. You, fully naked in a semi-public place. He swears that it makes him dizzy.

“Kiss me”, you order, grasping the back of his neck.

“I love your behaviour”, Taehyung says and gladly kisses you.

You moan, pressing yourself against him as close as possible. His body is so hot, increasing the fire in your stomach and the hunger of your touches.

Taehyung has a difficult time matching your rhythm today, swaying slightly because you keep pulling him closer and closer and closer. He finds balance on your butt, eliciting a needy moan from you. Your hips tilt into his touch, your hands glide down his neck and arms.

“Touch me, yes touch me”, you feed him the words, moaning with every new inch he explores.

His muscles are so hard, his skin is glistening. He makes you so fucking wet. You shove your tongue between his lips, allowing him to suck on it rather desperately. His right hand disappears between your legs, fingers parting your folds. You purr, chasing his touch with needy hips. The kiss breaks as a consequence. He did it because he needed to look at you.

“You are soaked. What the fuck happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. Get naked. I’ll do the pants.”

“I really love your attitude.”

Together, you undress him and soon he matches the state of you. The sunlight kisses your bared bodies, warming your skins and illuminating the paths of you. Sunlight on your naked bodies. What a wonderful kind of intimacy to share.

You cannot stop staring, biting your lip.

He is sporting a semi. Thick, bulging veins on his stomach lead your eyes to it. You really have to fuck him more often after a workout. He is so sexy.

Taehyung closes the distance and leans in for a kiss but you stop him.

“Get on the floor.”

“You are really different today. What did you do?” he asks, obeying your orders.

He kneels, palms facing up and eyes like that of a good puppy. His cock grows with each second, a subtle flush lies itself over his skin.

“Just something.”

“Something? Care to enlighten me?”

“Yes. Change positions. Sit.”

Taehyung obeys, looking up at you afterwards. Again, his puppy eyes are to die for. You simply have to reach down and pet his head. He smiles, tilting his head so you can pet him a lot better.

“You listen so well”, you praise, watching his cock twitch in response. Of course he would like that. He is such a lover for praise.

You lower yourself and run your hand to his arm. He inspects it, then your face, brow cocked in question. You let your body do the explaining. With your hand still on his arm, you climb his lap. Taehyung watches, breathing quickening more and more. Your bare cunt is pressing against his naked thigh. You are seriously so soaked, marking him with it.

Tingles run along his spine when you dance your hands down his arms. His neck gets touched as well, his chest next. Taehyung swears that he feels on fire when you explore him this way. The flames flicker when your hands disappear to his stomach and connect with his sensitive skin.

“Such a strong man. So muscular.”

He is heated up, abs tensing as you drag your hands up his torso. Tingles follow, more and more of his body gets covered in goosebumps.

You meet his eyes, talking to him in a sultry voice.

“I want you.”

Taehyung’s breath trembles, eyelids fluttering as he fights his emotions. Only you can manage to arouse him and fluster him at the same time.

You touch him more. His face, because he is beautiful. Taehyung exhales shakily, leaning into your palms. Your kiss on his forehead forces him to squeeze his eyes shut and whimper just a little. You are suddenly so soft with him, it weakens him so much. With a gentle tilt, you have him looking up at you.

Your adoration reflects in his lovedrunk puppy eyes, he is struggling not to absolutely crumble in your hands.

You kiss him. An actual whimper leaves him, his arms close around you tightly. Of course they do. Taehyung could survive in your arms if you let him. He told you so before. His eagerness is no surprise to you so you know exactly how to rein him back.

You let go of his face and push your elbows out, forcing his arms to open this way. The kiss breaks despite his mewl.

“Slow”, you whisper, giving him your hands to hold.

“Slow”, he breathes, nodding his head obediently.

“Good boy.”

You reward him with a chaste kiss, guiding his hands to his sides. He obeys even if it is difficult. Your behaviour is untypical. He cannot predict your actions. The unpredictability should scare him, but it doesn’t. Not with you.

Happy with his obedience, you dance your left hand to his chest. You cradle the back of his head with your other hand and with a firm push, you have him down on the floor.

Taehyung collides in an audible grunt, mouth falling open and eyes widening. His hair is messy, spreading on the bamboo mat. His cheeks flush a soft red.

“What are you doing?” he chokes out.

“You’ll see”, you say and connect your lips with his neck, hands dancing to his arms and shoulders. His taste is intoxicating, his smell alluring.

He inhales sharply, back arching off the floor and pulse fluttering. This goes down as the most amazing sensation ever. Taehyung feels as if he is floating above the clouds. This is the first time he is on his back with you on top of him. Just as it is the first time that you actively pin him down. This isn’t you. At least it shouldn’t be, so why do your movements feel so goddamn natural? You know exactly where to place your lips to make it heavenly or where to put your hands to render him useless. Taehyung swears that when you lift your head again after marking up both sides of his neck, he is dazed.

He can’t even kiss you back properly when you initiate, mewling and licking into your mouth more than he kisses.

“Mhhm, beloved”, you purr, tugging on his lower lip before kissing down his neck and chest.

You set your tongue on his salty skin and lick the sweat right off his nipple. This is heavenly, making Taehyung gasp and tense his pecs.

“You taste so good”, you growl and bite into him. Hard.

“Mistress”, Taehyung gasps in response, bucking his hips. His nipple throbs, skin burning in desire.

“Mhhm so delicious”, you lull, licking him in thick, languid strokes. Again, all of this highly untypical of you.

“A-ah, wow.”

“Mhhm, I know. Such a perfect nipple”, you say and bite into it.

Again, you never talked like this before. Let alone bit him. Taehyung swears that he can feel his heart beat in his cock. He is so hard for you. And whiney. And needy. And wet.

“Mistress, please”, he begs, writhing under you.

You sit up with your hands on his chest and arch your back so your butt sticks out, smiling down at him and fingers playing with his nipples.

“Please what?”

“Can I fuck you?”

“No.” You stub his nose. “No, I do the fucking today.”

“Huuuh???”

Taehyung looks up at you like a starstruck, eternally loyal puppy. So endearing that you would coo at him if you both weren’t so fucking wet in arousal. Cooing can wait.

You lift yourself off his lap to position yourself over his cock and wrap your hand around it, holding it in place. He is so erect, pulse throbbing under your touch.

“Get it?” you ask, rubbing yourself against him. So wet. So messy. So hot.

“Yes.” He mewls and begs with his eyes. “Yes, please. Please, please.” Okay, maybe he also begs with his mouth. He cannot help it. You have him a mess.

“How much do you want it?” you ask, giving him glimpses of heaven each time you grind your soft folds along his tip.

“So much. Please.”

“So much…this is a lot”, you coo and finally lower yourself on him.

He can’t look away, heart close to giving out and head dizzy. You sink him into your warm heaven, he does not want to miss out on anything.

“Slipped right in”, you purr, clenching around him to get the point across. Just for a second, he should get desperate for more.

Taehyung keens, biting his lip afterwards. His toes curl and you haven’t even taken him in completely.

You let go of his cock when you are halfway down, placing both of your hands on his chest. Feeling him fill you will never lose its spark. This is such a new way, which makes it as good as it does. Especially the bottoming out part. Fuck, this has you flying on clouds.

Taehyung grabs your thighs and squeezes. The pressure increases when you lift yourself again only to drop a second later. You fall into a pattern this way: with your hands on his chest and his hands on your thighs. It is a slow rhythm, calculated and meant to build tension. Just as Lady Inna taught you. Make him want more.

You stay quiet for the time being, listening to his ever-changing breathing. He is staring so intensely, mouth changing between hanging agape and pressing closed. His mind must currently be scrambled. You know that you have never done this before, so this must be a complete shock to him. Judging by how hard he is, it is good for him though.

Gods, his heart is beating so fast. How much quicker can he breathe without making a sound? Is he holding back?

You lift your hips and clench, dropping down on him this way.

“A-ah”, Taehyung lets out and throws his hands over his mouth, eyes rolling back as they close. There he is. That is what you wanted.

You repeat the movement. Up, clench, down.

He moans behind his hands, face tensing for a second before absolute bliss relaxes it again.  Up, clench, down.

You swear that his voice trembles as he moans.

Up, clench, down. Circle your hips a little.

Taehyung groans, brows furrowing. They stay this way. Tense and scrunched because you have him showing you his truest face. If only he wasn’t covering so much of it…

Thankfully you know just what to do. You take his wrists and drag his hands away. His eyes open, he is confused, letting you mould him to your wishes.

“Don’t cover your face, darling. Let me look at you.”

You press his hand into the floor on each side of his head, keeping them down by grabbing his wrists. It angles you differently, tightening you naturally and making him go deeper.

His once throaty moans pitch, equalling mewls. You swear that you can watch tears form in his eyes.

“My beautiful husband. I love your face”, you whisper, hips showing him how much you appreciate him.

You pick up speed just as Lady Inna taught you. First work him up then make him see stars. That is what she told you to do, and you are more than willing to put it to the test.

Your name leaves him in a whimper. His eyes close halfway and roll back. This might very well be the most sinful he has ever looked, and you finally get it. You get what he means when he says that you look beautiful when you are in pleasure. You never really believed him, always wondering how you could possibly look good when you are making all these weird faces.

But you get it. You finally get it. This isn’t weird. This is heavenly.

Seeing Taehyung absolutely blissed out changes you as a person.

“Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful”, you press out and lace fingers with him, dragging them up the mat as you drop down for kisses. They are pinned in place above his head, squeezing you back as you kiss his neck sloppily.

He cannot do much more than moan and mewl, everything else is under your spell. He is so much stronger than you, but right now you stole him of any sort of strength.

“You feel so good, Tae”, you moan against his neck, biting it gently afterwards. Over and over again, giving him moments of relaxation where you kiss and adore. If this continues, Taehyung will explode. He swears that it is building up to immeasurable levels.

You guide your kisses to his lips, sighing when his lips try to match your needy rhythm. Although, he does more moaning and whimpering than he does kissing. You don’t mind. It’s beyond endearing. And hot. So hot. You want to taste every one of his sounds. But Taehyung is eager. Too eager.

He thrusts his hips and reminds you of his cock inside you.

You squeak, shooting up.

“No. No moving”, you gasp, “I, I have so much more rehearsed.”

“You rehearsed?” he breathes out.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

You don’t answer him, instead you sit up and get into position so you are on your knees. You put your hands on his thighs and begin your well-practiced dance.

“Fuck”, Taehyung yelps, arching his back. Skin slaps against skin, your connection sounds wet and creamy. He grasps your hips first before his big hands settle on your waist instead. He squeezes you so much that he brings it in a little. The touch is like fire.

“Please don’t slow down”, he begs.

You couldn’t. Your muscles are going to shake so much afterwards, but in this very moment you exist for pleasuring him. In this intimate moment you exist for riding him senseless. Nothing could tire you.

You roll your head back, parting your lips.

“Taehyung”, you moan, writing his name against your g-spot one bounce at a time.

Taehyung finds it difficult to stay present. You move as if you have always done this. He has never been ridden this well before. He swears that he lost all feeling in his legs and that the knot in his stomach has never felt so fiery before.

He is losing himself in you. If you hadn’t fucked him into a non-verbal, moaning mess he would declare his everlasting love for you with every bounce.

But alas he is doomed to moan and whine and whimper, wetting his temples with tears. “I love your cock, Tae. Holy fuck this is amazing.”

Your words do not make it easier to bear. Taehyung feels new flames flicker in his tummy whenever you speak.

He drags his hands to your chest, cupping your breasts. They are so soft in comparison to your pleasure-swollen nipples. He kneads and massages them, needing it to remind himself that he was not going to pass out.

“O-oh. Tae.”

He will never tire of this nickname. He can’t look, feeling you up blindly. So soft. Your nipples are hard in contrast. He plays with them, growing dizzy because his touch makes you tighter.

“___”, he moans because it is the only word he can still manage to say. If you keep bouncing on him in such a rhythm, he will burst. It is like you are jerking him off. Expect that it is a thousand times better, wetter and hotter. And softer. So soft. Oh, your pussy is so soft. Fuck, now he is focusing on how soft you are.

Taehyung whimpers, dropping his hands to your hips to stop their movements.

“Not yet, please. Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I‘m so close, please slow down”, he is whining, working oh so hard to keep you still.

Your tummy tingles pleasurably, your heart skips a giddy beat. You are making him feel that good. You didn‘t think that this would be possible, after all this is your first time on top of him and there is definitely still room for improvement.

Your instinct is to hide in him and giggle, but you are feeling kind of powerful right now. Powerful and desperate to make him whine.

“Didn’t you tell me not to slow down moments ago?”

Taehyung peels his eyes open, shock lacing his drunken gaze. Your teasing comment was unexpected, entirely scrambling his brain.

You snicker and caress his cheek, shifting on top of him so the penetration is slightly changed again.

“Make up your mind, darling husband”, you coo, rolling your hips back and forth. He is still buried deep inside you, getting hugged by your warm walls.

“What the fuck is happening today?” Taehyung mewls.

“I am feeling like it”, you lower yourself, hands pushing his arms above his head again and breasts squeezing against his chest. Your feet press to the side of his thighs this way, your soft cunt is so tight around him.

“Who are you?” he whispers, staring into your darkened, sultry eyes.

“Your wife”, you coo and kiss his neck. You made him so sensitive and sore with your earlier bites that Taehyung’s only way to handle it is by bending his knees and pressing his feet into the ground. He almost throws you off him, resulting in you squeezing down on him and lifting your lips.

“No.” You slap his chest very softly. “Bad boy. Don’t be a bad boy.”

He drops his knees, eyes filling with tears.

“It’s so difficult to stay still. I’m so sensitive”, he whines, writhing on the floor.

“Try to. Doctor’s orders.”

He gasps, eyes widening.

“You are insane.”

“You tempted me”, you coo and kiss his lips before straightening back up.

You get to your knees properly and pick up the fast rhythm of before. One hand is on his stomach, feeling him up and enjoying his twitches. The other hand is on his knee, keeping it down and supporting yourself. Lady Inna spoke of riding horses and, well, the only thing you are riding today is your husband. And oh you are galloping right now, movements precise and greedy. You are reaching your limit, both physically and as far as your own high is concerned. Your muscles shake each time you lift yourself, your legs tremble whenever you take him back inside and he presses to your sensitive spots.

“Yes Tae, yes. I fucking love this. Your cock’s amazing. So fucking amazing.”

But you cannot stop. Ignore the fatigue, focus on the pleasure. You want to continue until your cunt knows his cock by heart. Or inch by inch in her case.

Gods, you really love having him inside, giving him a good show of it as well. So wet and creamy.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, ho-holy fuck”, Taehyung is barely breathing, using what little air he has to voice his shock.

“Yeah… so good, your cock’s so fucking good”, you agree, arching your back sensually.

Your breasts bounce, your stomach tenses and your face is glowing in pleasure. The sunlight bounces off your skin and hair, sweat glistens in the crevices. Your cunt is sinful in comparison. Stuffed to the brim with cock, lips swollen and stretched, and juices smearing all over his length.

“Mistress, holy fuck.”

“Good boy. Good boy with the best cock”, you lull, entirely sex drunk and blissed out.

You are insane. A temptress. The very goddess of sex having come down to make his life a pleasurable heaven.

Taehyung throws his arm over his mouth and bites into it. These walls are way too thin. He cannot scream.

He remembers when you made him promise to never ever seduce him in your office. Where did this version of you go? Why can’t you be more like her? Because Taehyung is losing himself. It is building up rapidly and aggressively.

He reaches for your waist, biting down harder at the feeling of you. It is going to happen and it will happen regardless of whether you slow down again or not. He cannot drag it out any longer.

You know that it will happen. You have never seen him bite his own arm before. His muscles are tense, his veins are bulging and his big hand is balled to a fist.

“Do you have to, beloved?”

He nods his head, squeezing your waist.

His cheeks are squished up, flushed and glistening. His eyes are barely there because he squeezes them shut so tightly.

Curious, you lean slightly forward and play with his nipples.

Taehyung squeaks and arches his back. He drops his arm, head rolling to the side so he can lick his own skin. His muscles are bulging, his tongue is so pink in comparison to his honey skin. His pits are exposed like this. All natural and masculine. What a fucking view. This is changing you.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

You want to get him there. Watching his orgasm is the one thing you need to reach your own. You massage and pinch his nipples, tightening around him because you are getting very close yourself.

“Holding out for so long, I’m so proud of you.”

“Mistress please.”

“Don’t stop on my account. Be a good boy.”

Taehyung swears that he blacks out for a second. He takes your left hand and presses it over his mouth, muffling the uncontrollable yelp you force out of him. His thick, hot orgasm shoots up into you. His cock throbs and twitches.

“Good boy, such a good boy. Give me your pinnacle”, you encourage him.

Lead by only one thing, pleasure, Taehyung thrusts up. Hard and rough.

“Beloved, now”, you whimper, dropping your head as your own high hits you. You love sex with him so much.

“Kiss me please”, he drags you down, rutting up into you as you orgasm around him. The kisses you share are sloppy and wet.

You could do this forever.

But alas a human orgasm only lasts this long and your muscles finally give up on you afterwards.

“Ah shit.”

You drop onto him, lying on him in frog position. Your face is pressed to his neck, your heart beats just as quickly as his’.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He hugs you. “What the fuck?”

This was better than you imagined it. You feel high, drunk and soaked in endorphins.

And also, very tired, spent and sore. Your hips are starting to cramp up.

“I am going to cramp.” You sit up and attempt to climb off his legs. You squeeze his orgasm out of you accidentally, knees shaking so much that you collide with the floor rather clumsily.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry. Ouch.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Just made a mess. O-oh no my legs are weak, I cannot get up.”

Taehyung laughs breathily, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Fuck.” He smiles so bright. “You’re seriously insane.”

You snicker and settle on your elbow, facing him sideways. You love him so much.

“I don’t think I can walk in the near future.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

You rub his stomach, making him drop his arm and look at you. You wipe his past tears, grinning at him proudly.

“What the fuck did you do this for?” he asks.

“Just so. Why?”

“I wanted to scream.”

“Oh? Wow, I had hoped that you would. I’m happy.”

“I’m not, I’m in shock.”

You snicker, “was it really this good?”

“Yes. Where did you learn to move like this?” he asks, barely keeping his eyes open. If he was any less obsessed with your face, he would have already closed them. But alas he does not want to miss out on anything.

“I went to Lady Inna and she showed me.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I asked her to.”

“Why??”

“Because you always make me feel so good and I wanted to return the favour.”

“Oh.” His face becomes beet red.

The view makes you laugh and cradle his face so you can kiss it everywhere.

“You are adorable. Do I fluster you, beloved?”

“Yeah, so much”, he sighs, heart beating in his giddy chest. He loves being adored. “And you arouse me like no other.”

Your gaze softens, “yeah? What did you like the most?”

“Apart from everything? When you leaned back and arched your back.”

“Lady Inna said that you would like that.” You kiss his shoulder, draping your arm across his chest. “When I ride you again, you could try playing with my clit.”

“Hot. You are so hot. Oh gods, you’re going to make me want to go again.”

You laugh and kiss him.

“Your hunger must wait. If I used my legs right now, they would fall off. Look.” You show him how they shake with the slightest movement.

“You are going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“Most definitely, but it was worth it. I had so much fun.”

“Me too.” He rolls to his side, resting his head on his hand. “I’m so happy that you are so comfortable with sex these days.”

You lie down, facing him in the same position.

“Me too. I feel so free when I’m with you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“But also you have to be less free. What you did right now should be illegal. Wow”, he jokes and pretends to faint, making you laugh loudly.

“Never. You created a monster that is insatiable, so feed me”, you say and snuggle into him, burying him halfway under you

Which is perfectly fine for him. Taehyung is exactly where he wants to be.

“And there is nothing I can do to still the hunger?”

“Nothing. Especially looking like this, you royal banquet you”, you say and bite him playfully.

Taehyung giggles, heart bursting in his chest. He loves being adored.

There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass. 

Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.

And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.

Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips. 

Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.

But surprise, it's not.

This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major. 

Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly. 

The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, pulsing through the frat house in uneven waves that settle through your body like a second heartbeat. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.

But you don't. Because, well, you can't. 

So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly. 

You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.

Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all. 

His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.

A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.

He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.

The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"

"Then clearly I'm busy."

The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."

"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her. 

"Do you ever take a break or is your case of over sexuality a medical condition?" Mingyu complains, drinking the beer he has just taken from Jungkook's hand as their shoulders bump into each other.

Jungkook finally pulls away fully, shifting closer to Mingyu. "You're obsessed with me." 

Mingyu scoffs. "Unfortunate for Seoul's female population."

"Guys," Yugyeom interrupts, looking up from his phone with a sudden delight on his face, as if the light from his phone's screen has traveled and bloomed again behind his pupils. "Wave posted." 

The reaction arrives in less than a second, because Wave had long stopped being just another anonymous campus blog sometime during sophomore year. It became something students enthusiastically refreshed during lectures, sent feverish screenshots to group chats at ungodly hours. Because everyone somehow grew to love Wave— until they became the subject of it.

Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, sparing a fraction of a second to recollect the exasperation in his heartbeat, inhaling slowly. "I swear if this psychopath wrote about me again—" 

Yugyeom's grin widens. "Bad news, superstar." 

"For fuck's sake." Jungkook mutters, snatching the phone away from Yugyeom's hand while Mingyu's laugh echos loudly from besides.

The familiar layout of wave flashes straight into his eyes, light blue and dreamy and so fucking pretty for a blog this cruel. Well, cruel would be an exaggeration, if you weren't Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh my god." Mingyu gasps. "Second paragraph is crazy." 

"Crazy accurate." Jaehyun corrects, reaching over Jungkook's shoulder to keep reading.

"This person needs psychiatric help." He says flatly.

"Mhm." Jaehyun hums, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that because you secretly agree with everything." 

Okay, you see, that's the problem with Wave. 

The issue had never really been the concept itself, because Wave has always been undeniably good. Jungkook can survive a day or two of public embarrassment. God knows he has spent the last two years of university building an almost concerning amount of immunity to people's uncalled opinions. The problem is that whoever it is that's sitting behind that stupid light blue website is unsettlingly gifted at noticing things they absolutely shouldn't. The tiny, quiet things people lock somewhere safe beneath their hearts and reveal only when they trust someone with their lives. 

It suffocates him sometimes, not that he'd ever say it like that.

"I'd rather die than agree with this hypocrite." He says instead.

Jaehyun nods dismissively. "Right."

The girl beside Jungkook leans over his shoulder, eyes laced with curiosity. "Wait, keep reading." 

"Use your damn phone." He shuts her off immediately, handing the phone back to Yugyeom.

Yugyeom grabs his phone in one hand while he shakes Jungkook's shoulder dramatically with the other. "Did you do something to this writer we don't know of?"

"Why are you acting like i personally asked to be publicly humiliated?" 

Mingyu shrugs. "Because you clearly enjoy it a little.

"I actually don't." Jungkook argues. 

Majority of the people around him dissolve slowly, disappearing into the crowd to find their own group of friends to gossip on the article that just got posted, leaving Jungkook with his own group of friends who unfortunately do not make up the IQ of a normal person even when merged together.

"Hey," Jungkook says like he suddenly remembered something so crucial, angling his body towards Jaehyun. "Have you seen Mark?" 

Jaehyun's brows pull together. "Thought he was coming later."

"He texted me like an hour ago." 

"Your secret little rendezvous?" Yugyeom asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jungkook scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."

Mingyu gasps dramatically. "You're cheating on us with the music major?"

"None of you are funny." Jungkook says, shaking his head once before letting his gaze drift around the kitchen while Mingyu and Yugyeom start arguing about something else entirely.

Then he spots you.

Oh. 

Jungkook knows you. Okay, he doesn't exactly know you, but he knows of you. Through Mark, through Yugyeom, through this and through that but never truly by heart.

You, with a face carefully designed by gods, standing there mindlessly as if you aren't the textbook definition of beauty itself. You, who'd without a doubt get his cock rock solid in mere seconds by rolling your eyes and laughing at how dumb he is. You, who'd pretend to not be fazed by him while very obviously blessing him with flirty smiles and inviting eyes.

You would be…mildly inconvenient for him.

"Why are you staring at her like that?" Jaehyun asks from besides him. 

Jungkook tears his eyes away immediately. "You're seeing things."

Mingyu laughs loudly, chiming in a beat later. "You literally are." 

"Shut up." 

"You don't even know her like that." Yugyeom adds, grinning. 

"I know enough." 

Jaehyun lifts his brows accusingly. "That is?"

Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it again in no time. Because somehow saying prettiest girl on campus who'd drop him to his knees by casually using words he has to mentally spell twice feels a little excessive for a girl he's never had a proper conversation with in his life. 

"Mark's friends with her, right?" He asks instead. 

Jaehyun nods slowly, a little suspicious. "Yeah." 

"Cool." Jungkook replies. And before any of his friends can say another word, he's pushing himself away from the counter and walking towards you. 

Mingyu gasps dramatically behind him. "Oh my god, he's approaching." 

"Act natural!" Yugyeom shouts over the music. 

Jungkook scoffs in exasperation, but he doesn't turn around, walking towards you as he flips them off by waving a hand behind. 

You notice him coming over almost immediately. Because Jeon Jungkook isn't exactly one to go unnoticed by many, and that sadly seems to cover you too. There is something annoyingly conspicuous about him, visible even in places that are so crowded you lose your friend within the bare minute of getting there. 

Maybe it's the broad shoulders, maybe it's the tattoos and the lip rings that usually wink at you before even he gets the chance to, or maybe it's the fact that everybody seems to orbit around him with a push and pull so heavy it feels like he's the center of gravity itself.

It's probably the shoulders. 

Miyeon, your gorgeous best friend, notices him too as his steps get closer and closer to where you are standing. Her lips twitch knowingly around the rim of her cup. "Well," She murmurs into her drink. "This should be interesting." 

Jungkook stops right in front of you before you can reply to your friend. "Hey." He greets easily. And annoyingly enough, his voice sounds exactly the way the rest of him looks.

You tilt your head slightly, half empty cup swaying between your fingers. "Hey yourself."

Jungkook blinks once before letting out a breathy laugh. "Oh, this is already going badly for me." 

Miyeon snorts into her drink, but you quickly nudge her arm before she says something she shouldn't. "I'm looking for Mark." Jungkook continues, gaze shifting back towards you. "Have you seen him?" 

"You're looking for Mark?" You repeat, cocking a brow. 

And for some reason, Jungkook's smile widens. "We were supposed to meet." 

The answer catches you a little off-guard. Not because Jungkook knowing Mark is strange. It's not, everybody knows Mark. But because there is something in the way he says it. He's saying it seriously, with intention. Like whatever they're meeting about actually matters to him and that's not something you can coherently place somewhere solid in your head.

"You sound committed to that." You say before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook squints his eyes. "I can commit to things."

You take a sip of your drink, taking your time with the action as your brows raise with something laced with accusation. "You sure?"

Jungkook's eyes widen just slightly as Miyeon turns away, trying to hide her laughter. But she cackles anyway. "That's crazy." He says, a loose grin forming on his face. "You know absolutely nothing about me." 

"You don't exactly strike me as somebody mysterious." 

"Yeah?" He breathes. "What do i strike you as?"

You roll your eyes, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. And whatever that happens in Jungkook's chest— it's deeply unfortunate. 

This is exactly his type, horrifically so. Pretty has never been an issue for Jungkook, he has been surrounded with pretty all his life. Pretty and mean, on the other hand, is apparently where the problem in his pants begin. 

But before either of you can continue, Jungkook's name is yelled from across the room. "There you are!" Mingyu shouts, throwing an arm around Jungkook's shoulders after he makes his way towards you. "Some girl is throwing up on Jaehyun's shoes because you disappeared." 

Jungkook closes eyes briefly, inhaling a long breath. "See? What's commitment if not that?" 

You laugh despite yourself, loud and real and so fucking pretty Jungkook thinks he might've forgotten how to breathe properly. 

"I'll tell Mark you were looking for him." You say. 

"Appreciate it." He says before stepping backward towards the kitchen, then pauses suddenly. "By the way," He starts, causing you to raise a brow. "You're prettier than your articles sound." 

Your expression freezes for a beat, lips parted and head still tilted. A lazy smirk dances on Jungkook's features before disappearing back into the crowd behind Mingyu, leaving you standing there with your drink still halfway raised. 

Miyeon slowly turns towards you. "What the fuck was that about?" 

Your eyes linger on the hallway Jungkook disappeared into, gaze floating like you've just wandered into an ocean with no trace of the start and end. Because no, you don't have an idea on whatever the fuck that was either.

Your phone buzzes before your thoughts can swallow you up any further.

namjoon: still awake?

Your eyes flick between the small digital clock on the corner and the text in the middle of your screen before your fingers move over the keyboard.

you: i'm at yugyeom's party

namjoon: you posted during a frat party?

You roll your eyes even though he can't see you, though you're sure he feels it behind the screen.

you: it was queued

namjoon: ah

namjoon: coffee at mine?

namjoon: you can sleep over

You lift your head at something Miyeon says, nodding your head without really listening to what she's talking about. You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, weighting your options before deciding to give in.

you: wow, the honor

you: on my way

The city feels different after midnight.

Maybe not quieter, because noise never really dies down on friday nights. People like to laugh, dance, live. Because modern time doesn't really allow love anymore. Because people spare friday nights for themselves and keep it tucked somewhere they know it belongs. Because people yearn to belong and time doesn't like to stretch and bend around desire. It just moves. 

The city feels softer, as if somebody reached over and mellowed the space so that everyone could find a place for themselves. At least, that's exactly the way you feel when your uber drops you off outside of Namjoon's apartment building twenty minutes after you leave Yugyeom's place. The clock is ticking past two in the morning, and by the time you make your way upstairs, your feet are aching and your social battery has officially ran out.

When the door opens, Namjoon greets you with that same old warmth you've had memorized for nearly four years— almost the entirety of your college years. He gives you a hug before disappearing back into the hallway, informing you of how the coffee is almost done. 

His place is dim except for the kitchen, where a warm light spills in and drapes over the entire apartment in a yellow hue. It always smells the same here. Not in a weird way, not at all. Just very…specific. It smells like books that have already been read at least twice and expensive coffee beans that are too niche for you to have any understanding of— because to the normal person, they all just taste the same.

Definitely not to Namjoon. 

You slip your heels off by the door, following him into the kitchen after dropping your purse somewhere on the couch. "Do you want to lose all the sleep left in your system?" You ask, gaze dragging over the empty coffee mugs on the counter. 

Namjoon stands in the kitchen with his back turned to you, dressed comfortably in some gray sweatpants and a dark colored hoodie. His glasses sit low on his nose, hair falling onto his forehead in messy strands. "I'm writing something." He says, a soft smile forming on his face as he pours in the hot liquid carefully. "How was the party?"

You climb onto the counter, plopping your body onto the marble as your legs dangle above the height. You unashamedly stare at him for a moment, taking in the sweats and the glasses and the fact that he somehow still looks put together despite the hour. Because Namjoon looks a little unfair like this— annoyingly intelligent and completely at home.

"It was loud." 

Namjoon hums, handing you the mug. "The alcohol was terrible, i spent the whole night trying to keep Miyeon away from Yugyeom, and someone cried in the bathroom after throwing up on the floor."

"Sounds typical to me." 

You take a sip of the coffee, then groan immediately because it's still too hot to drink, before setting it down with exaggerated annoyance dancing on your face. You trail behind him into the living room, pulling your legs beneath yourself as you sink into the couch while he settles right next to you with his laptop balanced over one knee.

"You're actually writing." You say, eyeing him over the rim of your mug.

"I told you." Namjoon says, giving you a brief glance before he turns his attention back onto the screen. 

Your eyes absentmindedly drift towards the screen of his laptop, floating over the margins that are filled with notes, sections that are highlighted, pages filled with comments and edits that are all very Namjoon. And for a second, for the entirety of a thousand milliseconds that feel way longer than it actually is, your own laptop sitting abandoned inside the void of your apartment suddenly feels eccentrically heavier. 

"My advisor hates me." 

Namjoon doesn't look up. "Did he say that?"

You sink lower into the couch, sipping your coffee slowly without forgetting to blow onto it. You can not burn your mouth again, not a chance. "No, but he looked disappointed." 

Namjoon sighs. "I know it sucks and you want to strangle him to the depths of death, but he just has high expectations from you."

You groan dramatically. "It's so annoying." 

Namjoon hums, nodding along as his eyes scan through the screen. "How's the thesis going?" 

That's when you gift him the pleasure of absolute silence. Because unfortunately, deeply unfortunately, somewhere along the way, your thesis and Wave started bleeding a little too much into each other and now everything feels way too personal and disgustingly intimate. 

Not entirely, of course. Wave is still just a tool for you to learn and observe without tracing everything back to yourself. But lately, it has started to feel a little less objective and a little more on the edge. 

You didn't lose the hang of it, not really. You're still the same girl writing with the same devotion for the same purpose. Just…there has been small slips here and there, noticeable only to people who know you well enough to search for them. 

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. "It's progressing." 

Namjoon's eyes drift towards you, and your gaze lifts until it catches his own in the air. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask when he stares at you for a second too long. 

"You don't sound too truthful." 

You scoff, then roll your eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it in his face. But being the man he is, Namjoon catches it without looking. Damn him. 

"You write about Jungkook a lot." He says suddenly. 

You shrug. "He's easy material." 

"You've written about him four times by now."

You pause, squinting your eyes as every piece of writing you've ever published in the last two years flashes through your eyes. Because there is no fucking way you've written about that tattooed excuse of sex on legs for four entire times. "Four?" 

"Four." He repeats. 

You drop your shoulders in defeat. "You're very unlikeable tonight." 

"I'm just providing you with my opinions." He says, typing while speaking. "You can't ask for help if you aren't going to take my advice." 

You pull your knees closer against your chest. "I don't ask for your opinions." 

"You called me crying over an econ elective last year." 

You sit up immediately, placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't entirely like that—" 

"I distinctly remember you saying, and i quote, what do i do now, Joon, my future is over." He states dramatically, voice disgustingly sweet and high pitched as he mocks you.

You stare at him, frozen and absolutely horrified. "I was vulnerable." 

Namjoon hums, and you let yourself fall backwards dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your face as if that's enough to physically protect yourself from embarrassment and humiliation. 

It doesn't, of course. Because nothing ever really preserves you from embarrassment when it's Kim Namjoon you're talking about.

A comfortable silence settles into the living room, allowing you drown yourself inside the small indicators of life around you. You can hear his keyboard clicking softly as he keeps working on something you have no idea about, the occasional scratch of the ceramic mug against the wood table, the faint jazz pieces playing from the speakers hidden somewhere further inside the apartment. And just as you were about to part your lips and make a comment on how his furniture is so outdated, he beats you to it.

"Oh." 

Your arm slowly lowers from your face, eyes squinting and peaking above it. "What?" 

"Are you still helping Mark with that project?" 

Oh yourself.

Everything in you physically stills, slowly and painfully, like dread is begging to be felt properly until your bones ache and sizzle with the weight of it. Because you— catastrophically, miserably, terribly; had forgotten all about it. Not in a small, oops, i should probably text him back way either. No, you had forgotten in a way that bordered on a severe case of friendship betrayal and negligence. 

You close your eyes, inhaling a long breath. "Hypothetically speaking…" 

Namjoon finally looks up. "You forgot, didn't you?"

You did, and of course he notices. Because if Kim Namjoon has spent four years studying journalism, he has spent six studying you.

Namjoon had become one of those people that had entered your life quietly yet stayed just as loudly, making himself impossible to imagine a life without in absolutely no time. Just like wine or Wave or the concerning amount of mediocre sex you've been having since your last boyfriend. 

You had met him during the first few weeks of your freshman year when he was already a junior and head editor of the university journal. Back then, he existed in your head less as a person and more as a terrifying academic urban legend you'd never admit looking up to. But you didn't have to admit it out loud, because even the older students spoke about him with an obnoxious amount of respect.

You hated him. 

But obviously, that didn't last long. As you kept sharing nights filled with stories, words and worlds no one knew existed besides the two of you, he started to matter. He'd remembered your exam dates, bought you coffee during finals, edited your essays at three in the morning. He'd answer your phone calls involving emotional breakdowns over electives and boys and broken sink pipes, then solve whatever crisis you were having in little to no time. 

So naturally, somewhere along the way, your editor had turned into an older brother and became annoyingly good at reading you— so much that you're sure he keeps a version of you that's all bare and vulnerable somewhere hidden in his furthest drawers.

Because he knows you. Good enough to notice the tiny moments where Wave feels a little too personal. To notice the way that sometimes, your thesis blurs into the rest of your life and you get caught up in the gravity of it all, so much that the project you'd promised to help with weeks ago somehow slips away from your mind despite Mark being one of your dearest friends. 

Because Namjoon doesn't forget, and Mark will definitely kill you if you don't show up at his studio with breakfast and two cups coffee by tomorrow morning. 

Musicians who are brave enough to lay their souls open between rhymes and harmonies have always felt intimate.

Music is vulnerable, always has been. Everyone knows that. But there is something utterly naked and personal beyond the in reach vulnerability of it all. 

It's the little things.

The version of them that existed on a random Tuesday in October, the argument they never really recovered from yet still shaped them into whoever they are today. The person they almost loved, the one they did love…They leave pieces of themselves behind between late nights and early mornings, and it never matters whether it's accidental or not. Because everything they touch transitions into something that carries their traces and that's enough to feel their souls on top of your own.

And, i think, that truly sums up Mark Lee as a person. 

Because Mark has always felt like someone composed of the little things. He'd attach songs to memories you won't realize matters until months later, respond to texts even if it wakes him up from his sweetest dreams. He'd turn feelings into poems and records then archive them in anything that's permanent. 

In college, people tend to think popularity belongs to the loudest person in the room. But despite being loved through the depths of the ocean until the very end of Milky Way, Mark Lee has never really been loud.

Just unforgettable. 

Three days later, you find yourself standing outside of Mark's studio with two iced coffees in one hand and a kind of resentment that's loud yet entirely unserious in the other. Because Mark has spent the last forty eight hours guilt tripping you through frantic phone calls and dramatic text messages. And you, for some reason, can not for the life of you bring yourself accept the fact that you've forgotten your promise and properly apologize.

At least you got the coffees. 

You push the studio door open without knocking, because Mark has never once respected your privacy and therefore doesn't exactly deserve it in return. As the door falls unleashed and sunlight spills until it drapes over you in a golden glow, there are a few things you expect. A Justin Bieber song Justin Bieber himself has probably forgotten about, unfinished coffees and half empty beer bottles scattered around the room, maybe even his ex girlfriend lounging somewhere in the corner because you're almost entirely certain Mark would slip straight back into her heart if she ever left it even slightly open. 

But Jeon Jungkook is not one of them.

He's sitting besides the mixing desk, leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck, one leg bouncing lazily beneath the table while he scrolls through something on his phone.

He looks up from the screen when the weight of your presence becomes impossible to ignore. He blinks once, twice, then smiles. 

Shit, he has dimples.

"Well," Jungkook says slowly, leaning back further into the chair as he drags his eyes over you. "This just got better than i expected." 

Your reply comes immediately. "No." 

Jungkook blinks, eyes widening just slightly. "I…didn't even say anything." 

"You thought of it." 

He cocks a brow. "Thought of what?" 

You roll your eyes, dropping your purse onto the table before leaning your hip against it. "You know what." You say, and he silently stares at you for a second longer before the corner of his mouth starts twitching. 

This doesn't make sense. Not at all. 

Because certain people feel attached to certain places long before they step into them. Mark belongs in studios and beneath the stars and somewhere right in the middle of your heart. Namjoon belongs beneath the warmth of yellow kitchen lights and homes that silence everything else until it's quieter than the rest of the world. Miyeon belongs anywhere between flowers and pretty cafes that somehow never match up to her beauty. 

And Jungkook…Jungkook belongs beneath flashing lights that paint his features in colors that would look good on nobody but him. He belongs in crowded spaces and with girls who lean in a little too close whenever he speaks. He belongs anywhere loud and alive.

Just not here. Because music feels too intimate for him somehow. 

"You know." He says after a moment, still smiling. "I thought there was a chance i imagined you." 

You let out a low chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest after placing the coffees onto the table. "That's a little dramatic." 

"I'm being dead serious." 

"Well, you approached me." You say, tilting your head slightly, letting your eyes drift over him before they return back to his face. "And you don't seem to have that strong of an imagination."

"You're mean."

You groan playfully, leaning your hip against the armrest of his chair. "That's so not true." 

A small smirk plays out on his lips. "Good thing i like my girls with a little attitude." 

Pardon? Your girls?

"You're being very brave today." 

Jungkook stares at you for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that's not rude, just playful enough to carry traces of something cocky beneath it. He lets the silence melt and sit right in the middle of your bodies for a beat too long, then speaks.

"You're flirting with me right now." 

Your head snaps towards him immediately, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Not because you're shocked. How can you be when he has built a whole persona on candied words and pretty girls and an ego that's definitely bigger than what's between his legs. It's because he says it so easily, and you hate that. 

So no, absolutely not. You, flirting with Jungkook? No way in hell. 

You narrow your eyes. "No, I'm not." 

"Mhm." He hums, swinging left and right in his seat with a growing grin on his face. 

Okay, no. That's enough. You're not doing this any longer. You don't want Jeon fucking Jungkook to think he has a chance at having you naked and open and wide on his stupid iron man mattress. You don't want to demonstrate the size of his cock with your hands when Miyeon asks on girls night, and you most definitely don't want Mark walking in on you bickering like two horny teenagers with the self control of fucking rabbits in heat. 

So you change the subject. 

"You sing?" Brilliant. 

And peculiarly, his smile softens a little at your question. Not drastically, not enough for the entire room to shift and bend around him until it's his breath only you're drowning inside. But it's enough. Enough for you to notice the way something gentler briefly peeks through before hiding again. And you, for some reason, find yourself reaching over and folding it carefully to hide somewhere safe amongst all the other precious details people accidentally leave behind. Somewhere only you carry the map of and know how to find again. 

Jungkook glances up. "Sometimes." 

Sometimes. 

It's funny how he says it, like it matters too much that his tongue can not carry the weight of it, so he just shrugs it off like it's anything. Sometimes, he says. As if Mark would ever involve someone who does it just whenever. As if Mark would ever reach for something that's sitting right in middle of his soul and hand out a piece of it to just anyone. 

"You look judgemental." He adds.

You shrug. "I'm just surprised." 

Jungkook's eyebrows lift at your answer, like he knows there is another thought sitting beneath it, quietly waiting for the permission to exit. But before he can get the chance to ask about it further, the studio door suddenly swings open. 

Mark walks into the room with an amount of rush that should be concerning for this time of the morning. His hair is messy, bag is tucked beneath his arm and an iced americano is trying to balance clumsily between his fingers as he tries finding a place to squeeze himself in.

"Okay, first of all. Traffic should be considered the worse case of masochism the human kind has done to itself." Mark rambles, barely waiting for the door to close behind him before speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth in consecutive complaints. 

"And you," He kicks the door shut with his foot before continuing, pointing a finger at you. "After forty eight hours of emotional neglect, show up with iced lattes? I don't drink lattes. That's for pussies who don't understand coffee." 

You roll your eyes. "I do something nice and you still complain." 

"You completely forgot me and brought coffee out of guilt."

You pause, looking down at the table before speaking again. "It's still coffee."

Jungkook laughs quietly besides you before Mark cuts in again. "Okay, so basically," He breathes, gesturing around the room. "This is my senior project, the one I told you about three weeks ago and you forgot because you apparently don't care about me anymore. It's a short film of my album with a narrative concept." He turns to Jungkook. "He's singing." 

Your eyes drift around in silence, taking in the headphones and the sheets filled with lyrics and the fucking sometimes he threw at you as if it meant nothing.

"And you," Mark angles his body towards you. "Are helping with the writing." 

"Mark," You argue, because what can you possibly be writing? Music? You don't do music. You write people, you write anything between stories and analysis but not music.

"Don't Mark me right now. You agreed to this weeks ago." He says as he rolls his eyes, chugging down his coffee. "The story. You're writing the narrative and the emotional structure, obviously."

Oh. Right. 

Because of course Mark wouldn't just make music. No, he has always been incapable of touching one art form without dragging five others to it. Because Mark Lee is a man of passion and he won't do anything without making it entirely his. 

"Apparently you said music without context feels lonely to Yoongi's trap arrangement last week." Jungkook says without really looking at you, swinging mindlessly in his chair. 

Your head snaps towards him. "How do you know that?"

Jungkook blinks once, like he hadn't expected to say that out loud yet did anyway. His eyes flicker between you and Mark before he collects himself back together and shrugs casually. "Mark talks about you." 

That's…annoyingly sweet of him. 

"You talk about me?" You coo with a voice disgustingly candied, head tilted as you reach for Mark's arm. 

"Oh my god." Mark groans dramatically, but he doesn't pull his arm away. "No, because Jungkook, don't let her fool you. She acts all nice and sweet then suddenly you're buying her food and driving her to places." 

You open your mouth immediately, ready to defend yourself. You turn towards Jungkook, response already on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled— only to stop.

Because Jungkook is already looking at you. Not in a weird way, not in the way boys usually look at pretty girls when they think nobody is noticing. Just…gentle. His smile is still there, only now it has grown and molded into something smaller. The kind that doesn't really ask for attention, the kind that simply stays there because it wants to. His eyes feel softer too, like's he's really listening, sitting through the spaces of your presence until he feels it permanently engraved into his mind.

It feels a little precarious. 

And perhaps the most annoying thing about Jungkook is that the disappointment never really arrives.

Because eventually, the conversation shifts and folds itself until time starts passing in a kind of haziness where it melts into something thinner. Mark disappears into one of his passionate spirals regarding symbolism and the basics of music theory and you somehow find a way to contribute just as passionately despite not exactly having the qualifications to do so. 

That's normal. That doesn't surprise you, it has happened enough times to not be the slightest of a deal. But Jungkook, Jungkook surprises you. 

Maybe not dramatically, maybe not in ways worth writing Wave articles about. It's the little things, tiny things that somehow fill in the entire space and make their way into the dearest corners of your heart. 

Like how he listens with his entire body, the way he turns towards whoever it is that's speaking and stays there, like he genuinely thinks people deserve to be heard all the way through. The way he never interrupts Mark despite the fact that Mark tends to over explain things as if he himself personally invented art and human emotion. The way he nods along quietly, asks questions at exactly the right moments without ever interjecting anyone and reaches over to hand you your drink when you start looking for it. 

And somewhere in the middle of the complexity of it all, Jungkook sings. 

Mark points towards the recording booth in the middle of his nth rant today, and Jungkook pushes himself up from the couch besides you with a small sigh before disappearing behind the glass doors of the booth. And for some reason, your eyes follow him through each passing second, because simply standing behind a microphone with overhead headphones should not look this different on somebody. 

Because suddenly, he's stripped out of everything you've subconsciously built for him. And for some stupid, sick, twisted reason, Jungkook looks ridiculously hot like this. 

He adjusts the headphones over his ears before leaning towards the microphone slightly, eyes lowering as Mark presses something on the screen. 

His voice happens a beat of two after the music starts, and it happens big. Like waves crashing into rocks, like starts falling down the sky, like spring melting into summer and summer clashing against fall. 

It's stupid. 

He's not bad, god, you wish he was bad. No, not at all. Because Jungkook sings exactly the way the listens. Softly, fully, like he throws himself into it before realizing he's doing it. Like somewhere in the middle of every rhyme and every note and every breath, there are pieces of him patiently waiting to be discovered. 

You understand why Mark chose him. 

Jungkook drops beside you onto the couch with a tired groan after Mark decides he's poured enough of his soul for today, and you find your eyes grazing over him as he scrolls through something on his phone. 

"You're staring." Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone.

You blink. Fuck. "Excuse me?" 

He hums, lips twitching beyond his control. "Mhm." 

You angle your body a little more towards him. "I literally wasn't." 

He nods, still not looking at you, but he's still smiling. 

You stare at his profile for a little longer as Mark works over the keyboard in silence, then find the words escaping your mouth before you can hold them in. "You sound different when you sing." You say quietly. 

Jungkook stills a little. Just a tiny, little falter that happens in his body. His eyes lift slowly from the screen, then catch yours before speaking. "Different?" He asks.

You shrug immediately, trying to fold the conversation into something drastically more casual. "Just less annoying." 

Jungkook laughs, shoulders shaking beside you. "Less annoying." He repeats, grin growing. 

You roll your eyes immediately. "Don't let it get to your head." 

"You know," He says after letting a beat pass, and you turn your head back towards him. "You say very mean things for someone who can't seem to stop staring." 

Your brows lift in offense. "I do not stare." 

He blinks. "You do." 

You scoff. "You're delusional." 

Jungkook hums softly. "Earlier, when Mark was talking—" 

You don't let him speak. At least, you try. "No."

"And then when i was recording—" 

"Jeon." 

He's fully smiling now, like he's getting the most ridiculous amount enjoyment he possibly can get from this. You stare at him in silence, lips parted and expression faltered. Jungkook stares right back at you, that stupid smile never really leaving from his lips. And for some sick and twisted reason, your stomach does a tiny little flip that irritates you through the entirety of your skin and bones. 

Then, as if god has finally acknowledged the depths of your suffering, Mark cuts in exactly at the right time. "Oh my god." He gasps. 

Jungkook blinks from next to you, gaze drifting onto him. "What?" 

Mark doesn't respond for a moment, and that's deeply concerning for a man who'd speak even at the verge of death.

You slowly sit up. "Mark?" 

His frozen state continues for a beat longer before he suddenly springs up from his chair. "No no no." 

"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks as his brows pull together, leaning onto his knees. 

"I," Mark starts, looking down at his feet before he slowly, dreadfully searches for your eyes. "I'm late." 

Jungkook scrunches his nose. "You're late for what?"

Your eyes widen when the realization slowly stretches then breaks through you. "Oh my god." You breathe dramatically. 

"Stop saying oh my god!" Jungkook snaps, thoroughly lost. 

Mark closes his eyes, taking in a long, guilty breath. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yerin." 

Jungkook's phone falls onto the couch. "You're meeting your ex?"

"You're late to meeting your ex." You correct. "And you're wearing that?"

Mark looks down, eyes taking in the gray sweatpants and the black hoodie he has worn so much it's practically another color now. "Oh my god." 

He quickly gathers up his belongings, then slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the door. He's able to take approximately three steps before he suddenly stops, and slowly, very slowly, turns to you.

"Can i take your car?" 

You blink a few times before responding. "Absolutely not." 

"Please," He begs, bending above his knees with impatience. "Please, I'll do anything. Imagine if she thinks i stood her up. She's going to leave me for good this time and I'll be left to crumble and die in my own sorrow." 

After two or five separate sequences of long inhales and deep consideration, you give in. "If you scratch it, I'll kill you."

He runs over to you fast. "Thank you, thank you. Oh my god, i love you." 

"Okay, okay. Stop." Before you even get the chance to return his hug, he's already grabbing your keys and shoving it into his bag. Jungkook stares from besides you silently until the very last second of Mark's departure, then bursts into laughter the moment the door closes shut. 

"Stop." 

"I'm trying." Jungkook says between fractions of laughter. 

You sigh. "No you're not." 

"I'm literally trying my hardest." 

Liar.

Because now, he's laughing properly and somehow it's the prettiest thing you've heard all week, minus his singing— which is a whole another problem of its own— and you feel yourself physically falter at the sound of it. 

You stare at him for a minute longer before eventually drifting your eyes towards the studio doors instead. It's irritating how you're now painfully aware of everything else all over again. Spring air brushing softly against your skin through the window, the distant sound of laughter and conversation somewhere across campus, the way Jungkook is seated close enough that if you shift half an inch closer your shoulders would probably brush. 

"So," Jungkook has finally, and thankfully, stopped laughing. Though the smile is still sitting there loosely. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, swinging them around his finger. "Guess I'm driving you home." 

You were about to mindlessly give into defeat when suddenly, you remember one, tiny little detail. 

Jungkook doesn't have a car.

You breathe slowly. "You ride that stupid motorcycle." 

His brows lift immediately. "That stupid motorcycle?" 

Your lips part, then close again when he cuts you off, lips twitching cockily. "You remember."

You scoff loudly. "You spent like twenty minutes talking about it." 

"Mhm." 

"And your personality is unfortunately very loud." 

"Mhm." He hums, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he mindlessly collects his things. "You remember." He repeats with a growing grin.

"Stop saying that." You complain, following him behind through the door. 

And ten minutes later, you hate yourself. 

Genuinely.

Because now, you're standing outside beneath spring air and bright streetlights while Jungkook straddles his motorcycle like this isn't singlehandedly the worst thing that has ever happened to you. 

Because suddenly you're surrounded by things you've never considered before. Like leather jackets and silver rings and tattooed biceps you want to suffocate and die inside. 

You don't tell him that, of course. 

He glances at you over his shoulder before slipping on his helmet. "You coming?" 

There is a moment where he is met with a complete, utter silence. Because, first of all, you've never been on a motorcycle before. And second of all, there is a very physical, very obvious problem with motorcycles. 

Where the fuck are your hands supposed to go? 

Jungkook watches the way something between conflict and irritation flashes across your features, expression faltering slowly. He pauses along with you, then smiles knowingly. "You've never been on one." 

And the way he says it is absolutely stupid. Because he doesn't ask, it's not a question. He has somehow read you devastatingly well and has made a statement about it. One that is entirely correct. 

"I have not." 

"And you're scared." 

Excuse you? 

You blink. "Scared?" 

Jungkook says nothing, then places both of his legs on the sides of the vehicle as he patiently waits for you. You stare at him for long enough, then with the amount of dignity one can preserve in situations involving pussy clenching tattoos and massive biceps, you walk over. 

"Need help?" Jungkook asks as you struggle deciding how to position yourself. 

You shake your head immediately. "No." 

Lies.

Because an entire thirty seconds later, you're still trying to figure out how people get on these things without publicly humiliating themselves. 

"You know," He starts carefully, voice softer now." "I can help."

You look up slowly. "How?" 

"Come here." 

Your eyebrows pull together. "What kind of instruction is that?" 

He sighs softly, calling your name. And for some stupid reason, the way your name rolls and falls out of his mouth does something irritating to your nervous system. 

You hate that. 

Because suddenly, the air feels warmer than it did thirty minutes ago. Because suddenly, he is patiently looking at you with those pretty brown eyes of his and the space between you feels so small that the lack of distance physically blows your breath away. 

He holds a hand out towards you. "Come here." He repeats. 

You stare at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. And for reasons you will absolutely be denying later, you place your hand in his.

Jungkook's fingers close around yours immediately. Warm, firm and unreasonably effortless, as if he doesn't even think about the action twice. 

He gently guides you forward and suddenly you're standing between his arms for one devastating second too long as he explains something about where to place your foot and how to balance and honestly—

Honestly, you don't hear a single fucking word. 

Because Jungkook is standing too close. Because his voice is low and his presence is warm. Because somewhere above you, he quietly lets out that sweet laugh again and you think that's the exact moment you realize this might be becoming a bigger problem than you ever thought. 

"You listening?" He asks. 

No, you're not. Not even a little.

Some men are just plain irritating.

The kind of men who make you think you're special after two dates. The kind of men who act as if their love and desire for you is past the lethal dose, long sitting far away from what's acceptable after taking you out for one drink. 

They start remembering your birthday, then your coffee order, and then the stories you tell absentmindedly. They pay attention in all the ways that matter until suddenly, they don't. 

They start disappearing slowly. Late responses transition into cancelled dates and cancelled dates drag over white lies and empty promises. And before you know it— they're gone. 

Some people become memories and some people insist on staying as habits. Unfortunately for Kim Yugyeom, habits are significantly harder to quit.

Campus looks a little prettier at night, with string lights tangled carelessly around trees to soften the sharp corners of concrete sidewalks and buildings that usually look painfully monotone and disgustingly gray beneath daylight. Music that's floating around blends into laughter and conversations until everything feels like it's dipped into something warmer, casting the green scenery in a dimly golden hue.

People become prettier at night too. Like darkness reaches over to soften and hide all the sharp edges daylight stubbornly insists on exposing. You think it has something to do with poor lighting and the desire to dress each other up in a way that's aligned with our own fucked up fantasies, but that doesn't change the fact that you'd much rather time stops at nine in the evening instead of morning.

Miyeon walks beside you with a cup of vodka and something fruity in her hand, complaining passionately about one of her professors as if he has something personal against her and is failing her out of spite. When, in reality, she has been way too caught up in toxic ex boyfriend drama and seasonal depression.

Anyone who says spring depression is not real is lying. Because your best friend has been going through one for the entirety of march and april and may and you're not sure if it'll pass by july.

But it's fine. You love her and Mark loves her and you're sure she will be fine. Yeah, maybe Yugyeom is six feet tall with a face carefully structured by the higher powers above us. But he's utterly stupid and completely undeserving of the crazy stupid love provided by your gorgeous best friend.

"No because explain to me why participation counts in my grade." Miyeon complains beside you, taking another sip of her drink as if she has the attendance and exam results to cover up the mess caused by her miserable participation grade. 

You blink. "Because participating matters?" 

Miyeon stops walking like you've offended her beyond all measure, then turns to you very slowly. "The institution has corrupted you." 

You let out a laugh immediately, shoulder bumping against hers as the crowd thickens around you. "Maybe your GPA is a little important and passing isn't always enough." You add with a playful smile. 

"You've changed." 

"Okay." You drag out the word until she physically can not hear anything after the o.

"Namjoon did this to you. You were fun and sexy until junior year and now you're a disgusting hard copy of that man." 

You scoff. "Leave Namjoon out of this." 

Instead of responding to you, Miyeon narrows her eyes through the crowd before you can properly defend both yourself and Namjoon's imaginary honor. Your eyes follow her line of sight without thinking too much of it, and you still just a second after Miyeon does. 

Because standing near one of the food trucks with drinks sat carelessly in their hands are Mingyu and Jaehyun. But that's not the point, Mingyu and Jaehyun are fine, you've actually shared that infamous econ elective with Jaehyun during junior year and he surprisingly turned out to be sweet and worth a couple hours of your precious time. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, is not ideal. But not ideal is also fine, you can bear with non ideal to an extent. What's thoroughly, completely, utterly impossible, is Yugyeom.

God truly does not love you. 

Miyeon physically freezes besides you. And, I repeat, she doesn't subtly falter. She stills. 

Then, Jungkook looks up at exactly the wrong moment, finding your eyes and catching them in air before anyone else gets the chance to steal them away. His eyebrows lift slightly in amusement before a smile slowly spreads across his face, and it feels a little concerning the way he does it. Because Jungkook smiles like he means it. Like the smile happens to him before he can realize and reconsider. 

His line of sight is followed before any of you can do anything about it. It starts with Mingyu, then Jaehyun. Which is fine, because we've already established that Mingyu and Jaehyun are harmless. 

But Yugyeom? Not even close. 

"Oh no." Mingyu says the moment he spots you. And honestly? Very fair reaction. 

Because unfortunately, Kim Yugyeom has always had an exceptional talent for creating versions of Miyeon you hate. 

Jaehyun lifts his drink awkwardly. "Hi?" Very brave of him. Very brave.

Miyeon smiles immediately, too animated and too polite, before you can even think of interfering and softening the impact of it all. 

"Hi Jaehyun." She says, tone too normal despite the situation.

"Miyeon," Yugyeom greets, voice casual and light like her name belongs naturally inside his mouth. Fucking hypocrite.

"You cut your hair." 

No.

No, you're not doing this right now. Absolutely not. Because, okay, first of all, what kind of thing is that to say to your ex girlfriend of two whole years? And the worse part of it all? Miyeon cut her hair three months ago. Three, entire, months.

Yugyeom blinks one whole minute after the words leave his mouth when no one responds to him, like the sentence leaves his mouth and arrives back to him sixty seconds later. But it's already late for realization. Too fucking late. 

A long silence passes, and you feel it physically sizzle and slice right through the surface of your skin. "Right." Miyeon mutters a beat later, and you close your eyes with a long, suffering inhale. 

Somewhere in the middle of the discomfort settling over everybody like a layer of second skin, you catch movement from the corner of your eye as if the situation isn't terrible enough. 

Jungkook, of course, is already looking at you. Because he seems to have made it into a habit. 

Miyeon laughs beside you. "Three months, by the way." 

Yugyeom falters. "What?" 

"My hair," She starts, letting her eyes drag over him. "I cut it three months ago." 

It's a little funny now. You know, the entirety of the situation. You do everything in your power to not stare at the two of them, gaze drifting around your surroundings instead. And it turns out that you, as of right now, are not the smartest person in the room. Because across from you, Mingyu suddenly becomes deeply interested in the swirl of his drink, and Jaehyun seems to be counting the birds in the sky. Jungkook? That, you don't know. Because you're sure he's still looking at you and that's the second thing your eyes are trying to avoid. 

"Right." Yugyeom says again, like saying right enough times might eventually make the situation right, even though it won't. Because none of you are stupid— well, except for Yugyeom himself, it seems. 

Then, Mingyu suddenly claps his hands once, and the sound echoes so much louder than he intended it to. "Okay!" He exclaims with an amount of enthusiasm that should genuinely award him an Emmy. "Amazing! Love this energy. It's so deeply casual." 

Miyeon laughs again, a little softer than the one she let escape minutes ago. It's not enough to bounce and spill and take over the atmosphere the way it usually does. But for now, it's enough to let you breathe.

"Sorry," She says through another laugh, shaking her head. "No because, you're unbelievable." 

Yugyeom squints. "What did i even do?" 

You scoff. Obviously, that's not surprising. Kim Yugyeom deserves a hundred more of those. But Mingyu and Jaehyun scoff along with you. And, oh, Jungkook too. 

Maybe society has hope after all. 

That's when you stop keeping up with their conversation, because their steps slowly get closer and closer to each other and farther and farther away from you until the volume of their voices lower down enough and exist only for the two of them.

Not that you're complaining. Not at all. You're thoroughly relieved and you do not want to hear another word of this pointless conversation.

Mingyu leans over and lowers his height next to you. "How traumatized are we?" 

You laugh, relaxing a little. "A solid eight out of ten." 

He places a hand over his chest dramatically. "Thank god." He exhales. "For a second i thought i was alone in this." 

You laugh again, and peculiarly, somewhere in the middle of cheap drinks and Mingyu defending his dignity like his life depends on it, your shoulders begin dropping one by one.

Everything softens after that.

Mingyu gets distracted after spotting somebody from one of his classes and suddenly starts passionately discussing basketball statistics with Jaehyun. Miyeon and Yugyeom slowly become figurines in your peripheral vision— still there, still existing, but further now. And somehow, Jungkook ends up right besides you. 

Maybe not intentionally, maybe not obviously— but he does. It happens in that natural way he seems to be very adamant on keeping recently. 

You become aware of him in pieces. The warmth of his shoulder besides yours, the sound of his laugh whenever Mingyu says something ridiculous, the traces of alcohol and masculine cologne in his scent whenever wind shifts in your direction…Tiny, stupid things people leave behind accidentally.

And unfortunately, you've spent your entire life collecting them. 

"You're less guarded tonight." 

You blink, then turn around slowly, eyes locking with Jungkook who is looking at you over the rim of his drink, a smile sitting loosely against his mouth.

"I'm always like this." 

Jungkook lets something between a breathy laugh and a scoff through his lips. "Liar." 

You roll your eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out." 

He shrugs. "I just pay attention to you sometimes."

Fucking flirt. 

You're only half listening to Mingyu's latest spiral on getting cheated on with a girl when Jungkook's phone vibrates against the grass. Jungkook glances down, picks the phone up, then groans when he reads whatever text that has been sent to him.

"What?" You ask.

"Mark," 

Your brows pull together in confusion. "What did he do?" 

Jungkook lets his head fall back slightly. "He forgot the hard drive at the studio." 

Jungkook stares at his phone for a beat longer, exhales, then turns towards you. "Come with me." 

And he is met with silence. Because for a moment, for a long, dreadful sixty seconds, silence surrounds you too. Music still continues behind you but it feels distant now. People laugh, lights glow, but all of it feels very far away. Solely because of the way he says it.

Because Jungkook doesn't ask. No do you want to come? No you can if you want. He just tells you to come with him as if he already knows the answer. 

You narrow your eyes, trying to play it off. "Is that confidence i'm seizing?"

"No." He says, smile growing into something gentler. "I think it's hope." 

Oh.

Jungkook pushes himself up from the grass, then extends his hand towards you. Not dramatically, not enough to create a whole deal out of it, but enough for your eyes to drop down to it automatically then back to him as if a hundred different scenarios have just flashed across your mind. 

You take his hand. 

By the time you reach the studio, you're a little warm. Not because of walking, not because of the weather, but because of something you absolutely can not say out loud. 

Jungkook pushes the door open, then lets you walk in first. Warm light spills through the room and reaches straight into your pupils the moment you step in, and you physically have to tap your thigh twice to recollect yourself back together. 

Space feels a little different when it's just the two of you. 

Jungkook walks ahead towards the mixing desk, still looking through his phone. "Mark said he left his hard drive somewhere." 

You hum, eyes drifting around. But it all feels absent, a little pointless. Because you're painfully aware of the tiny things all over again. Jungkook pushing his sleeves up, the way strands of hair falls into his eyes, how the sound of his voice fills in the empty room…

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's exhaustion, or maybe it's the way spring nights make people a little delirious. Stupid pollens.

You let a quiet breath escape and turn away before your brain decides to become any more humiliating than it already has tonight. "How does a music major forget a hard drive?" You ask, voice bouncing a little too loudly through the empty studio.

Jungkook shrugs. "It's Mark." 

Fair.

You snort quietly and drift towards the couch instead, letting yourself drop against the cushions while Jungkook continues opening drawers and moving papers around an unnecessary amount of concentration. 

For a minute, for the short time being, neither of you says anything. And maybe that's your first mistake. Because lately, silence with Jungkook has become as dangerous as vodka on an empty stomach.

Your eyes lift before you can stop them. That's definitely your second mistake. 

Because Jungkook had pushed his sleeves higher at some point and now his forearms are exposed beneath the dim lights of the studio and you miserably need those long, tattooed fingers curling inside your pussy. 

He crouches beside the desk, pushing his hair back before another strand immediately falls over his forehead again. "Found it." He says, and your head snaps back up.

Jungkook, unfortunately, is already looking at you. Not at the hard drive, not at the desk, just you. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Because maybe this is one of those moments where silence becomes too delicate for words. Moments that sit so carefully between people that speaking feels like touching glass with bare hands.

Your stomach tightens embarrassingly beneath your ribs as Jungkook's eyes drag all over you before they settle and stay on your face. He takes a step closer, then another, and then speaks softly. "What?"

Your brows pull together despite yourself. "What what?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep staring." He says, voice lower now. 

"And you don't?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper as you rise up to your feet. 

"I do." Jungkook replies. There is barely an inch between your bodies now, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "But i don't lie about it, pretty girl." 

Your entire body stiffens at that. But it's not the pretty girl, not at all. It's the way he says it. Because Jungkook doesn't rush you, he never does. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just stays there looking and waiting. Like he is giving you room, like stepping away is still an option. 

And the worst part is, you don't want to step away. 

Silence stretches and stretches until it begins feeling alive. His eyes drop down to your lips, then lifts back up. For one devastating second, Jungkook looks at you like he is trying to memorize something. Like he's collecting little things too. 

His hand lifts, thumb softly tracing over the line of your jaw. "I've been patient for so long." He speaks over your lips. "And i know you feel it too. But i need to hear your words if you really want this to happen." 

Your breath catches and flips over halfway through your throat, chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. "Jungkook," 

"Tell me," He starts, thumb stopping by the bottom of your lip. "If you want me as bad as i want you. Because— fuck, I've been good, i've been patient but i'm terribly desperate and i need to know if you are too."

"Please," You try, but you've already stopped thinking altogether. 

"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."

"Kiss me." You fit the entire weight of those words in a tiny little breath and Jungkook's lips are on yours in an instant. 

The kiss starts out slow, his lips moving against yours gently as if he is savoring every ounce of its taste on the farthest corners of his tongue. Your hands find the nape of his neck, pulling and pressing him closer until distance can't bear existing anymore. 

Jungkook's hands drop down to your waist, tugging you closer so that your hips clash against his. You whimper into his mouth, and he swallows it without wasting a single second. 

Because Jungkook has been waiting.

This isn't what the does, not at all. Jungkook has never been a patient man. Not with desire, not with girls. He takes and gets taken in blinks and fractions and seconds— easy, casual, weightless. 

But you, you've turned into something devastatingly different. Because for weeks now Jungkook has been wanting without touching, looking without taking— ever since you laughed and rolled your eyes prettily at Yugyeom's party that night. He has spent nights thinking about your lips, mornings replaying the sound of your laugh and entire conversations searching for traces of hidden meanings beneath your words like a man slowly losing his goddamn mind. 

Jungkook doesn't wait. He doesn't ache over girls. He doesn't sit awake late at night remembering the way they looked at him beneath dim studio lights or think about the possibility of their hands touching his. But with you— fuck. 

With you, he has become unbearably aware of himself. You've made him patient in the cruelest way possible. Because now he notices everything and god, the pretending has been killing him. 

And now you're kissing him back as if you've been just as gone. And that thought alone is enough to fold and mold his brain into something disgustingly mushy and achingly dizzy.

"More," You moan between kisses, body practically begging for his touch. 

Jungkook's stomach flips upside down. "Yeah? Want more, pretty? Want me to touch you?" He squeezes the plump meat of your ass through your jeans, and your hips jerk into his with the feeling. 

His hands roam all over your body before stopping right at the hem of your top. His fingers fiddle with the fabric before he pulls away to look at you properly, and you give him your consent dressed up as a weak nod. 

Jungkook pulls your tank top over your head, eyes stuck on the way your boobs bounce beneath the lace of your bra with the movement. He physically, loudly, groans at the sight before plastering wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin. Your head falls back in pleasure, hands tangling in his soft locks. Jungkook pushes his head further into your tits before he reaches over your back and unclasps your bra in one swift motion. 

Your ass hits the armrest of the leather couch when he lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth, fingers toying with the other. You moan in short, consecutive whimpers as his tongue laps and flickers over the hardened nub, the wetness in your panties growing and growing. 

His cups your pussy over the your jeans, fingers pressing into your core over the fabric. The pressure is utterly mind blowing because the course denim stretches and digs into you further, causing you to cry out in pleasure. 

"Touch me properly, Jungkook." You force out, desperate to feel him on your bare skin. 

Jungkook scoffs between kisses. "Greedy, aren't you?" 

He unbuttons your jeans, fondling with the zipper for a beat too long before he can unzip and get you out of it. 

He pushes your panties aside with two fingers before sliding them into you. Your cunt sucks him in immediately, already way too wet and way too impatient for any form of foreplay. 

Jungkook tilts his head to look at the way his fingers are slipping in and out of you. "Shit, pretty. Look at that. You're gripping me." 

"Jungkook," You cry out, hands curling around his biceps for support. "Need— need your cock, please." 

He lifts his eyes up to look at your face properly, then sketches and carves every line of your expression onto the deepest corners of his heart. 

He slowly pulls out his fingers, then draws circles on your swollen clit before pulling away to take off his own clothes. His shirt flies away first, and you can't help but gawk at the bare sight of his chest. Arms, shoulders, abs— you're lucky if you don't cum right then and there. 

He gives you a small, knowing chuckle before unbuckling his belt, tossing the jeans somewhere across the room along with his boxers. Your lips are parted beyond your knowledge, eyes stuck on the hardened sight of his length. 

You've never seen a cock as pretty as that.

You're not sure if you'd ever even thought a cock was pretty— because usually, to you, they're far from that. But Jungkook, god, Jungkook is so fucking pretty with a tip so pink you think you want to suckle on it like a lollipop and a length so massive you desperately want it to choke you. 

You wouldn't be mad if your cause of death had suffocated on cock written on it all uppercase in bold letters. 

And Jungkook just laughs. He fucking laughs. 

"Don't worry, pretty. It's all yours." He says, kissing your lips once more before motioning to turn over. "Now turn around and bend over for me." He adds, pushing your back lightly so that you're completely bent over with both hands gripping on the armrest of the couch. 

Jungkook drags his tip across your folds, spreading your slick all over your cunt before he slowly pushes it in. You feel his tip first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth of your walls. You moan loudly when he presses half of his cock into you, fingers firming around the cushion. 

"Oh god," You breathe, uncontrollably pushing your ass higher into the air. He slams in the rest of his length at your movement, and your back arches even deeper. "Fuck, Jungkook. You're so— so big. I can't."

"You can, princess. I know you can. You'll take every inch like a good girl. Gonna make me proud, aren't you?" 

He completely slides out out slowly, and before you can whine at the emptiness Jungkook slams himself back in. You moan loudly, head empty and thoroughly dizzy. 

Jungkook starts fucking into you, one had gripping firmly onto your waist as the other toys with your nipple from the back. He is filling you up so good you're going to lose your goddamn mind. You feel so full, stretched and stuffed to the fucking brim. Your walls suck him in desperately, walls clenching and tightening around his fat cock as he pounds into you recklessly.

"Yes, fuck. Wanna be good for you." You mutter messily as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, cock twitching inside your wetness. 

"I'm close." You breathe. 

"I've got you." He says, and you hate how assuring the words sound. 

You let yourself go just as he starts playing with your clit from behind, stimulating you as you milk your juices around his cock. He helps you ride out your high, chest pressing onto your back as he plasters small, reassuring kisses on your shoulder.

You feel physically nauseous at the domesticity. 

"Switch with me." You say after coming down from your orgasm, straightening as his cock slides out of you.

Jungkook's body falters, brows pulling together. "What?"

You roll your eyes, pulling away. "Sit, Jungkook." 

Jungkook somehow obeys without another word, dropping his body onto the couch beneath you. You hold his shoulders from above, placing your legs at both sides of his hips before reaching for his cock. 

Jungkook's breath stutters when you take him into your hand, pumping him a few times before aligning him with your entrance. You slowly sink down onto his length, and you both moan simultaneously when you take every inch of his dick into your pussy. 

"Shit," He moans, your name dancing prettily on his tongue. "You're so hot." 

His fingertips dig into the soft skin of your hips, head thrown back lazily as he moans through parted lips. You bounce on his dick with every ounce of energy that's left in you, thighs aching as he twitches inside your walls. 

Jungkook lifts his head a little to properly take in the sight of your bouncing tits, nearing his high. 

"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy. Your stomach churns at the question, nails scratching his broad shoulders. 

"You can cum inside." 

He's going to die. He is going to fucking die but at least he'll die a proud man with his cum stuffed inside you. 

And just as Jungkook was about to close his eyes and release inside you, your phone rings.

His lips part to say something, but you beat him to it. "Just shut it off." 

Jungkook's hand weakly finds your phone, pressing the close button twice without looking at it. Of course he doesn't look, he'd be insane to drift his eyes away from the way your soft, perky tits are bouncing up and down in his own hold. But the ecstasy lasts so long as fifteen seconds until your phone rings again.

Jungkook flips it over this time. The name on your phone's screen flashes right through his eyes and he feels his heart stumble and drop straight into the rock bottom of his stomach

joon <3

The pause that follows is a fraction too long. "Their daughter got some amazing desserts from Spain" she says finally, with great dignity. He laughs before he can stop himself, a short, disbelieving exhale and sits down on the edge of the bed amidst the half-packed chaos. "I'm not coming over."

"Just to say hello -" "I'm not coming over, I'm going to New York, and when I come back we are having a real conversation about this." He stands again, reaching for the shirt. "Enjoy the desserts"

"She has a very nice smile, so beautiful, perfect height for you" "Bye, Mom, I’ll see you in two weeks" He hangs up. Stares at the open closet for exactly three seconds, then gets back to packing. His phone buzzes again, information for the Lee’s daughter, like he’s really convinced by the hard sell his mother gave.

The elevator dings and slides open, and Yoongi steps in without looking up, wheeling his carry-on in front of him. He adjusts his mask, tugs his beanie down a little further, and stares at the floor numbers like they owe him something. He does not notice, at first, that he is not alone.

She's standing in the corner with her coat half-buttoned and her bag hiked up on one shoulder, the posture of someone who had also left a situation slightly faster than was polite.  She'd walked into her parents' living room an hour ago expecting a quiet visit and had instead been subjected to an unsolicited slideshow. Her mother and Mrs. Min, two women who clearly missed their calling as matchmakers, had walked her through approximately twenty photographs. Career highlights, candid shots, one that looked suspiciously like a press photo with the watermark cropped out.

So she recognizes him from a maternal ambush conducted over barley tea and the good plates. She says nothing at first. The doors slide shut. 

"Congratulations on the album," she says, pleasantly, the way you'd say it to a colleague in a lift. "My mother played me three songs from it this morning. Without warning."

That gets him, his head turns. Not just the sideways glance he'd given her when she shifted her bag a proper turn, eyes finding her face with something between confusion and alertness. The look of a man trying to locate the context.

"She what?" "The one with the soft intro," ___ continues, thinking back. "She said it proved you were sensitive. I think that was meant to sell me on you."

There’s complete silence from Yoongi’s side, he just stares at her. She can only see his eyes above the mask but it's enough she watches the exact moment the pieces assemble themselves. 

"The daughter," he says slowly. "You're ___ Lee?" he recalls from the last contact information his mother sent. "And you're the son" She tilts her head. "Twenty pictures, by the way. I counted."

He makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more of a groan. His hand moves to the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it with his whole chest.

"It's fine." She smiles, and there's no edge in it, just genuine amusement. "Honestly the album part was good. I'd have preferred to find it on my own terms but-" she lifts one shoulder, "-here we are."

"Well, great to meet you." She steps out of the elevator first, one hand coming up absently to tuck a piece of her bob behind her ear before it falls back against her jaw anyway. Her coat is oversized, something vintage-feeling in a warm camel tone.

"I saw you guys in concert in 2019 and now we're being set up." She glances back at him with a grin that's more amused than anything else, fingers brushing through her bob again, a quick, unconscious sweep. "Funny how life works."

Yoongi follows her out into the basement, and for a moment he just looks at her. The way she says it, not starstruck, not awkward, just stating a fact, like it's a mildly interesting observation about the weather, catches him somewhere off guard.

He's used to two kinds of reactions. The overwhelmed kind, and the overcorrected kind, people who perform so hard at being normal around him that it becomes its own thing. She is neither. She's just standing there in her excellent coat, bag slouched on one shoulder, apparently entirely comfortable with the absurdity of the situation in a way that he, who has been mentally managing this airport run since Tuesday, is decidedly not.

"I'm sorry about my mother," he says again, because it warrants repeating. "You've said that already." "It deserves two apologies."

She laughs at that a real one, quick and unguarded, her hand going up to push her hair back from her face. It falls forward again immediately. She doesn't seem to mind. "She means well. They both do."

"I didn't know any of this was happening," he says, and he needs that on the record somehow. "I found out when she sent me your contact details. I was in the middle of packing."

"My mother sent me a voice memo," ___ offers. "Forty seconds. Very thorough." He closes his eyes briefly. "What did she-" he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know."

"She called you a great catch." ___ says it with complete neutrality, like she's reading from a grocery list. "Said you're the perfect husband material." A small pause. She tilts her head. "She mentioned the cooking specifically. Twice."

Yoongi stares at the concrete floor of the basement parking lot and says nothing for a moment. "The cooking," he repeats. "She seemed very proud of it."

"I made her one birthday dinner-" "Apparently it was very good." ___ is visibly enjoying this now, just slightly, the corner of her mouth giving her away.

He looks up at the ceiling. "I have to go to New York," he says in the tone of a man who has never wanted to board a flight more in his life. ___ laughs, warm and bright in the dim parking lot. "Go," she says, waving a hand. "Your perfect husband reputation is safe with me."

"Please forget everything she told you." "Absolutely not." She hoists her bag up and turns toward the exit, one hand ruffling to find her car keys "Have a good flight, Yoongi-si."

She disappears around the corner, still smiling.

His manager is at his elbow. "The car's ready." "Yeah." Yoongi watches her go for just a beat longer than necessary, the camel coat disappearing around the corner. "Yeah, okay."

The private lounge is quiet in the way airports never quite manage to be anywhere else — insulated, dim, the chaos of Incheon existing somewhere beyond the frosted glass. Their bags are lined up near the door. Someone has already claimed the couch. There's coffee on the table that Yoongi is already on his second cup of.

He sits down, sets his phone face down out of habit, and looks around at the others.

"Are your mothers also aggressively trying to set you up with someone," he says, with the careful delivery of a man who has been sitting on this all morning, "or is something wrong with mine?"

Namjoon looks up from his phone slowly, the way you look up when you want to assess the energy of a room before committing to a response. Jimin, who has been reorganizing his carry-on for the past ten minutes, stops and looks up. "What happened?"

"She left the apartment," Yoongi says. "While I was in my room packing, I thought she was in the living room… I was talking, going on and on-" he gestures vaguely, "-and she was already gone. At the neighbor's place."

"Doing what?" Hoseok asks. "Setting me up." He says it flatly. "Their daughter was there too. She sent me her contact details before I even knew any of it was happening. Then called me and told me to come over." He pauses. 

"What did she do to sell you?" Seokjin asks, because he knows how mothers operate and he wants the full picture. "Apparently she played her our music." Yoongi stares into his coffee. "To prove I was sensitive. And she told her I could cook."

"She said I was the perfect husband," Yoongi continues, with the energy of a man reading from a police report. "To a stranger. That she had never met before."

"To be fair," Hoseok starts. Yoongi looks at him, Hoseok closes his mouth knowing when to not fan the flames. 

"And then," Yoongi says, "I ran into her. The girl. In the elevator on the way down."

The lounge goes very still. "The girl your mother set you up with?" Namjoon says slowly.

"In your elevator." "Yes." "She was just, there?" "Apparently she left early too." He wraps both hands around his cup. "She must have been flustered by the set up too."

Then Taehyung, who has been sitting in the armchair with his chin in his hand and the expression of someone watching a very satisfying drama, asks the only question that matters.

"Was she cute?" Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his coffee, sets it down, picks it back up, like he doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands.

"We're boarding soon," a manager says. “Let’s get going” but none of the members move, waiting for Yoongi’s answer

“Hyung!!" Jimin says, slowly, the way you speak to someone who has already given themselves away. “We should go, board" Yoongi offers as he stands up.

"Was she cute?" Taehyung repeats. "She was- " Yoongi stops to clear his throat, "It was a thirty second elevator ride."

"That's not a no," Hoseok observes. "That's not what I-" He picks up his coffee again even though he's not drinking it, just to have something to do with his hands. "She was normal. She was a normal person. Can we drop it."

"He's flustered," Jimin says to Namjoon, delighted. "I'm not flustered, I'm tired, there's a difference-" "Hyung." Taehyung is grinning now, fully, without shame. "Just say she was pretty."

Yoongi stands up, reaches for his carry-on, and says nothing. Which is, somehow, the loudest answer in the room.

Every month’s second Friday dinners with Sunhee and Wonik are non-negotiable. They have been, for years, the kind of standing plan that survives busy seasons, travel schedules, and the general chaos of three people who probably have no business being as close as they are given how differently their lives run. 

They're halfway through the meal when ___ sets down her chopsticks. "I want to tell you guys something," she says, "but you need to swear on your life and mine that you won't overreact."

Wonik looks up. "That is the single most alarming way to begin a sentence." "Swear first." "I'm not swearing on anything until I know the category of information I'm dealing with," Wonik says reasonably. "Is this a work thing, a family thing, or a-"

"Swear." Sunhee is already sitting up straighter. She has the posture of someone whose instincts are firing. "I swear," she says immediately. "Wonik, swear."

"Fine, I swear, I swear." "Okay." ___ picks up her glass, takes a sip, sets it down. "My mother set me up this morning. With the son of her friend Mrs. Min."

Sunhee's chopsticks hit her bowl, the sound is very loud in the small restaurant. "Say the full name," Sunhee says, in a voice that is very carefully controlled. "Say his full name out loud right now."

"Sunhee-" "___." Her eyes are very wide. "Say. The name."

___ looks at her. "Min Yoongi." Sunhee puts both hands flat on the table.

"I met him in the elevator," ___ continues, talking over whatever is happening on Sunhee's face, "for about thirty seconds. It was fine, he was normal, we were equally mortified because his mother had already sent him my contact details-"

"What about you?" Wonik asks. "Did you get his number?" "No." ___ shakes her head. "I mean…he's. You know how famous he is. That's not really something you just-" she gestures vaguely. "I have his mother's number. That's it."

"You have his mother's number," Wonik repeats. "She put it in my phone herself. Before I could leave." "Resourceful woman," Wonik says, almost admiringly.

"You were in an elevator," Sunhee says slowly, still processing, "with Min Yoongi." "For thirty seconds, yes-" "Of BTS."

"Sunhee-" "SUGA!" "I need you to not do that-" "How are you this calm right now? How are you sitting there like that?"

"Because it was thirty seconds in a basement parking lot and then he left for the airport," "Did he seem interested?" Wonik asks, cutting straight through it.

___ opens her mouth and closes it, well she couldn’t see much of his face other than the eyes, and his eyes were more irritated at his mother than interested, "He apologized twice for his mother."

"That's not what I asked," Wonik says. The table is quiet for a second. "He watched me walk away," ___ says finally, very casually, into her drink.

Sunhee makes a sound that is not words, close to a manic laugh. "You said you wouldn't overreact," ___ reminds her.

"I SWORE I WOULDN'T OVERREACT, I DIDN'T SAY I WOULDN'T HAVE FEELINGS-" "Same thing" ___ says with an incredulous laugh as she downs her shot of soju.

"It is absolutely not the same thing!" Sunhee shouts as she downs her drink. Wonik refills everyone's glass quietly, the expression of someone who knew from the word swear that it was going to be a long dinner.

Yoongi thinks about ___ the way he thinks about songs that aren't ready yet, circling it, not touching it, waiting to see if it still feels like something after enough time has passed.

It does. The contact has been sitting in his phone since the morning he left for the airport. ___ Lee. His mother had sent it with a string of hearts he had not acknowledged. He'd told himself he saved it by accident. He'd told himself a lot of things.

He's in the back of a car heading to some schedule. His life is mostly cars heading to schedules, he's come to understand, when he opens the contact and stares at it for long enough that the city outside the window blurs entirely. It's the jacket that does it in the end, or that's what he tells himself.

He picks up his phone, puts it down and picks it back up.

Yoongi: Where did you get the jacket you were wearing?

___ is in Hong Kong, sitting cross legged on her hotel bed with client notes open on her laptop, when her phone buzzes. Unknown number, she frowns at it slightly.

No hello. No name. No context whatsoever. Just that, from a number she doesn't recognize, as if the conversation had already been happening somewhere she wasn't aware of.

___: Who is this?

His response comes quickly, even if it’s pretty late in New York, mostly because he had been on his phone watching something when he couldn’t sleep. Yoongi immediately sits up, realizing what he’s done, just asked about a jacket without introducing himself, of course she’s skeptical.

Yoongi: from the elevator

She stares at that for a second. Then it lands, all of it at once, the basement parking lot, the beanie, the mask, the carry-on, their mother’s voice doing their best to convince her.

She puts her laptop to the side, the client notes can be taken care of later in the day. 

___: It's vintage. There's no link I can send you 

She has a ghost of a smile as she helpfully types. 

___: I can lend it to you

___: No you’re rich rich, buy it from me

In New York, Yoongi reads that last message and something in his face does a thing he's glad nobody is around to see. He is not good at whatever this is, that’s what he’s realizing.

Yoongi: How much

___ reads that and laughs, a real one, sudden enough that it surprises her. She pushes her hair back and looks at the ceiling for a second.

___: I'll think about it

In New York, Yoongi chuckles as he turns around in bed, a real laugh, like he’s amused, like he wants to talk more, like he’s fascinated.

Yoongi: Take your time

He puts the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling of his hotel room, the city humming its endless New York hum somewhere beyond the glass, and he thinks that this is perhaps the most words he has willingly initiated with someone new in a very long time.

He also thinks that I'll think about it is not a no. He falls asleep twenty minutes later with the phone still in his hand, which has not happened in recent memory either.

___ thinks about that for a moment. The hour it must have been in New York. The fact that he had her number this whole time, sitting there, and this is what finally made him use it. A jacket. An excuse so thin it was practically transparent and he'd sent it anyway.

She wasn't even looking, she rarely is when she finds the best things. She'd ducked into the thrift shop on a whim, killing twenty minutes between a gallery visit and a lunch she was already slightly late for, and there it was. Black leather, clean lines, interesting hardware on the collar. The kind of jacket that looks like it has a history without looking tired.

___ takes the mirror selfie without thinking much about it. One hand holding the phone up, the other shoved in the jacket pocket, her hair slightly disheveled from pulling it on. She looks at it for approximately one second to confirm it's not blurry.

___: Tan will wash you out a bit

___: How about something like this? 

She sends the message with the image as she’s already buying the jacket, something in her telling her that she just needs to get this today.

Yoongi is somewhere over the Pacific, when the flight's wifi finally decides to cooperate. His phone loads a backlog of messages and he's scrolling through them automatically, half asleep, when he sees her name.

He sits up as the picture loads.  The jacket is perfect. He knows it immediately, the same way he knows when a song is working, something just settles.He stares at the photo for longer than necessary.

In the seat beside him Namjoon is reading, headphones on, entirely in his own world. Across the aisle Jimin is asleep, nobody is watching as he smiles at his phone like an idiot. He makes no effort to mask the smile as he types back.

Yoongi: I like it

Yoongi: Where are you?

Her reply doesn’t come instantly, it comes as he’s being driven home from a long flight, trying to stay up to fight the jet lag.

___: Hongkong for the Art Basel event

___: I was there, now I am at the airport, waiting for my cab to pick me up

___: Do you like it?

Yoongi doesn’t stop to contemplate as he types, Jimin looking at him suspiciously as he does so with a faint smile.

Yoongi: Yes

___: Good, then you can pick it up from my studio when you’re free

He reads that once and then again.

A studio. She has a gallery. She was at Art Basel. He turns that over quietly, this small new piece of her that just landed without ceremony in the middle of his exhausted morning, offered the same way she offers everything, casually, like it costs her nothing, like she isn't handing him a reason to see her again wrapped in a sentence about a jacket.

He's smiling again as he mutters, "I think I've done something stupid," he mutters, to nobody in particular, to the window, to the general concept of his own decision making.

"Yes," Jimin says from approximately four centimeters away, "flirting via jacket is stupid." A beat. "It's also very you." Yoongi turns to look at him. Jimin is gazing out the window with the serene expression of someone who has absolutely been reading every message off the bright screen this entire time and feels no guilt about it whatsoever.

Yoongi: I can come by monday morning if that works for you

Yoongi: Send me the address

He locks his phone for a brief second before it buzzes again.

___: Perfect, but don’t come in too early, I’m useless before 10

Yoongi: I’ll be there by 11 then

Yoongi puts his phone in his jacket pocket and closes his eyes, the city still moving outside, home getting closer. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't particularly try to.

___ spends a bit longer getting dressed that morning, which is not the case on a monday morning when she doesn’t have any clients to meet, she doesn’t even go into work on a monday most weeks. She straightens the pale white dress one last time when she drops her handbag and goes around switching on the studio lights.

“Where are you off too? I thought you didn’t have any schedule” his mother asks as he continues to fix his hair, “Just some work came up, I’ll be back by dinner” he announces as he tries on three different pairs of glasses, landing on the same dainty one’s he’s been wearing for weeks now.

Yoongi is there quicker than imagined, parking the Mercedes quietly as he puts on a mask on, he doesn’t know who all are going to be there, and he’d much rather not have this visit becoming a bigger deal than it needs to be. The studio is located in a quaint neighbourhood, plants all around the glass door entrance as he walks up, coffees hand, he didn’t want to show up empty handed. 

The door announces him,  not a bell exactly, just the particular sound of glass and marble connecting, his footsteps suddenly loud and deliberate in the quiet of the space. He slows instinctively. His sunglasses are on his head, pushed up to get a proper look, and his eyes move around the room the way they do when he enters somewhere new, taking inventory, settling, trying to understand a space before the space understands him.

"You're early." He turns.

She's coming from the back of the gallery, and he stops. Not visibly, not in any way she'd necessarily catch, but something in him just pauses for a moment and takes inventory of her the same way he did with the room.

The dress is pale linen, short, simple in the way that only works when someone has a very good eye for what suits them. Her hair is pinned away from her face today. She looks entirely at ease in the space, the way people look at ease in places they've built for themselves.

And then he notices the tattoos. He doesn't stare. He notices, the way he notices the jacket, the coat, the glasses she isn't wearing today and darts his eyes away

"Traffic was light," he says. She glances at the carrier in his hand and one brow lifts slightly. "That's more than one coffee."

“Uh yeah, I didn’t know how you take your coffee, there’s an iced americano, hot latte and an iced latte” he explains and ___ smiles, picking up the hot latte for herself. “Thank you” she murmurs and he hums to himself, picking up the americano for himself.

“So, this is my uncle’s gallery, I’ve been working with him for god, ten years now” ___ explains as she walks a few steps ahead of him, showing him around, he hums every once in a while, he’s not very talkative, as she’s noticed.

He does the mental math quietly. She would have been young when she started, almost 20.

"We work with private collectors mostly. Finding them legacy pieces, introducing them to new artists, hosting shows sometimes." She pauses in front of a series of smaller works along the eastern wall, studying them for a second like she's seeing them for the first time. "It's quite fun, actually. Every collection is different. Every collector is different." A small smile. "Some of them are insane, but in the best way."

He looks at the series she's stopped at. Three pieces, related but not matching, a conversation between them rather than a repetition. "How do you find the artists," he says.

She turns, slightly surprised, not that he spoke, but at the specificity of it. Most people ask about the collectors. "Everywhere." She leans against the wall beside the series, arms crossing loosely, the tattoos catching the track lighting. "Art fairs. Studio visits. Sometimes someone sends me something and I can't stop thinking about it." She tilts her head. "Sometimes I find them in thrift shops in Hong Kong."

He looks at her then, and there it is again, that sideways almost-eye-contact, landing just adjacent to direct. The corner of his mouth does something small.

She pushes off the wall and keeps moving. He follows, hands in pockets, in no hurry,  taking everything in. 

"Your uncle started it?" he asks, after a moment. "Mmhm. Thirty years ago, almost." She stops at a large photograph mounted simply, no frame. "He took me to my first auction when I was nine. I didn't understand any of it." She pauses. "But it did flame the fascination inside me”

He looks at the photograph. Then at her, briefly, the way he does, quick, considered, like he's filing something away.

Yoongi’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, he knows that it’s his manager checking if he’s on the way to practice. They’re currently in the beautiful backyard, what Yoongi’s leart is that this used to be ___’s grandparents home before it was turned into a gallery. She’s on the other end of the bench as she places her empty coffee cup down.

“Anything that caught your eye in there?” ___ asks and he briefly looks at her before he looks away, his eyes falling on her red heels, quite high for a monday. 

“A few things” he confesses with a faint smile as he looks around, at anything but her. “I’m not cultured enough to understand art so haven’t bought much as of late” he offers more, he knows that she’s been the one leading the conversation, he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not listening. 

"I don't think people need to be cultured to understand art," she says. "There's art in almost everything." She says it without any weight to it, not a lecture, just a thing she actually believes.  

He looks back down. At the floor, at the middle distance, briefly at her hands where they rest against her knee,  the tattoos more visible from here, something intricate in the design, leaves or maybe something older than that, he can't quite tell without looking properly and he's not going to look properly.

She's in the middle of saying something about the artist, a story beginning to take shape, her hands moving slightly the way they do when she's getting to the good part of something when his phone rings.

Loud with no respect for the moment whatsoever. He pulls it out and silences it immediately, the name on the screen requires no explanation. He closes his eyes for approximately one second.

“You need to leave don’t you?” ___ asks as she stands up, “I do, we have a tour starting in two weeks” Yoongi offers as she leads them back in, her heel slipping in some mud before he catches her briefly. 

“Thank you” she murmurs, steading herself as she fixes her posture, all he does is softly smile as he drops his hand from her arm.

“So, the jacket, it’s a vintage Ralph Lauren jacket” ___ speaks as she appears from her office, a bag in her hands. “Thank you, I don’t think I own any vintage pieces” Yoongi shares as she hands him the bag, their fingers brushing just for a second.

“Um, how much-” “Please, no, consider it a gift” ___ says with a soft smile, the smile that is making Yoongi late for practice. He holds the bag and looks at it and then looks at her. She can see him trying to find another angle on this and coming up short.

“We have a few concerts in Goyang, you should come,” Yoongi suggests and she presses her lips together like she’s thinking long and hard about it. “You got me a jacket, let me get you concert tickets, our come by rarely” he brags a bit, trying to sell her on this.

“Sure, but can I get a plus one on that?” ___ asks knowing full well Sunhee would quit on the friendship if she doesn’t get him a ticket. The plus one confuses him, like there’s someone already in the picture and she catches that confusion almost immediately. 

“My friend, she’s a huge fan, she wasn’t able to get tickets” she says and he huffs, not quite a laugh but adjacent to one and looks away, and she watches him do it with the ghost of a smile that she doesn't bother hiding because he isn't looking at her anyway.

“Of course, I’ll text you the details?” he asks as he mentally prepares himself to leave. "Thank you," she says. "I really enjoyed the 2019 concert." She turns one of her rings, slowly, around her finger. Then another. He glances at her hands briefly. "And Sunhee fainted, which in this situation I think counts as a good sign."

He looks up at that. "She fainted?" "Briefly. She was fine." ___ pause, looking up at him "Mostly fine." The almost-laugh again, slightly more this time. He looks away before it becomes anything. "Okay." He takes a small step toward the door. "I'll see you. I really, really need to go."

He still doesn't turn around, she notices. "Yes, please." There's warmth in it, no edge. "You're a busy man, Yoongi-si." He turns then, just slightly, and there's something in his expression that she hasn't seen yet, something a little looser than his usual careful composure.

"Let's just -" he starts, stops and tries again. "We should talk informally. I'm not that strict, and not that much older than you"

She looks at him. He looks somewhere adjacent to her, the way he does, the tips of his ears faintly pink in the studio light, and she realizes with some delight that this small thing, dropping the formality, asking for it plainly, has cost him something, not much. 

She tilts her head. "Okay," she says simply, no teasing. She gives him that much.

He nods once, like something has been settled. "I'll text you," he says.

"Go," she says. He is almost jogging out of the gallery. The glass door swings shut behind him and she stays exactly where she is for a moment, rings still warm from where she'd been turning them, the studio quiet around her.

Yoongi’s mother has made something good, as promised. The table is full and warm and she is asking about his week with the particular casualness of someone who has decided not to ask about anything specific, which means she is asking about everything specific indirectly.

He answers in the usual way. Fine, busy, yes he ate properly in New York. No he doesn't need her to call his manager about the schedule. His phone is face down beside his bowl.

He picks it up, checks it once, puts it back down. His mother says something about his aunt. He nods. She says something about the weather this weekend. He nods again.

His phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Then once more when he finally turns it over.

___: So I see you sunday?

___: I have to meet this client in Dubai and I fly in late afternoon on saturday, can I come to the stadium with a suitcase?

___: Can’t do saturday because Sunhee has a scheduled c-section for a patient

He reads them once, then again. He's smiling at his phone before he's decided to, the particular involuntary kind, and he catches it and schools his expression back to neutral approximately one second too late.

His mother is looking at him. "What," he says. "Nothing," she says, in exactly the tone she used that morning about the glasses. She turns back to her food with the serenity of a woman who has already won something and knows it.

They've been texting for two weeks now. Properly, not just the jacket, not just small talk, but the kind of texts that start about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely an hour later. She's funny over text in the same way she is in person, dry and quick, and she asks him questions that are more specific than people usually bother with.

He'd much rather call her. He knows that about himself already, that he'd rather hear her voice than read the words, that a call would be easier and faster and better in almost every practical sense. He's not ready to call her yet. He's not entirely sure what that means but he knows it's true.

Yoongi: I’ll have someone from the team meet you, they’ll take care of everything

Yoongi: Your friend is an OB-GYN?

___: Yes, she’s also my doctor, and will be for free for the rest of my life so I gotta treat her right. Also because I love her

He reads that and something about it lands warmly, the easy way she says it without any performance in it. He's about to type back when , "Have you reached out to any of the girls I sent you?"

He looks up, his mother is across the table, expression pleasant, chopsticks down, in the posture of someone who has been waiting for a natural opening and has decided this is it.

"No," he says. "None of them?" "None of them." She considers this with the gravity of a woman receiving disappointing quarterly results. "There was a very nice one, works in finance, you said you wanted someone independent"

"Mom." "And the architect, you didn't even look at her profile-"

"I looked." "For how long?" He doesn't answer that. She sighs with her entire body. "The concerts are this week?"

"Thursday, Saturday, Sunday." "Which day can we come? Me, your dad and your aunt-" "Saturday," he says immediately with no hesitation whatsoever.

She blinks. "Saturday? Not Sunday?" "All the parents will be there on Saturday" Yoongi says this like it’s a sure think which he knows isn’t, but he’s going to have to plan it so that it is.

"Your aunt was hoping for Sunday" He picks up his chopsticks with great authority. "I’ll have to check, but I already have your tickets for Saturday”

“Okay, but what about the Lee’s daughter? Mrs. Lee said she's very busy with work, always travelling, very independent, the hair cut was a disappointment to the parents but she’s still such a pretty woman, and she’s short enough for you” “I’m not that short mom” “It’s my fault, I should have married a taller man” His mother says with complete sincerity and Yoongi stares at her.

"That's" he stops. "What does that have to do with " "Your father is a good man." She picks her chopsticks back up serenely. "But the height. I should have thought more carefully."

"Dad is right there." From the other end of the table, his father, who has been eating in peaceful silence through this entire conversation with the practised serenity of a man who checked out of these discussions some years ago, looks up briefly.

"She's not wrong," his father says. "Dad." "I'm just agreeing with your mother." "You're agreeing that you're too short"

"I'm agreeing that she should have thought more carefully." He goes back to his food. "Very different thing." Yoongi looks between them. His mother is eating with great satisfaction. His father has returned to his bowl.

___ hasn’t changed in a bar’s bathroom before, so this is a first as she slips herself in a black dress right from the airport. Her hair is not the best, but that’s the good part about having a bob, it doesn’t need a lot of styling. What does need help is her face.

“How do you have no makeup?” ___ asks with disappointment as she slides back onto the bar stool, she’s swapped the beer for hard liquor because the dress she packed doesn’t allow for a beer belly.

“I have chapstick, but it’s not hygienic to-” “I have like five lip products but nothing for my face, I need to start carrying around a cushion foundation or a tinted sunscreen or something” ___ says as she she downs her drink, third drink of the night and with the little amount of rest she’s had all week, she knows she’s going to be hitting a wall soon.

“___ are you nervous?” Sunhee finally asks as the food comes, it would be normal for Sunhee to be nervous, but ___ is never nervous. “I don’t know, I am mostly tired” ___ offers as she stuffs her face with the fries, food should help her. She’s about to speak up again when her phone buzzes loudly against the table.

Yoongi: I’ve forwarded your contact to my manager, he’ll find you and get you guys to your seats

Yoongi: I’ll see you after the concert

___: All the best for the concert, I’m sure it’s going to be great

She types as Sunhee pays the bill, ___ might be nervous but Sunhee is anxious to leave this pub and be at the venue as soon as she can

Yoongi: Thank you, I’ll see you soon

___ doesn’t have a change to respond back before her phone is already ringing. It’s all too quick from there, they barely find a cab to the event, which Sunhee spends meditating like she does before operating, this is as she says, a spiritual experience for her.

“Why am I the only one that drank?” ___ asks as they sit down in their seats, the massive crowd all around her leaves her awestruck for a second. “I am on call” Sunhee answers, her eyes wandering, her short answers give her away.

“Come on, chill out, we’re going to be having a lot of fun” ___’s just the right kind of drunk now, the four drinks when everything is amazing and all you can think about is a drunk cigarette. The crowd around her is the kind of happy that's collective and contagious and she can feel it getting into her bloodstream alongside the liquor.

"Sunhee, your hand is shaking." Sunhee looks down at her hand. Places it flat on her knee with great effort. “That's adrenaline," she says. "It's a physiological response, it doesn't mean-"

The lights drop all the sudden, Sunhee grips her arm so hard ___ loses circulation for a moment. The crowd becomes something else entirely, a single enormous sound, and ___ feels it before she hears it, in her chest, behind her eyes, somewhere wordless and immediate. She stops thinking about the cigarette immediately as the music starts playing.

Between the singing and dancing that ___ and Sunhee have been doing, they almost miss Sunhee’s phone going off. She reads the message and is immediately a different person, “My patient just went into labour” she announces to ___ as she’s picking up her bag.

“How’ll you get back?” ___ yells over the music, "I'll call a cab-" "Are you sure-"

"___." Sunhee stops for a second and looks at her properly for one second, the exit forgotten. Her expression does something warm and knowing and slightly unbearable. "Stay."

"I was going to stay-" "I mean after." She squeezes her hand once. "Stay after."

___ opens her mouth and closes it, not able to form any words at the moment. The crowd surges around them as the last few songs begin to play, enormous and bright, and Sunhee is already moving toward the exit, bag on her shoulder, phone to her ear, slipping through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of someone who has somewhere more important to be.

___ sees him, her eyes almost involuntarily finding him every now and then, smiles to herself seeing him so happy on stage, his cute mannerism that she’s finding too endearing. How the crowds cheer for them, the heart that they sing and dance with, this kind of passion could move anyone.

The final note ends, the roar that comes after is physical, a wall of sound, and the boys walk back out for their bow, all of them, together, the stage lights warm on them, and the crowd sends everything it has left toward the stage in one long unbroken wave.

___ stays seated as the people around her continue to gather their stuff and move around, ready to leave. She's not sure where to go or what the protocol is or whether there even is a protocol, the text that said see you after suddenly very present in her mind now that after is here.

She's still sitting when someone appears at the end of her row. Yoongi's Manager, the same one who met her outside the venue, was efficient and unhurried, with the quiet competence of someone who has done this exact thing many times.

"Ms. Lee." He nods once. "If you'll follow me."

She picks up her clutch and stands too quickly, smoothing her dress in one swift motion, she walks as she reapplies her lipstick, hoping this can mask the lack of makeup.

She follows him through the emptying stadium toward the back, the crowd thinning around her, the stage growing closer, the noise of the night shifting into something quieter and more specific the further in they go.

The hallway outside the green room is not what she expected, though she's not sure what she expected exactly. It's busy in the contained way of post-show logistics, staff moving with purpose, and people. Guests, she realizes, a few of them, recognizable faces standing in the particular way that recognizable people stand when they're in a space that isn't quite public, relaxed but not fully, aware but performing unawareness. 

Jimin notices her first as they emerge from the resting room, having caught their breaths after the concerts and now ready to greet their guests. His eyes land on her and then move to Yoongi in the same second, quick and unnoticeable to anyone not watching for it. She catches it.

The group collectively greets a few people as ___ stands on the side, not wanting to be in people’s way when Yoongi stops right in front of her.

Still slightly out of breath, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, his eyes find her sneakers first. They make her considerably shorter than him and she watches him register this, his gaze traveling up slowly before it finds her face.

"Hi," he says softly, a small smile spreading on his face, she’s about to say something when he pulls her by the arm, away, in another quiet room, away from the people. 

"Oh my god, you guys were incredible. I think my throat actually hurts from how much I was cheering, which has never happened to me before in my life-" Yoongi sets his water bottle down and disappears behind a curtain at the far end of the room, changing, and she can see his silhouette moving and hear the quiet sounds of someone pulling off a jacket, a shirt, the efficient undressing of someone who just wants to be in normal clothes as quickly as possible.

"-the production, the stage is so massive, and the crowd, every one having the best times of their life, my hearts still beating like crazy, I can’t even imagine what yours is doing” she talks naturally, like a person who had a life altering experience and needs to share it. There’s a faint laughter from his end as he continues behind the curtain. 

“Seriously, the scale of this is crazy, you guys were amazing” He says nothing for a moment. She can hear him pulling on something. 

He's tired, she can hear it underneath the silence, the particular quality of exhaustion that has gone past the point of showing itself and become something quieter. He performed for three hours, he's been doing this for days and he's here, behind a curtain, listening to her talk about the lighting.

She stops talking suddenly, very aware of how much she’s rambled on, "Sorry," she says. "You're exhausted." “I want to hear everything you have to say ___” he speaks softly as he emerges from behind the curtain. 

“I always have a lot to say Yoongi,” she stops, copying the same emphasis he just placed on her name, “You might get tired of how much I have to say” she continues as he stops by a table, dropping all the clothes he was just wearing now that he’s in a simple jeans and black shirt. 

Yoongi isn’t just tired, he’s exhausted, exhausted enough to do what he’s done each night after a show, and rush home. But he simply takes a seat on the sofa opposite to hers, he wants to continue listening to her voice. 

“Seriously, it was amazing, congratulations, I would have brought flowers or something if I didn’t directly come from the air-” “You have freckles around your nose, they’re um” Yoongi interrupts. It comes out before he's made a decision about it. The exhaustion, probably. The way tiredness removes the small delay between thinking and saying, the buffer he usually relies on.

The briefest pause where his senses catch up with his mouth and he considers his options and decides on honesty anyway. "Very pretty." 

The silence between them is the particular kind that has too much in it to be comfortable and too much in it to break carelessly. “Your friend? I didn’t see her-” “Oh her patient went into labour so she had to rush out, but she caught most of the concert and is now probably prepping to deliver a baby” 

“Oh” that’s all Yoongi can muster now that the buffer of a friend is gone, when Yoongi was imagining seeing her after the concert, he kept imagining the friend. “Yeah, but I should get going too, you must be tired” 

“I am tired, but I can still drop you home?” Yoongi asks, knowing full well that he should have probably asked her for dinner, given the thin smile on her lips. “Please, I can find my way-” “There’s going to be a lot of traffic ___” Yoongi offers and she smiles briefly as he says her name again, the particular softness that he uses. 

"It's late," she says. "Which is why there'll be traffic."

"Yoongi-" "My car is already outside." He says it simply. "It's not out of the way." She looks at him for a moment. He looks her straight in the eyes for a second, like he really means this and isn’t offering this out of some formality. 

“You don’t know where I live” she says with a teasing tone as they both stay seated, not quite ready to move onto what comes next. “Today I learn your address then”

The car is quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind where neither of them knows what to say. None of them imagined the string of events that led to this, it almost makes Yoongi chuckle to himself as he thinks about how vehemently against this he was, his mother can’t know any of this yet. Not until he knows why he keeps reaching for his phone for her text back, why he saved her address without thinking about it, why he's sitting in a car at midnight when he should be in bed.

He doesn't know yet. He'd like to figure it out quietly, without his mother's involvement, which is the only way anything survives in its early stages.

“So, the tour, you guys must leave soon” ___ speaks up as they stop at a red light, the traffic is indeed awful. “Yes, Japan, then the US, Mexico, back to US and then back in Korea around mid June” Yoongi hears himself say it. All of it, laid out in sequence, the shape of the next several months suddenly made concrete in the quiet of the car. 

Somewhere in the middle of the list he understands, clearly and exactly why he told his mother he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Why he'd meant it. Why it was true then and remains true now regardless of freckles or the jackets or the way she says his name.

He can't do this to someone. The disappearing, the timezone math, the months of existing primarily as a name on a phone screen. He knows what that looks like from the inside and he knows what it asks of the person on the other end and it's a lot. It's always been a lot.

"Mid June," she says quietly, doing the math the same way he just did. "Mid June," he confirms with a long exhale.

"Do you get used to it?" she asks. "The schedule."

He thinks about it for a few seconds, deciding on how honest he should be, "You get used to moving," he says. "You don't really get used to leaving."

The car stops at another light. Somewhere outside a group of people are spilling out of a restaurant, loud and warm on a Sunday night, and she watches them through the glass.

She’s almost thirty two, a gallery she loves, clients she's spent years building relationships with. A life that moves exactly the way she designed it to move. She doesn't need to complicate that. ___ knows this.

She can't quite bring herself to be realistic about this, even if she has been realistic about way less complications in the past.

"What are you thinking about," he says, he needs to know just what she’s thinking because he knows it can’t be good.

She glances at him, he's looking ahead at the road, not at her, but his attention is entirely on her answer. "The tour," she says. Which is true but not all of it.

He nods, something in his jaw shifts slightly, the way it does when he's decided not to say something.

"Yoongi." "Mm."

"It's a long time to be away." "It is," he says, simply with no argument, he knows there isn’t one.

The light turns green. "Do you…" she starts and stops to try again "Is there ever a point where it gets easier? The coming back. Picking things back up."

He's quiet for a moment. "Depends what you're picking back up," he says.

She looks at him. He's still looking at his hand now and the city lights are moving across his face in slow intervals and she thinks distantly that this is an unreasonable amount of person to have discovered in an elevator.

She looks back out her window. "I'm not twenty anymore," she says, mostly to herself.

"Neither am I." "I mean-" she turns her rings once. "I used to be better at not thinking ahead."

"What do you see?" he asks. "When you think ahead." She's quiet for a long moment, outside Seoul continues, indifferent and bright.

"A very long tour schedule," she says finally. He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, almost a laugh like he’s had this discussion before, "Yeah, that’s just the first leg" he says quietly.

The car moves through the city and neither of them solves anything and somehow that's alright, the silence settling back around them like something they've agreed to for now, the kind of quiet that isn't an ending, just a pause.

The car stops outside her building and they both get out, the night air cool after the warmth of the car. She tilts her head back slightly to take in the street, familiar and quiet, and he falls into step beside her naturally, walking her to the entrance the way he'd stood up to walk her out of the green room.

They stop at the entrance. The streetlight catches everything, her hair, her rings, the white sneakers. He's still in his cap and mask pulled down, hands in his pockets, adjusting his cap without meaning to, forward, back, forward again.

Neither of them starts the conversation. She looks up at him and he looks somewhere just past her, and the comfortable quiet of the car has followed them out onto the pavement.

"I think we should go on a date," she says. He goes very still as his eyes find her.

"A real one." Even, practical, like she's proposing something with a clear agenda. "Before Japan. Before our rational sides catch up with us and decide this is a terrible idea." A beat. "An experiment. To find out if there's actually anything here before we decide there isn't."

He knows what he should say. He's been doing the math since the car, since she said mid June in the quiet way she said it. He knows what this looks like, the beginning of something, the successful experiment she's predicting, and he knows what comes after that too, what he'd be asking her to sign up for.

___ deserves someone who comes home on a regular basis. Yoongi knows this.

"You know it won't stop there," he says quietly. "If the experiment works."

"I know," she says. "The tour is-" "I know, Yoongi."

"I'm just saying you might-" "I know." She says it gently, firmly, the way she says things when she's already thought them through and doesn't need him to think them through on her behalf. "I'm aware of what I'm suggesting."

He looks at her for a long moment, the way she’s fidgeting with her rings, "Okay," he says.

"Okay?" "One dinner." He holds her gaze. "Before Japan."

She nods once, that's when he looks down.

The height difference from here, standing on the pavement, is… notable. He does the mental calculation of exactly what his mother said and feels the smile coming.

"What," she says immediately. "Nothing." He presses his lips together and fails entirely. "My mother said you were short enough for me."

She stares at him. "She said that."

"Among other things." "Short enough for you," she repeats.

"Her words, not mine" "And what do you think?" He looks down at her from the full, considerable distance of his height, cap crooked, mask around his chin, and says with complete straightness,

"I think she was right."  She laughs brightly and he lets himself smile properly this time, all the way, and for a moment they're just two people standing outside a building at midnight laughing about height and mothers and the specific absurdity of how they got here.

She steps back and looks up at him one last time. "Goodnight, Yoongi." "Goodnight, ___."

She turns and goes inside, the door closing quietly behind her, he stands there a moment longer than he needs to. Reaches up and adjusts his cap.

Gets back in the car and looks at the ceiling for a long moment, the city moving quietly around him.

He knows how this goes. He knows himself well enough to know that one dinner won't be one dinner, that the experiment is going to tell them both exactly what she predicted it would, and that she said I'm aware of what I'm suggesting with the confidence of someone who has never actually done this before. Not with someone like him. Not with a schedule like his.

She'll be realistic about it eventually. Everyone is, eventually. He just hopes she is the anomaly in the experiment that his dating history has been.

"-so you just decided, so young, that music was your calling?" "I didn't decide anything." He turns his glass slightly on the table, a small rotation, thinking about how to explain it to someone who hasn't lived it. "It was more like…the decision had already been made somewhere and I was just catching up to it."

She rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, the way she settles in when she's properly interested in something. She's been doing it on and off all evening and he's stopped pretending not to notice. "That's how it feels with the work I love too," she says. "Like you didn't choose it so much as recognize it."

He looks at her. "Exactly that." The restaurant is quiet around them, the kind of quiet that Tuesday buys you, a handful of other tables, low light, no one paying attention to anyone else. 

"Okay," she says, picking up her glass. "Worst part of the job. Honestly." He thinks about it and she waits, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers, patient.

"The losing yourself of it," he says. "Not in a dramatic way. Just…" he pauses. "You're performing a version of yourself for long enough and you start to lose track of where that version ends."

She's quiet for a moment. "Does it come back?" she asks. "The original version."

"I'm still figuring that out." She nods slowly, like she's filing that somewhere careful. Not with pity. He'd noticed pity immediately and she seems to know that. 

"Your turn," he says. "People assume I do this because I come from money," she says, the same even tone she uses for everything. "That it's a hobby dressed up as a career. Something for a well bred woman" She pauses to take a sip of her wine. "I would have done this regardless of the money. The money just meant no one could stop me from starting early."

He nods. That he understands, the specificity of a thing choosing you rather than the other way around. She looks at him for a moment. Something shifts slightly in her expression, a decision being made.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she says. "We’ve been doing that for some time now" Yoongi notes with a light chuckle.

"More personal." He leans back slightly, arms loose. "Okay."

"Do you actually want this? Not the date, not…" she gestures between them. "In general. A person. Do you want one or do you like the idea of wanting one?"

The table goes quiet. He looks at her steadily and she looks back, unhurried, leaving the question exactly where she put it.

"That's a good question," he says. "I know."

He takes a sip of his wine as he prepares to talk, "I miss it," he says simply, like something admitted for the first time in a while, to someone actually listening. "Having a girlfriend. Having someone who… knows your schedule well enough to know when you're tired before you say it. Someone to call when something happens. Good or bad." He pauses. "Someone to just, be there."

She's quiet as she leans in, like she wants him to know she’s listening. "I've told myself that life makes it impossible," he continues. "And it's not untrue. It's hard, it's always been hard." He glances up at her. "But I think I've been using it as a reason not to try. Which is different from it actually being impossible."

"That's honest," she says. "You asked."

"I did." ___ says with a small smile. "Your turn. Same question."

She exhales softly, "Yes," she says, without hesitation, which means she's known it for a while. "I'm not complicated about it. I just want someone, I've always wanted someone." She turns her ring once. "I've just been spectacularly unlucky."

He looks at her., and then her glass, and then the residual of her lipstick on the glass, "Unlucky how?"

She laughs, short and genuine, the kind that comes from a story that has lost its sting and kept its absurdity. "The last person I was serious about decided to move to London for work and forgot to mention it until two weeks before he left." She picks up her fork. "Before that there was someone lovely in every way except that he was still in love with his ex. Which he also didn't mention."

"I have good instincts about art," she continues, "and terrible instincts about men. Which is a very specific combination of traits to be living with” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile.

"You can laugh," she says. "I'm not laughing."

"You're doing the thing where you're not laughing." He looks away briefly and then back at her, the wine really helping him look at her, "I'm not laughing at you."

"I know." She sets her fork down. "It's tiring, mostly. Being caught off guard by people when you're not someone who gets caught off guard easily."

The table settles into a quiet with something real in it now. The lightness still underneath but something more honest sitting on top as their plates get cleared, signaling a clear end to their date, or at least their time at the restaurant. 

"How's the experiment going," he says, after a moment as he quietly places his card in the bill book.

She looks at him, steady and warm. "Terribly," she says with a pleasant smile.

He smiles into his glass. "Yeah," he says. "Same." Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his mask as they step outside, pulling it up with the practiced ease of someone who has done it ten thousand times, adjusting it once.

The street is empty and still. Tuesday midnight belongs to no one in particular. "I'll walk you home," he says, naturally, already falling into step beside her. “It’s a long walk” ___ retorts as they walk, hands brushing every now and then.

“It’s a two minute walk ___” Yoongi offers plainly as he doesn’t move away. They fall into step together and talk as they walk, nothing important, nothing that needs to be, she says something about a show she's been meaning to see, he says something about a track he's been sitting on for weeks, small things, the kind of conversation that exists just to keep the evening going a little longer.

It’s all light and breezy till they reach a crossing, he reaches out and takes her hand. His hand just finds hers as they step off the curb, the way you do something you've been doing for years. Fingers wrapping around hers, already looking both ways, already moving.

She looks straight ahead, hoping her hair masks some of her blush. They cross, but he doesn't let go.

She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just keep walking, her hand in his, and she looks at the street ahead with the expression of someone being very deliberate about not smiling and not quite managing it.

He looks at the building and looks back at her. Her hand still in his, the evening sitting between them with nowhere left to go, he leaves for Japan tomorrow, the night air cool and still around them.

She tilts her head up at him. "Do you want to come up?" she says. "I have dessert. Ice cream" she says as she tries to tug her hand to gesture with her hand, which he doesn’t let go.

He's looking at her with the particular expression she's learning, the one that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one, the one that lives mostly in his eyes, quiet and certain and slightly devastating at close range.

"Ice cream," he repeats. "Yes."

"What kind?" "Does it matter?"

He considers this with complete seriousness. "Somewhat."

"Yoongi." "I'm asking a reasonable question-"

"Come upstairs and find out," she says, and turns toward the entrance, and this time he lets her hand go, only to hold the door open for her, which she walks through without looking back at him because her face is still doing the thing and she needs another three seconds before she can be a normal person again.

Her apartment is exactly what he would have guessed and nothing he was fully prepared for.

Organized chaos, the particular kind that has a system even if the system isn't immediately visible. Paintings leaning against the walls in clusters, some framed, some not, some wrapped in brown paper with labels in her handwriting. Books on every surface, some closed, some splayed open face down. Magazines stacked in a way that suggests they're referenced rather than decorative.

It's lived in. Genuinely, thoroughly lived in, and it suits her so precisely. They end up on the sofa without deciding to, the way they keep ending up places without deciding to. Her legs tucked under her, turned slightly toward him. Him at the other end, bowl in hand, looking at the painting propped against the wall directly across from them.

They talk. The ice cream disappears somewhere in the middle of a conversation that moves from her uncle to his producing to a collector in Geneva who cried when she found him a specific work he'd been searching for for eleven years. He tells her about what it feels like when a track finally becomes what it was supposed to be. She listens the way she always listens, fully, without waiting for her turn.

It's past one when his phone lights up on the cushion between them. Mom.

She sees it the same moment he does. He reaches for it. "Pick up her phone," she says sternly, the tone of teasing right there.

"I'm not -" "Do not cut your poor mother’s phone, she might be sick and worried" ___ adds dramatically and he huffs and picks up the call anyway.

"Mom." "Where are you?" She’s wide awake, unbothered by the hour. "You're never out this late, are you sick-" "I'm not sick-"

"Have you eaten?" "I had dinner" "With who-"

___ opens her mouth with that same teasing smile and his hand moves before he's decided to move it, swift, certain, palm covering her mouth completely, cutting off whatever she was about to contribute to this situation as he closes the distance between them.

She goes still as he keeps his eyes forward, continuing the phone call, entirely composed. "With a friend, Mom, I'll be home soon"

___ looks up at him over his hand. She very aware, in the specific silence of having nothing to say because there is a hand preventing her from saying it, of his hands. The size of them. The warmth. The way it covers most of her lower face with a kind of easy certainty that she is finding deeply inconvenient given the current context of a first date and his mother on the phone and her own heartbeat which has made a unilateral decision she hasn't approved.

"You sound strange," his mother says. "I'm fine." 

"Which friend?" "Mom -" ___ raises her eyebrows at him. He finally looks at her, briefly, and whatever he sees makes him look immediately back at the painting on the wall across the room.

His hand stays and she stays still beneath it.

"Come home soon," his mother says. "Soon," he confirms. "Go to sleep"

He hangs up with a huff and neither of them moves. His hand is still there, warm against her face, and the apartment is very quiet around them, the painting on the wall offering no commentary whatsoever.

Slowly, with the careful deliberateness of someone making a considered decision, he lowers it. She looks up at him. He looks back at her, right beside her.

"You were going to say something," he says shyly as his hand comes to rub his neck.

"I was going to be helpful," she says. "You were going to be a problem." "Same thing," she says with a smile, and her hands come up without much deliberation and fix his hair which the sudden movement moved out of place.

He goes very still, not uncomfortable. Just, very still. The way he goes still when something catches him off guard in a way he wasn't prepared to be caught. Her hand drops back down, briefly touching his thigh when she leaves them.

He's looking at her now, properly, the full direct version he allows himself in small increments, and from this close it's a lot. “I didn't expect to have this much fun," he confesses, his voice quieterl, like he's admitting something he hadn't planned to. "Not that I doubted you, I just-" he pauses, choosing the words carefully the way he does, "I haven't been on a first date this good in a while."

He looks at her when he says it, waiting for her reaction with the particular stillness of someone who has said a true thing and is now at the mercy of what happens next.

"I know," she says, and there's warmth in it, no teasing yet, just the honest version first. "I was kind of rooting for you to be this brooding, nonchalant musician, actually. Would have made it all much easier."

"Easier," he repeats. "To not like you," she says simply, reaching for her glass of wine. "I had a whole plan. You'd be aloof and a little difficult and I'd think, well, lovely person, interesting work, not for me." She takes a sip. "Very clean. Very uncomplicated."

"I almost cancelled," he says, after a moment. She raises an eyebrow. "Not because-" he stops, tries again. "I almost talked myself out of it. On the way over." He turns his glass slightly on the table, the small rotation she's noticed he does when he's thinking. "I do that. Find the practical reason not to."

"What changed your mind?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment, looks at the table, at his glass, briefly at her hands where they rest near her wine. “I really liked the feeling of seeing you after the concert," he says. Simply, without dressing it up, the way he says true things when he's decided to say them. He pauses. "I kept thinking about it on the drive over and I couldn't find a practical reason that was bigger than that."

She looks at him for a moment, this careful, deliberate man who thinks before he speaks and means everything he says and had apparently spent an entire car ride arguing with himself about her and lost. "The feeling of seeing me," she repeats, softly.

"Yes," he says. He's looking at her now, noticing how she looks in these dim lights.

They talk for a while, about something and nothing in particular, the night settling into the easy rhythm that has become theirs without either of them formally deciding. She tells him about an artist she'd found earlier in the year, eccentric beyond what that word usually covers, a man who'd moved deep into the woods over concerns about wifi radiation and could only be reached by a forty minute hike up an unmarked trail. "I showed up in the wrong shoes," she says, gesturing at her feet like the memory is still personal. "He didn't apologize. Just handed me a cup of something that tasted like tea and started showing me the work." She pauses. "It was extraordinary. The work, not the tea, the tea made me sick."

He's smiling properly now, elbow on the sofa back, chin in his hand, watching her the way he watches things he finds genuinely interesting. "Did you sign him?" 

"I'm working on it," she says. "He doesn't have a phone so it's mostly letters." A beat. "Actual letters. With stamps." He laughs, low and warm, and she tucks her feet further under her, satisfied.

He talks about tour, stories that surface easily now in the comfortable quiet of her living room, the way they don't always in interviews or in rooms full of people waiting for something quotable. A night in São Paulo where the rain came down so hard they could hear it over the speakers and the crowd stayed anyway, every single person, standing in it. The particular feeling, he says, quieter now, of standing in the wings before a show when everyone is there together, all seven of them, and the noise of the crowd coming through the walls like something alive.

"You miss them," she says, not a question. "It's different performing without all of them," he says simply. "It'll be good to be back."

She looks at him for a moment, the lamp throwing everything soft and warm, his profile against the dark of the window, the city quiet beyond the glass. She's been thinking about something, something which is a lot to ask on a first date, but asks anyway.

"How does it work?" she says. "A relationship. With you on tour." She says it evenly, no weight of accusation in it, just the genuine question, the one that has been sitting underneath the whole evening. "Practically. What does it actually look like?"

He's quiet for a moment, turning his glass slowly.  "A lot of texts," he says. "Voice notes when there's time. Video calls that get cut short because of schedules." He pauses. "Having them fly out for tour dates, as often as I can, as much as they can" He looks at the glass, talking in hypotheticals. 

“The hardest part isn't the being away," he continues. "It's not being there for the small things. The ordinary ones." He glances up at her briefly. "Someone has a bad day and you're in a different timezone and a text isn't the same as being there."

She's quiet for a moment, turning her ring. "No," she agrees. "It isn't."

"I'm not going to pretend it's easy," he says, and she can hear the care in it, the way he's choosing honesty over reassurance because he thinks she deserves the honest version. "It asks a lot of the other person."

"It asks a lot of both people," she says. He looks at her then. "You'd be the one leaving," she continues. "That's not nothing either." He holds her gaze for a moment, something shifting slightly in his expression, like she's said something he hadn't expected to be said. "No," he says quietly. "It's not."

It’s about three am when Yoongi yawns for the first time, ___ chuckles as she stands up, they’ve talked for a while, they could keep going, but he also leaves for the tour tomorrow.

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” ___ asks as she walks over to the kitchen and refills her glass, “Around 7 pm” Yoongi says as he checks his watch, very aware of the time. He stands up, swiftly putting on his jacket.

“I should go, we both have stuff in the morning” He says as he stands awkwardly, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye, or if he even wants to.

“Yeah…yeah we do” The silence that follows is different from the ones before. He shifts slightly, hands sliding into his pockets, then out again, like he can’t quite decide what to do with them.

He’s not usually like this, but there’s something about this, about her, that’s throwing off his usual rhythm.

“Tonight was…” he starts, then stops, he exhales lightly, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again. “A successful experiment” ___ adds as she walks over, stopping just a few steps away from him.

“___,” he starts again, quicker this time, like if he hesitates he won’t say it at all. “I’d like to see you again.”

The words land between them, steady but unpolished, so painfully honest. “My life is complicated,” he continues, glancing at her briefly before looking back, like he’s choosing not to hide behind anything. “But I feel like we’ve got something good.”

He pauses there, watching her, trying to read her before he goes any further. He continues quietly, “something real”

For a second, she just looks at him, and then her smile grows. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admits, closing the small distance between them.

Now they’re close, closer than before, close enough that she can see the growing blush on his face, “Because I was about to say the same thing.”

That catches him off guard, just slightly, his expression shifting to relief and something more warm. “Good,” he says, softer now.

“You know,” she adds lightly, her voice dropping just a little, “for an experiment, this went pretty well.”

“Mm.” “Almost like we should repeat it.”

That earns the faintest hint of a smile from him. “I was planning on it.”

Her eyes flick briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, the movement subtle and quick, but not quick enough to escape him, and in that fleeting moment something in him settles, something quiet but certain, like a decision finally catching up to a feeling he’s been circling all night.

His hand lifts again, more deliberate this time, coming to rest at her waist, fingers curling slightly as if he’s grounding himself, or maybe holding onto the moment just a little longer, like he’s aware of how easily it could slip past them if he rushes it.

He doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t overthink it either, which for him is saying something, because there’s usually a pause, a calculation, a reason to hold back, but not now.

He stops just short of her, close enough that the space between them feels intentional rather than hesitant, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to give her the chance to pull away if she wants to, to change her mind, to set the boundary before he crosses it.

But she doesn’t, instead, she closes that last bit of distance herself, leaning in just slightly, just enough to meet him halfway, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

When he kisses her, it’s softer than expected, not because he’s unsure, but because he’s choosing to be careful with it, choosing to let it build rather than take, and there’s something in that restraint that makes it feel more intentional, more real.

Her hand comes up almost immediately, pressing lightly against his chest, not to stop him but to steady herself, or maybe to feel something tangible in the middle of everything that suddenly feels a little too charged, a little too new.

And that’s what shifts it, that simple contact. It deepens the kiss, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to change it from something tentative into something that lingers, something that holds, something that neither of them seems in a hurry to end.

___ didn’t know how to feel when Yoongi sent her the flight tickets. She isn’t even sure if they’re in a relationship, how does one qualify this as a relationship when it went from a phenomenal first date to flying across continents for the second one.

They’ve been constantly in touch with each other, texting, calling, even video calling a few rare times, each sending pictures from their day, and usually ___ would have classified this as something too difficult for 31 and moved on, but he’s just charmed her. His soft laughter, sending her flowers to the gallery, song samples that he genuinely wants her thoughts on. 

She's found herself laughing into her phone more than she has in recent memory. While she drives to work and he's somewhere between cities, still half asleep, voice low and unhurried. While he eats dinner and she scrapes together a lunch at her desk, their schedules overlapping in whatever small window the timezones allow. The video call where he talked her through using a power drill for twenty minutes with the focused patience of someone who genuinely could not rest until she could hang the paintings in her living room.

___ pushes all the doubts aside as she moves through the airport, it’s still early morning and a significant amount at the San Francisco airport. ___ spots Mr Shin right away, Yoongi’s manager standing there with a warm smile as he waves his hands to greet her. 

"Morning, Ms. Lee." He's quick, stepping forward to take her bag before she's even fully registered the intention. "How was the flight? Did you eat?" "I'm fine, really-" but the bag is already gone, and he's already moving, and she has learned enough about the people in Yoongi's orbit to know that efficiency is a personality trait they share collectively. She falls into step beside him.

The car is black, tinted, parked just beyond the terminal in the kind of spot that suggests someone made a phone call. Mr. Shin rounds the front of it and she follows, and that's when she sees him.

Yoongi is standing on the far side of the car, away from the flow of arrivals, away from the small clusters of people watching the arrivals gate. He's in a cap and a mask, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, she isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but his eyes light up for sure. 

She stops for just a second. Then she keeps walking and he straightens slightly, the way he does when he's trying to look like he wasn't just waiting, and she would tease him about it if her own face wasn't currently doing something she'd prefer it didn't.

"Hi," she says, stopping in front of him. "Hi." His eyes move over her briefly, the way they do, quick and considered. “Long flight?" Yoongi asks, almost instinctively taking the massive handbag from her hand, their fingers brush, the simple touch is enough to wake him up.

“Yeah, there was so much turbulence, I didn’t get a minute's sleep” ___ shares as they stand a few steps away from each other, none of them ready to be bold this morning. “How do you look this beautiful after fourteen hours of no sleep?” Yoongi comments, a compliment filled with genuine curiosity.

___ blinks once. Then she breaks into that familiar laughter, the real one, sudden and unguarded, her hand coming up to hit his arm softly. "That's not-" she starts, still laughing, shaking her head. "You can't just say things like that."

"I'm just asking," he says, and he's smiling now too, the full version, the one that takes over his whole face when he's not paying attention to stopping it. "You're not just asking, you're-" she gestures vaguely at him, at the general situation, at whatever this is, and he watches her do it with quiet satisfaction. 

“Mr Min, we’re ready to leave” Mr Shin speaks before he gets into the driver seat, they’re in the car quickly, ___ is the first to yawn then Yoongi when she laughs again, there isn’t much being said, both of them just glad to be in each other’s presence.

“Is there anything specific you want to do before you fly to LA?” Yoongi asks after three complete minutes of silence, he has five days before their dates in Stanford, but ___ has combined this trip with some work trip.

“Golden gate bridge for sure, lots of coffee” ___ talks as she looks ahead at the GPS, it’s going to be thirty minutes till they reach the hotel, “and eat all the food we can in Chinatown” she turns to face him, Yoongi is currently taking very serious mental notes, hoping he remembers this all. 

"Everything," she adds, because she means it. "Dim sum, noodles, everything." "Everything," he repeats, solemnly, like he's committing it to memory.

The city slides past in the early grey light, the fog sitting low over everything, soft and unhurried. ___'s exhausted in the particular way that crosses the point of feeling like exhaustion and becomes something closer to weightlessness, the fourteen hours and the turbulence and the airport and the adrenaline all catching up at once now that she's finally still.

He's warm beside her, warm and solid and here, actually here, not a voice through a speaker or a name on a screen, and she is tired enough and brave enough that when her head tips sideways and finds his shoulder. 

“Is this the shoulder with the surgery?” ___ snaps out of it, lifting her head slightly just to confirm things. Yoongi is still for a second, "No," he murmurs. His arm comes around her, slow and easy, like it's the most natural thing, settling at her back with a gentleness that she feels all the way through the exhaustion. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi shares a few moments later, knowing she’s fully awake. “Even more glad that you can stay a month” he murmurs softly into her hair as his hand gently rubs her shoulder. Her hand finds the fabric of his hoodie, fingers curling lightly against it, too tired to talk. Yoongi rests his cheek gently against the top of her head and looks at the road ahead with the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to think about how much he already doesn't want this month to end. 

___ feels like a zombie dragging herself, barely awake yet fully awake, full of food, desserts and coffee that they kept stuffing each other with. Yoongi walks back to the park bench, water in hand and he too feels like he’s ready to call quits on the day even if it’s only 6 pm yet. 

“You don’t look too well, do you have a fever?” Yoongi asks as he hands her the bottle, wiping his hand against his jeans before checking her temperature. ___ almost immediately falls into his touch, her eyes closing, her whole body leaning slightly into his hand like she's been needing to rest against something for a while now and this is close enough. 

"I am just-" she starts, then stops, organizing her words with some effort. "I can see how much you've planned, I know you looked things up and I know you had the whole route figured out and I genuinely loved today, all of it, the food and all of it-" she opens her eyes and looks at him, earnest despite the exhaustion, "-but can we just go back to the hotel and sleep." A pause. "You should stay out," she adds, because she means it, "get some air, do something, I just really really need to crash."

He looks at her for a long moment. His hand has moved from her forehead to the back of her neck, resting there lightly, and she hasn't moved away from it. “Let me call a car, we can go to that restaurant some other time” he whispers mostly to himself as ___ sighs with relief, going back to resting against the bench back. 

“I promise I’ll be a lot more fun tomorrow morning, I just need to sleep” ___ mumbles and Yoongi can’t help but be fascinated by this new side to her, the extremely exhausted that makes her whiny. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asks, looking at her sideways, and his arm comes around her naturally, his hand finding her far shoulder and drawing her back toward him, her head settling against him with the ease of something practiced.

"I hadn't seen you in so long," she says finally, her voice quiet and honest, the filter that exhaustion removes making everything simpler. "I didn't want to waste time sleeping."

He goes still, not visibly, not in any way she'd catch in the state she's in, but something in him just stops for a moment and sits with that. “Please just tell me the next time you’re too tired” Yoongi pleads as a car rolls in, hoping it’s theirs.

"Come on," he says gently, standing and bringing her with him, his hand steady at her back. She goes without complaint, leaning into his side, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk toward the car, her steps slow and his matching them without thinking about it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Room service? Have food picked up?” Yoongi talks as he swipes the key card, “I can’t, I feel nauseous already” ___ answers with great delay as she picks up the pace, walking up to it but struggling to open it.

“Need any help?” Yoongi asks and ___ simply nods walking to the washroom, she is optimizing the time, going straight to washing up while Yoongi finds her pyjamas. He helps her out, wiping her face that she left damp, helping her remove her rings and watch, and is almost fascinated by the speed in which she gets into bed. 

Yoongi slips into bed approximately twenty minutes later, hoping she’s already asleep and it seems to be true until she stirs towards him. “I am so sorry” ___ mumbles and Yoongi’s eyebrows knit as she moves even closer, or he does, Yoongi’s not sure.

“___ you flew across continents for me, you’re allowed to be tired” Yoongi speaks softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s just that I thought we’d be having sex and instead we’re falling asleep at 6 pm” she speaks against his arm and something in his chest does a complicated thing and he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a moment, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and quiet and completely helpless, the kind that sneaks up on him. 

“We have an entire month” Yoongi reassures her, he isn’t sure what the move is, this is technically their second date, but he also wants to cuddle her, maybe even kiss her if he could be just a bit braver. “I counted, and with your work and mine, we only have 17 days together”

He pulls her in, properly, his arm coming around her, and she goes without stirring, fitting against him with the ease of something that has been doing this for years instead of days.

"Seventeen days is a lot," he says softly, into her hair. She makes a small sound, almost agreement, almost already dreaming. “We can still have a lot of fun, just tell me the next time you’re tired like this" he says, quieter now, his head leaning down but ___ seems to be fast asleep against his chest. 

Yoongi has rules about this sort of thing. No sleeping in the same bed before the fifth date. No inviting someone on tour before you're actually together. No cuddling before, he looks down at her, well.

He looks back at the ceiling. The rules were built for a specific kind of situation. A careful, sensible situation where feelings arrived in an orderly fashion. The rules had not accounted for ___ specifically, which in retrospect was a significant oversight in the design.

He exhales slowly, a bit scared of how much he’s already feeling but also very excited but it all, no one has been like her, she’s truly the anomaly to the experiment. 

“Come here, we should take pictures together as well” ___ gestures towards Yoongi who turns towards his security personnel with her phone. She’s banned pictures on his samsung, something about them just not looking right. Yoongi jogs beside her, the sun peaking through the golden gate bridge, the soft morning glow on her face, he can’t help but smile.

“You look very pretty in the morning” Yoongi compliments her, posing awkwardly beside each other. “You think I look pretty after a 14 hour flight, I don’t trust you” ___ teases as she shifts closer, the security guard continuing to take pictures.

“Well you’re always pretty to me,” Yoongi continues nonchalantly, like this is the most natural thing in the world, ___’s blush growing deeper. “Am I just that, arm candy Yoongi-si?” ___ teases as she looks up at him.

“Well that, also you're so terrifyingly confident and smart, so kind,” Yoongi says, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Wow, I’m arm candy for BTS’s Suga, I’ve finally made it in life” ___ jokes, mostly because she doesn’t want to process the other compliments he gave her.

"Okay," the security guard calls out, "I think I got some good ones." "Thank you," ___ calls back, and her voice only wavers slightly. Yoongi squeezes her hand once, still not looking at her, and starts back down the path, pulling her gently with him, away from the rocky terrain, his grip sure and unhurried.

“So, you fly to LA tomorrow morning?” Yoongi confirms as he drys his hair, he finds ___ staring at her phone intently, like she’s overanalysing something. “___?” he calls her again, walking closer. Yoongi sees her shuffling through the pictures from the golden gate bridge, stuck at one particular one where he’s looking at her instead of facing forward.

He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks up at him, then at the photo, then back at him. "What are we?" she asks. Not confrontational, not loaded, just genuinely asking, the way she asks things she actually wants answered.

He looks at her with the expression of someone who finds the question slightly puzzling. "What do you mean?" "I mean-" she gestures between them, "us. This. What is this."

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, simply, with complete confidence, the way he'd say something obvious, like the name of a street or the time of a flight. Then he tilts his head slightly, reading her face. "Was that not clear?"

She stares at him, “___ I begged you to join me for the tour, why would I do that? I didn't think we were dating?” Yoongi speaks, the towel coming up to her hair to dry it instead. “So, you’ve not brought girls around when they were just a fling?” ___ deflects again, teasing now that she’s gotten the answer she’s wanted.

“No” he says, flatly, no elaboration, the kind of no that closes a door completely. He keeps drying her hair, unbothered, and she lets him, looking up at him from where she's sitting, close enough now to see everything his face is doing in the quiet of the room. 

“Did you really think we were a fling or something, what’s it called now?” Yoongi stops to think for a second, “A situationship?” his amused tone is not helping the laughter escaping ___, her falling flat on the bed. 

“You grandpa, how do you know what that even is?” “Jungkook’s love live is complicated” Yoongi answers, pulling her up, but ___ just pulls him with her. She reaches up and pushes his damp hair back from his forehead, slow and deliberate, and he stays completely still beneath it, watching her, and when she doesn't move her hand away he turns his head slightly into it, just barely, just enough.

The kiss starts soft and then doesn't stay that way, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer with the quiet certainty of someone who has wanted to do this all day and has run out of reasons not to. She goes willingly, her fingers curling into his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately as his hands wander, his fingers running the length of her thighs, stopping just to pull her back up.

“Hey, you can’t do that” ___ complaints as Yoongi successfully makes her stand up, they have dinner reservations with the members in less than thirty minutes. “What? I didn’t do anything?” Yoongi answers with great restraint, knowing exactly what he just pulled.

“You know exactly what you just did Mr Min” ___ whines, going back to getting ready, very slowly putting on each piece of jewellery. “I kinda like being called Mr Min” Yoongi confesses as he watches her though the mirror, and the devious smile that immediately graces her lips scares him a bit. 

“Oh, do you Mr. Min?” ___ teases turning around, her blouse coming off in one swift motion. She's looking at him with the expression of a woman who has just evened a score and knows it, perfectly composed, completely unbothered. 

He looks at her, at the blouse on the floor, at her as she snaps off her bra in one swift motion, just standing there in a mini-skirt. "That's not fair," Yoongi mutters weakly, his eyes trailing all over her, clearly losing this as ___ pushes him back onto the bed. 

"Isn't it?" she says pleasantly, her hands moving quickly to unbutton his trousers. “How about, for the little move you pulled earlier, I just do this for a second and get dressed again?” ___’s voice is low as her hands rub against his bulge. 

“That’s just mean” Yoongi whines, propping himself against his arm, completely helpless to her whims as her soft hands wander, pulling his briefs low, “No what’s meaner is you pulling away after making me think you’re going to finger me” ___ complaints as Yoongi lets out a soft moan, her hand rubbing down his length.

“I am so sorry okay, but please keep going” Yoongi barely gets the words out as ___ gently kisses his tip. “Now what should we do, should I suck your dick or should we get dressed for dinner?” ___ knows they’re not making dinner when Yoongi moans a quiet please. 

Yoongi’s phone is going off on the nightstand, as Yoongi pulls ___ back to the bed, she’s spent far too much time on her knees and he needs to be inside her. “Darling you are so wet already” Yoongi murmurs in her ears as his nimble fingers rub in a circle. “Stop fucking teasing me” ___ whines, pushing his fingers inside her.

___’s breathless, so close to climax as Yoongi’s fingers keep going in a steady motion, no matter how much she wants, he refuses to pick up the pace, taking his sweet time. His phone rings just as ___ is shaking in his arms, the waves of orgasm sending shockwaves through her but Yoongi just keeps going.

Yoongi sighs with frustration as his phone rings once again, “Stay quiet, just for a minute” Yoongi mumbles, his fingers still going as ___ kisses his neck just to keep quiet. “Jimin-ah, we can’t make it, ___’s sick” Yoongi talks with a devious smile on his lips as ___ takes a sharp breath.

“Hyung be better with the excuses at least,” Jimin teases and Yoongi chuckles, “I swear, she’s not well, she’s been in bed all evening” Yoongi talks and ___ lightly bites his neck, so close once again. 

“Alright, if she’s sick, I hope she feels better” Jimin talks and all Yoongi does is hum as he ends the call. “You’re going to leave a hickey” Yoongi complains but ___ just cradles in his lap, facing him now, quickly putting on a condom.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped to pick up a call” ___ continues biting where she was as Yoongi thrusts inside her, the motion sending her in a frenzy as he just keeps going, slow and soft. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken off your top” Yoongi teases, steadying her in his arms, the glow on her face, how her hair keeps sticking everywhere, he could get used to this view.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have teased-” ___ stops talking as Yoongi picks up the pace, arching back with pleasure, Yoongi’s takes a sharp breath, “Are you close, I am so-” Yoongi nods, biting her lower lip, kissing her rapidly as they orgasm. ___’s limbs give out, both of them falling back into bed. 

She reaches up and traces the line of his jaw lightly, just because she can, just because she's allowed to now, and he closes his eyes briefly beneath it.  “I don’t think I can walk Mr Min” ___ teases, pulling the sheets over herself. “You are beautiful” Yoongi notes as he turns to face her, her cheeks still flush as they both continue to catch their breaths.

“So are you” ___’s voice is uncharacteristically shy as he pulls the sheet even higher, “I am beautiful?” Yoongi teases, his breath finally even. “Yes, you’re also so buff, where did those arms come from?” ___ talks, running a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down. 

“Are you okay? Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get you some water” Yoongi mumbles, tucking her hair away, it’s gotten significantly longer since the first time he saw her, reaching her shoulders now. “I am fine, but you were great, really” ___ talks, shuffling closer till she’s firmly resting against his chest. 

“And you are so evil, but also so amazing, taking off your top and we just derail our evening like this” Yoongi talks and he can feel her laughing before he hears it. He pauses and looks down at the top of her head. "I had a plan for this evening," he continues..

She tilts her chin up to look at him, her eyes still warm with laughter, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Was this better than the plan?"

He meets her eyes. Looks away and looks back. "Don't," he says. "Was it?" "You're so smug," he tells her.

"Yoongi-si" "Significantly better than the plan," he admits, quietly, which is the most she's going to get and she knows it and takes it anyway, her smile pressing into his chest as she settles back down. His hand keeps moving at her back, slow and easy.

___ goes around the apartment, picking up after herself. She really needs a cleaning lady or move because the mess around her apartment has only grown over the last six months. Her job’s always involved some travel, with a boyfriend on tour she’s been away even more and she doesn’t even remember the last time she was in the guest room.

___’s also cleaning because Yoongi is finally going to be back at home for a month, and the last time he was here he spent half the time helping her clean. She dials his number as she moves through laundry, but when the call doesn’t go through she just assumes he’s flying home, the last concert before the break was yesterday morning.

Yoongi: I’ve sent a few desserts your home as consolation for not being there to celebrate your birthday tonight, he should be there in 20ish minutes

Yoongi: Are you even home?

___: I am home, I’m not feeling the best and my apartment needed some TLC

___: You didn’t have to send anything, you’ll be here tomorrow anyway

Yoongi: Not feeling well? Oh, the first week of the month… you absolutely need desserts

___: Are you tracking my period?

___: It’s kinda cute but I don’t think I ever told you that explicitly?

Yoongi: We started fighting around the same day each month and I connected the dots

___: Are you saying that I pick pointless fights around my birthday? Because that’s rude

Yoongi: Darling, last month we fought about if a window should be opened or not and then you cried when I very gently explained why it needs to be opened for airflow

___: This feels like we’re fighting about a fight, am I that irrational on my period?

Yoongi: I don’t care, all those hormonal changes and pain would make anyone irrational

Yoongi: Just rest till the desserts arrive, I kinda like organizing your mess

___: It’s not my mess, it’s organized chaos

Yoongi: An organized mess where I can’t find the salt in the kitchen

___: okay, it’s a mess

___ goes back to cleaning when her phone doesn’t buzz for a while, Yoongi must have gotten busy with something, so does she as he hauls her laundry over the sofa. She’s mid-folding when the bell rings, for a woman living alone she should have checked through the peephole before swinging the door open.

But she’s kinda glad she didn’t, because the sheer surprise she feels at the view of her boyfriend standing outside with flowers and his carry-on dropped to his feet. “Surprise!” he musters up all his energy for that, engulfing her in a tight hug as he finally takes a deep breath.

“Oh my god, I thought you were flying tomorrow?” ___ talks into his jacket, momentarily lifting her face, only to be hugged tighter. “I didn’t want to arrive tomorrow and be groggy and tired on your birthday” Yoongi talks into her hair, taking a long whiff of her hair. 

“So you flew directly after the concert?” “Who cares about the logistics, the important thing is that I am here” Yoongi talks as he finally detaches, taking a long look at her as he smiles widely. ___ intertwines their hands, leading him in and giving him approximately two seconds to drop all his stuff before she holds his face, it’s been too long since they’ve kissed. 

"I missed you so-" she says between kisses, soft and unhurried, her thumbs against his jaw, "-so much, and I love you so so much and you're like the best boyfriend ever-"

He makes a sound against her mouth that is warm and amused and tired all at once, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer with the ease of something practiced, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss which makes her smile too, which makes kissing considerably more difficult and neither of them minds.

"Best boyfriend ever," he repeats, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes barely open from exhaustion, red rimmed from the flight and the concert and the night in between. "I also did a bunch of shopping for you at duty free. Does that get me any brownie points?” Yoongi asks his eyes trailing down the white dress she always wears just at home.

His eyes trail down the white dress she always wears at home, the one he's come to associate with her off days, her genuinely-at-rest days, the version of her that exists only in her own apartment with no clients to see and nowhere to be.

"Honey, baby, sugar plum buttercup-" she takes his face in her hands again, very seriously, "-that gets you so many brownie points, but you have got to stop spending so much money on me." She pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, still not used to the new cut, the layers falling everywhere, doing whatever they want.

"Why?" Yoongi says. He pouts, she's too busy dealing with the direct effect of it. "I have too much money to spend in a lifetime. I should spoil my girlfriend after being away for so long."

"Yoongi-" "Six weeks," he says. "Six weeks, one day, and-" he checks some internal calculation, "-about fourteen hours."

She stares at him. "You counted." "I'm just saying the math supports the duty free shopping." He reaches up and pushes the layered hair from her face himself, tucking it behind her ear the way he always does, watching it fall forward again immediately. His hand stays at her jaw. "I like the haircut."

"It does whatever it wants," she says, slightly mournfully. "I know." He tucks it back again, pointlessly. "I like it." She looks at him, at the exhaustion and the pout and the hand at her jaw and the duty free bags presumably somewhere in the carry-on she hasn't let him unpack yet, and she thinks that she has been thoroughly swooned by a man who is barely conscious.

"You're impossible," she says. "I love you” Yoongi states simply, the same way he did earlier this year in Paris. He just blurted it out one morning while leaving for rehearsal, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing for him to say.

“Are you sure that you want to go on a trip before the last leg of the tour? You’ll be exhausted from travelling by then?” ___ talks through her airpod, her phone still somewhere in her purse as she continues to get the gallery ready for an event. 

“We haven’t just gone on a vacation just for us, it’s always been us trying to piece together a few days between the tour, that’s not a real vacation” Yoongi retorts as he sits down to get ready for the first Bangkok show. “There must be somewhere you want to go?” He continues already having shortlisted a few options.

“Oh this client last week was telling me about this amazing Maldives resort he went to, it’s so beautiful and private” ___ talks, fixing a few frames that still need to be put up. “He? Are you sure he was telling or was he offering?” Yoongi teases and ___ sighs. “I work in art, Yoongi,” ___ says. “Do you know how many men have tried to flirt with me by explaining private islands?”

He huffs out a laugh, the one that always sounds slightly disbelieving, like amusement caught him off guard. She can picture it immediately despite not being able to see him, head tipped back slightly in the makeup chair, phone balanced in one hand while someone fixes his hair.

“And?” he asks. “And what?” “Did the resort at least look nice?”

“Oh, unbelievable.” She bends to pick up a stack of exhibition cards from the floor. “White sand. Crystal water. Villas with pools bigger than my apartment.”

“See?” he says immediately. “You want to go.” She smiles despite how much they shouldn’t do this.  “I want to sleep,” she corrects. “You’ll be exhausted, I’ll probably have three openings back to back by then, and we’ll spend the entire trip unconscious.”

“You know,” he says after a moment, quieter now as the backstage noise fades slightly, “I think I miss you best when I’m tired.” Her hands still briefly over the stack of cards.

It’s such a Yoongi sentence, not dramatic or casual. Just honest in that careful devastating way he has. “What does that even mean,” she asks softly.

“I don’t know.” She hears movement, fabric shifting, maybe him leaning back in the chair. “When I’m busy I can ignore it because everything’s moving all the time. Schedules, rehearsals, flights. But when I get tired enough that my brain finally shuts up a little…” A pause. “You’re kind of the first thing I look for.”

“Honey you can’t just say stuff like that when I miss you like crazy” ___ speaks softly, all she wants is to see him, feel him, she’s just been missing him. Something in his chest pulls tight in that quiet painful way longing sometimes does when it lands at the wrong time of day. 

“Yesterday I was walking back home and all these couples were out,” she continues, absentmindedly straightening a stack of gallery brochures as she talks. “Getting dinner, holding hands, arguing about where to go, normal boring couple things.” A small laugh escapes her. “And I just kept wishing you were there.”

He looks down at the floor for a second. There’s always a specific kind of helplessness that comes with tour. He’s learned to live with it, mostly. The missing, the leaving, the constant temporary nature of things. 

“What would we have been doing?” he asks quietly. She smiles immediately at the question, hearing what it really is beneath it. 

“Probably arguing.” “About?”

“You refusing to let me smoke.” “You shouldn’t smoke.”

“You sound eighty years old.” “You cough for three business days afterward.”

“That’s not the point.” She walks toward the back office, lowering her voice instinctively once she’s away from the staff. “Maybe we’d stop for tteokbokki.”

“You always want tteokbokki at night.” “Because it tastes better at night.”

“That’s scientifically untrue.” She laughs softly, and he feels some invisible tension in himself ease at the sound. “And then,” she continues, settling into the fantasy now, “you’d insist on walking me home even though your place is in the opposite direction.”

“I would.” “I know.” Her voice gentles around the words. “That’s the problem.”

The thing about Yoongi is that he loves in practical ways first. Walking someone home. Buying three coffees because he doesn’t know which one they like. Remembering flight times. Sending weather screenshots. Calling managers to make impossible schedules work. But distance makes practical love difficult. 

Distance leaves him with words instead, and he’s still learning what to do with those. “I miss you too,” he says finally, the sentence low and steady and entirely unprotected. “More than I thought I would.” 

___ leans back against the desk behind her, eyes closing briefly. “Come home soon,” she murmurs.

There’s a long pause on his end, “I’m trying,” he says quietly, and she can hear the exhaustion underneath it now, the real one he saves mostly for her. “I think if I stay away from you much longer I’m going to start doing irrational things.”

She smiles immediately. “Like?” Another pause, she can practically hear him debating whether to say it.

“Looking at apartments closer to your gallery.” Her breath catches before she can stop it. Yoongi rubs his arm, not knowing if he’s said something utterly stupid, “Something for us maybe, I’ve just made one search” he continues honestly and ___ can’t help the tears welling in her eyes. 

On the other end Yoongi immediately notices the quiet stretching too long. “Hey,” he says softly, sitting up properly now. “I didn’t mean it like-” He rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I thought it’d be easier if I was closer to your gallery and then-”

He stops himself, he’s rambling. Which she’s realizing is rare enough from him that it almost makes her cry harder. “It was stupid,” he says quickly, already retreating from the admission. “Forget I said anything.”

___ lets out a wet laugh despite herself, shaking her head immediately even though he can’t see it.

“No,” she says quietly. “No, don’t do that.” He goes still. There’s noise around him again now, staff moving in and out, someone asking about wardrobe changes, but he’s listening to her so fully it’s almost tangible through the phone.

“I just…” She exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her hand briefly against her eyes. “You caught me off guard.”

“With the apartment thing?” “Yes, Yoongi, with the apartment thing,” she says with a laugh threaded through the emotion now. “You can’t casually mention moving in together while I’m actively suffering from how much I miss you”

He thinks about all the versions of them that exist lately only in transition. Her half asleep face on facetime at two in the morning while he’s eating room service in another timezone. Her voice breaking apart through bad hotel wifi. Him landing in Seoul already calculating how many hours they get before one of them leaves again.

This, exactly, was why he didn’t want a girlfriend. Not because he didn’t want love. Because he knew what happened when love had to survive logistics. Because somewhere deep down he understood that eventually another person would have to start structuring their loneliness around his schedule.

He drags a hand slowly over his mouth. “I used to think,” he talks carefully, “that if I never let myself really build something serious then maybe I could avoid doing this to someone.” A small humorless laugh escapes him. “Very logical solution. Very emotionally healthy.”

“Yoongi…” “No, it’s true.” He rubs at his arm absently now, exhaustion making him honest in that dangerous way it always does. “I know what this life feels like from the inside. I know how disappointing it can be sometimes.” His jaw shifts slightly. “Missing birthdays. Leaving dinners early. Watching someone you love get used to being alone.”

The gallery office suddenly feels too small around her. Because she can hear it now beneath everything he’s saying. Not fear of commitment, but the fear of becoming absent.

“I remember telling my mother I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” he says quietly, a faint disbelieving smile touching his voice now. “And I meant it. I really did.” He pauses. “I think I thought wanting someone badly enough would just make the impossible parts hurt more.”

“And does it?” she asks softly. The room goes quiet on his end for a moment. “Yes,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But not having you hurts more.”

The tears come properly then, silent and immediate. ___ presses her hand harder against her eyes, breathing out a shaky laugh because of course this is happening on a Thursday afternoon between exhibition setups. 

“I have to do math before I can even talk to you.” A wet laugh escapes ___. “Do you know how romantic it is calculating if your boyfriend is conscious?” That finally pulls a real laugh out of him, tired and warm and aching around the edges.

But she hears it fade quickly, because they’re both thinking the same thing now. How much work this is. How much wanting each other has become an active sustained effort. “That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Yoongi says after a while, quieter now. “How easy it would be to keep choosing you anyway.” 

___’s hand almost absentmindedly plays with the pendant Yoongi got her for her birthday, “Yoongi,” she says softly. “Mm?” “I love you.” The words leave her gently.

On the other end of the line he goes completely still. ___ keeps turning the pendant slowly between her fingers, eyes fixed on nothing now. “I love you when I’m exhausted and irritated and calculating timezones,” she admits quietly. “I love you when I’m angry at tour for taking you away from me.” A shaky breath leaves her. “I love you even when this feels impossible sometimes.”

His chest aches so sharply it almost feels like fear, not of her loving him. Of how badly he loves her back. Because Yoongi has spent most of his adult life believing love had to fit around ambition carefully or it would break beneath it. That eventually someone would ask him to choose. 

“I think,” she says softly, almost smiling through the tears now, “that’s how I know it’s real.”

He lowers his head briefly, eyes shut, he wishes she were here so badly it physically hurts. Wishes he could pull her into his lap and bury his face into her neck and stay there until this terrible restless homesick feeling finally settled. 

“You can’t say that right before I go on stage,” he says finally, voice rougher now. A soft laugh escapes her immediately. “I love you too, I love you in hotel rooms,” he murmurs. “In airports. Half asleep. Fully stressed. I love you enough that I catch myself looking for things to bring back for you in every country now.” A faint breath of a laugh. “Which is deeply embarrassing.”

Her eyes close tightly. “And I think…” He pauses, searching for the words carefully now because he wants to get this right. “I think loving you stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.” That one nearly undoes her completely.

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jimin asks as they are once again leaving the airport, Yoongi quietly mumbles a no as they shuffle inside the car. “It’s been an exhausting tour, ___ and I had this big fight last week about something so stupid and god am I tired” Yoongi confesses as the car moves around the highway.

“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly. Yoongi lets out a humorless breath through his nose. “She fell asleep waiting for my call.” Jimin winces immediately. “Ouch.” “Yeah.”

“I know this life is hard,” he says after a while. “I knew it before we started dating. I just…” He laughs once bitterly under his breath. “I think I underestimated what it feels like when the person waiting for you is someone you actually can’t stand disappointing.”

Jimin watches him carefully for a moment. Yoongi has always carried guilt strangely. Quietly. Internally. Like he believes if he absorbs enough of it himself nobody else will have to. “I hate this part,” Yoongi murmurs eventually. “The feeling that no matter how hard I try, eventually my schedule still wins.” 

“Hyung,” he says softly, “you know what’s different though?” Yoongi glances at him tiredly. “You’re talking like someone who’s trying to keep her.” Jimin shrugs lightly. “Not someone looking for a way out.”

They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, Yoongi contemplating how he’s going to make it up to her, what he’s going to say. He almost dozes off till he’s being gently shrugged by Jimin, something about them being there. 

Yoongi steadies his bag as Jimin nudges his rib cage, hard. “___?” Yoongi can make her out of just her shadow as she leans against a car, they had discussed this a few weeks ago, he just didn’t expect her to be here after whatever yesterday was.

“What are you doing here?” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, though her eyes are already glassy in the parking lot lights.

“I wasn't going to show up just because we fought?” Something inside him breaks instantly at how simple she makes it sound. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that she realizes suddenly he’s trying very seriously not to cry. 

“You shouldn’t have driven this late,” he murmurs instead because it’s safer than saying what he actually wants to say right now. “You shouldn’t have fought with me from another continent,” she replies softly.

That finally pulls a real breathless laugh out of him and then neither of them can really hold the distance anymore. Yoongi drops his bag carelessly onto the pavement just as she reaches him, and the second his arms wrap around her he exhales so deeply it almost sounds painful. Like his body’s been waiting to do that for days.

“I don’t want to say sorry because stuff like that might happen again and I can’t lie to you” Yoongi speaks truthfully. “I know,” she says quietly.

Yoongi’s expression shifts faintly at that, like he wasn’t entirely expecting this. “I just…” He exhales shakily, forehead dropping briefly against hers now. “I need you to know I’m never not trying.” His voice lowers. “Even when I get it wrong.”

“You know what the worst part is?” she murmurs softly. “What?” “I wasn’t even angry because of the phone call.” His hands tighten around her waist slightly. “I was angry because I missed you so much already.” A weak laugh escapes her. “And then I had to miss you disappointed too.”

Because that’s exactly what yesterday felt like, not conflict, longing with nowhere to go. Yoongi presses his forehead harder against hers, eyes closing briefly. “I hate that you cry because of me.” “You also make me very happy because of you,” she whispers immediately.

“That grammar was terrible.” “I’m emotional.” A tired laugh slips out of him then, quieter now, warmer. God, he missed this too. The way she can pull him back toward something lighter before he disappears too far into guilt.

“Now kiss and make up,” Jimin calls as he walks backwards toward his building entrance, duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “I can’t take brooding Yoongi hyung anymore. He’s been unbearable all week.”

Yoongi sighs deeply without even looking at him. “Please go inside.” “I’m serious,” Jimin says, grinning now. “He kept staring out the van window like a divorced father.” ___ laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder immediately, the sound finally pulling a reluctant smile onto his face too.

“And he snapped at me because I asked if he wanted ramyeon.” “You asked me three times.”

“Because you looked emotionally unwell.” Yoongi shakes his head tiredly as Jimin snickers to himself. “Anyway,” Jimin says, swiping the card to the building gate, “fix him please”

Then a softer, fond voice follows, “You look better already, hyung.” And with that he disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone again beneath the parking lot lights. The silence settles differently now.

___ brushes her thumb lightly beneath his eye before speaking quietly. “Your parents are still on vacation, right?” He nods once slowly. “They left for Jeju yesterday, come home with me,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s hand slides up slowly into her hair, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck before he pulls her toward him and kisses her like he’s been hungry for her. 

His mouth soft against hers as he exhales shakily into the kiss, shoulders finally loosening beneath her hands for what feels like the first time since he landed. “You know,” he murmurs softly, voice rough with exhaustion and affection both, “I think this is the longest week of my life.”

She smiles faintly, brushing her nose against his. “Good thing you’re home now.” His eyes close briefly at that. Home, not Seoul, not the apartment, her.

And maybe that’s the thing that feels different tonight. Not just relief. Not just surviving another stretch of distance. The tour is over. For the first time in months there isn’t another flight looming somewhere ahead of them. No countdown ticking quietly in the background. No rehearsals stealing entire weeks before they can properly settle into each other again. Their first anniversary is in two weeks.

“You’ve been living like this all this time, what do you need a walk in closet for?” ___ complains as she walks around the dimly lit closet, admiring his watch collection. “Come on, lets go to bed” Yoongi whines from behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, he’s been clingy like this since they got inside the apartment.

“I have a meeting set with a realtor next week, you sure you still want to live with me, I never put away my laundry” ___ speaks as they finally slip into bed. Yoongi turns toward her immediately.

There’s barely a second of hesitation before he moves closer automatically, arm sliding around her waist underneath the blankets until she’s tucked against his chest like that’s where she’s been sleeping forever. “I’ve seen your apartment,” he murmurs sleepily into her hair. “It’s a mess”

She gasps softly. “That is unbelievably rude.” “You own a chair entirely dedicated to clothes.”

“It’s an organizational system.” “It’s a fabric mountain.” ___ laughs under her breath as he presses a lazy kiss against her shoulder.

“Are you sure about moving in together? We might not tour this year but there might be times when I’m still away?” Yoongi asks as he trails kisses downward. “Yes I am sure” ___ replies confidently as Yoongi bites her boob, knowing exactly where this is going. 

“Aren’t you tired?” ___ investigates as Yoongi mumbles a no, removing her slip dress in one go. She doesn’t get an answer. What she does get is Yoongi softly biting her nipple as she arches back. “Another perk of living together, we can have sex any time we want, anywhere we want” Yoongi says as his hand fondles her soft breast, the other hand trailing south.

“We can do it against the glass like we did in Maldives,” she murmurs. That finally pulls a real reaction out of him.

Yoongi groans softly into her skin, forehead dropping briefly against her chest like the memory alone exhausted him all over again. “You almost killed me that night.”

“You were very enthusiastic.” “You wore that bikini on purpose.” A faint smug smile appears on her face. “Maybe.” He looks up at her then, hair messy, eyes dark and sleepy and impossibly affectionate all at once.

Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen looking for a snack, all the fridge has is leftovers and fruit. He settles on an apple as he continues to wash it for a little too long, too lazy to do the whole peeling and cutting thing.

___: Why’d you leave this morning in such a hurry? Waking up all by myself is no fun

His phone pings and he stops mid-way, typing a response immediately, a ghost of a smile appearing the second her name appears. He exhales softly through his nose, drying his hand absently against his shirt as he types back. 

Yoongi: I told you, my dad had a doctors appointment, he won’t tell but he wanted me there

Yoongi: I am sorry, I can make up by coming over tonight and not leaving in the morning

___: I have a thing, might not come home

Yoongi: What thing?

___: Work thing

Yoongi: That’s very vague, but okay, I’ll see you on Saturday then? Can we go shopping?

“Who are you talking to smiling like that?” his mother shouts from the other end of the living room, startling him, almost into dropping his phone. It’s been a year and he’s successfully kept a lid on this relationship, the less she knows the better.

“No one, the guys are being funny in the group chat? Where are you off too?” he asks as his mother continues putting on her earrings.

“It’s the Lee’s 40th wedding anniversary and I thought I might bring them something, and ___ is going to be there” he stills not very noticeably, “I just love her,” his mother continues, completely unaware, stepping back into the kitchen to grab the baked goods she ordered earlier. “Too bad you never went out with her.”

He almost chokes on his own breath, covering it with a cough. “…Yeah,” he mutters, because what else is he supposed to say to that?

But his mind is already moving. So, ___ is in the same building as him and didn’t even tell him, is this why she won’t be coming home tonight? The wheels in his brain are going, a smirk almost appearing, “Maybe I also come with you, I was pretty rude last time when I didn’t visit them?”

“When?” she asks almost absentmindedly, forgetting that afternoon completely. “The time you tried to, you know what, I am going to change, wait for me”

Yoongi scrambles around, picking out a soft blue shirt and tucking it in almost instinctively. He fixes his hair next, more carefully than he’ll admit, adjusting it once, then again, like he’s trying to make it look like he didn’t try at all. 

“Why do you even want to come, you’re usually not interested in my friends at all?” his mother questions from outside his room, watching him contemplate between two belts. 

“That’s not true, you remember when I sent flowers for your friend Mrs Song?” “You didn’t send them, I did” she retorts almost immediately, “Well, I paid for them” he shoots back, not missing a beat. 

He tightens the belt, exhaling softly through his nose before grabbing his watch, fastening it around his wrist with a little more care than usual. “I’m just being polite,” he adds, tone deliberately casual, like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “You said it yourself, I was rude last time.”

His mother leans against the doorframe now, watching him more closely. “You didn’t care about being rude last time.” “Well, as I grow older, I am trying to be a better person, come on” he walks right past her, she nods her head in confusion but decides to go along with it anyway.

Yoongi wouldn’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Things have been going well, too well. They move in together in a month, all their free time is being spent decorating their new home. The next natural steps would be to meet the parents, something he’s never done. “Stop fidgeting” his dad comments as he continues to fiddle around with his collar, the shirt suddenly suffocating him.

Yoongi spends the entire elevator ride thinking of what he’s going to say, which isn’t a long time to prepare for something this monumental. What exactly is he supposed to say? Hello, surprise, I’ve secretly been dating your daughter for over a year and we accidentally bought an apartment together?

His mother rings the bell before he can spiral further. The door swings open almost immediately, to his relief it’s ___.  For one beautiful second her face lights up instinctively at the sight of him. Then she notices his parents standing there and immediately freezes.

“Oh! Hi, um” ___ stammers, fixing her hair the best she can as she tugs the sweater, well his sweater to be accurate that she stole just last week. “Hi, how are you ___, we just wanted to stop by with some treats before your parents leave for Europe” Mrs Min adds and ___ nods quickly, recovering with impressive speed considering she is currently trying to piece together why he’s here.

“Right, yes, come in,” she says, stepping aside quickly. “Mom and dad are inside.” Yoongi walks past her carefully, close enough to catch the tiny glare she shoots him under her breath.

“Ah, you made it!” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully as she appears from the kitchen carrying coffee cups.

Mr. Lee follows behind her with Yoongi’s father, already mid-conversation about travel routes and airport timing.

For a few blessed minutes, things settle.

Coffee is poured. Pastries are unpacked. The parents fall naturally into conversation around the dining table while Yoongi hovers awkwardly near the kitchen island pretending he isn’t hyperaware of every movement ___ makes.

“I’ve also made some sandwiches, let me just bring those out” ___ adds as she stands up, wanting a few minutes just to herself. “Oh, I’ll help” Yoongi adds and all the heads turn to him, none of them expecting this.

“It’s not much Yoongi-si, I’ll just be a few moments” ___ argues with a tight smile, hoping no one in this room catches onto this tension. “Oh I’m sure my mother’s told you what a great cook I am, I can help” Yoongi can’t help but tease, knowing this is going to cost him later.

“What is with these two?” Mrs Min murmurs to Mrs Lee as the two walk into kitchen, “Maybe he’s interested now, too bad she already has a boyfriend” Mrs Lee comments as they continue to sip on their coffee.

“She has a boyfriend?” Mrs Min asks with shock, she has secretly been hoping for her son to come to his senses all this time. “Well, she hasn’t told me explicitly, but she went to a vacation to Maldives and that’s such a couples destination” Mrs Lee adds and the wheels in Mrs Min’s head are finally going. 

“When was she in Maldives?” “Early January I think, she didn’t even send us any pictures-” “Yoongi was in Maldives early January” Mrs. Lee blinks.

Mrs. Min blinks back, silence.

“Oh my god.” “OH MY GOD SHE’S WEARING HIS SWEATER THAT I GOT HIM FOR CHRISTMAS” Mrs Min yells as she rapidly walks towards the kitchen.  The closer they get, the quieter they become. Because suddenly they’re not entering casually anymore.

They’re investigating and then they stop dead in the doorway. ___ is standing close enough to Yoongi that their bodies almost touch, fingers gently smoothing down the collar of his shirt while Yoongi looks at her with an expression his mother has never seen him wear before.

Soft and completely gone for her. Like the entire world narrowed down to the woman fixing his clothes in the kitchen.

“Oh.” The word slips out of Mrs. Lee before she can stop it. The couple freeze instantly. ___’s hand is still resting lightly against Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi turns first and unfortunately, instead of looking guilty, he looks caught in the exact way a man does when he’s deeply in love and interrupted mid-moment. Which is somehow more incriminating.

“How long has this been going on?” Mrs Min asks softly, not entirely believing what she’s seeing. ___ immediately drops her hand from Yoongi’s collar like she’s been burned.  

Yoongi exhales slowly, knowing he needs to take the lead in this situation, “A year and a half” he answers, his hand coming up to ___’s waist like he’s trying to tell it all with a show but ___ swats his hands immediately, like she can still talk her way out of this. 

There’s silence and immediately there are questions, lots of them. “A YEAR AND A HALF” “Why didn’t you tell us” “Is this why you’ve been working late” “Is this why we couldn’t come to the Paris show?”

Mrs. Min’s eyes widened further somehow. “Oh my god, you traveled to see him during the tour?”

“No..well sometimes-” “How many times?” Mrs. Lee gasps. ___ looks ready to faint.

Yoongi, meanwhile, has reached the point of surrender where he almost finds this funny. “Enough that she has airline status now,” he says honestly.

“Min Yoongi!” ___ hisses in horror. “What? We’re already caught.” “That does not mean volunteer information!”

From the dining room, both fathers have fully abandoned pretending not to listen and are now standing in the doorway too. Mr. Min crosses his arms slowly. “I knew something was going on when he wanted me to check documents to buy an apartment”

The interrogation moves from the kitchen hallway to the dining room because ___ can’t keep standing without feeling like she’s about to faint and Yoongi wanted everyone to eat the sandwiches she made. 

“When were you going to tell us that you’re moving in together, after you had children?” Mrs Min asks her son incredulously, she’s still in shock from this all, happy nonetheless. “What you aren’t engaged are you?” Mrs Lee asks as she rapidly reaches for ___’s hand.

“I wouldn’t ask ___ to marry me without speaking to her parents first,” Yoongi says immediately. The room quiets slightly at the seriousness in his tone. Because despite the chaos, despite the interrogation and the absolute catastrophe of this reveal, he means that sincerely.

Across the table, Mr. Lee watches him carefully now and for maybe the first time all afternoon, Yoongi feels genuinely nervous. “I’m not irresponsible,” he says quieter now, gaze flicking briefly toward ___ before returning to her parents. “I know how serious this is.”

___ looks at him softly for a second. Because beneath all the teasing and disaster and accidental exposure, that’s the thing about Yoongi, once he loves someone, he becomes frighteningly earnest about protecting the future around them.

Mrs. Min’s eyes narrow suddenly, too suddenly. “Wait.” Every person at the table goes still. “You said you wouldn’t ask without speaking to the parents first.” She points at him slowly. “Not that you haven’t thought about it.”

Yoongi makes the catastrophic mistake of glancing at ___ for half a second. And unfortunately that alone is enough.

Mrs. Lee gasps loudly. “Oh my god.” ___ blinks between them in confusion. “What?” Mrs. Min sits forward immediately. “You’ve thought about marriage.”

“We’re in a happy long term relationship, of course we have” “Do you have a ring?” his mother throws that question like a  grenade in the middle of the dining room. ___ turns toward him so fast she nearly knocks over her water glass.

Yoongi suddenly regrets every decision that led him here. Because the thing is, he does have a ring. Hidden badly, according to Namjoon. Carefully and thoughtfully selected over weeks because once the idea entered his head, it never really left again.

“No,” he says too quickly. Mrs. Min narrows her eyes instantly. “That was suspicious.” “I don’t have it with me.” The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s doomed.

“YOU HAVE A RING?” both mothers shriek simultaneously.

___ just stares at him, like her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second. Yoongi rubs a hand down his face slowly. “Well,” Mr. Min says calmly, sounding deeply entertained now, “this escalated quickly.”

“You bought a ring?” ___ asks finally, voice small in a way that completely destroys him. And suddenly all the teasing leaves the room a little. “We talked about it, we were on the same page about marriage?” Yoongi turns, like he needs to talk about it urgently. 

“We did, I just didn’t expect you to actually buy a ring” The vulnerability in her voice hits him square in the chest. Because he understands what she means, not disbelief in them. Disbelief in how real this all suddenly sounds out loud.

Yoongi shifts slightly closer to her instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says lower now, like he’s forgotten there are four other people listening. “I just saw it and…” He exhales softly. “It felt right.”

___ looks at him for a long second. “They bought an apartment,” Mr. Lee mutters. “The married couple part was already implied.” “That’s true,” Mr. Min agrees.

“Is there a date on your mind?” Mrs Min asks quietly and that earns another dramatic gasp from Mrs Lee. “Okay,” ___ says finally, standing abruptly before this spirals into someone discussing grandchildren. “I think this is enough for today. Mom, dad, you both need to leave for the airport soon.” Then toward Yoongi’s parents, polite despite the emotional destruction currently occurring in the dining room, “Mrs. and Mr. Min, the desserts were delicious, and I do love your son, so I hope today won’t leave the wrong impression on your minds.” 

“Yoongi and I are leaving because apparently we need to have a conversation.” That finally gets his attention fully. Yoongi blinks up at her once. “Do we?”

“Yes.” “Am I in trouble?” “You will be if you don’t get moving” ___ speaks with a smile but Yoongi knows better by now and stands up immediately. She’s quiet as they close the door behind them and it’s right at that moment when Yoongi’s phone rings. 

He declines it and ___ sighs as she presses the elevator button with no clear plan on where they’re actually going to talk. Yoongi groans softly this time before answering. “Hi.”

There’s a pause, then his entire expression changes. “Oh.” ___ looks over immediately. “Our mattress is going to be there in a few minutes, they need someone to let them in” Yoongi continues and ___ simply hands him her car keys, knowing where they’re going. 

“Oh, hi… that room,” ___ says quickly, pointing them toward the bedroom. They nod and disappear down the hallway carrying it carefully while Yoongi steps aside to answer yet another phone call.

Apparently every single thing related to this apartment needs attention today. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” he says distractedly into the phone while pacing slowly near the windows. “Yes please early in the day, I’m busy post afternoon”

___ watches him for a second. It still catches her off guard sometimes, this version of him. Not a massively successful musician. Not the exhausted version surviving airports and tour schedules. Just… her boyfriend trying to do everything right with their apartment.

The mattress gets assembled surprisingly quickly considering it took them nearly three weeks to choose one. “So, the sofa will be here on the tuesday so we’ll have enough of a ready home to move in, rest we can tackle once we’re here” Yoongi adds as ___ gets them some water from the fridge, they might not be living here, but they still have a fully stacked kitchen already.

“And I’ve booked a moving company for your place for Sunday, I’ll be there too-” Yoongi continues and ___ shuts him up with a soft kiss. All the tension from today just melts as he helplessly kisses her, his hands all over her till they settle under the sweater. 

“You stupid idiot” ___ pulls back just to say that but Yoongi only smiles as he pulls her even closer. “Did you really buy a ring?” she continues and Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against hers. “I swear my mother, can we not make a big deal out of this, it’s not happening that soon, I want us to live together first and you weren’t supposed to find out like this” he explains which only makes ___ laugh more. 

“Is it beautiful? It’s not too flashy is it? I know you have money but big diamonds don’t suit me” ___ teases and he groans gripping her waist even tighter. “Darling I know what you like, can we just please drop this?” Yoongi pleads and ___ nods knowing when to give up.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this with you after our first date, I really wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure it would work” ___ confesses as she moves around, finally getting the water she wanted. “I really wanted to see you again,” she admits. “But I honestly wasn’t sure it would work.”

Yoongi’s brows lift slightly. “Really?”  He watches her carefully now as she hands him a glass of water before continuing.

“And then you kissed me like that,” she says, pointing at him accusingly now, “and just left.” Yoongi looks entirely unapologetic. “I had an early flight.” “You kissed me after the best first date and just left and it felt like a romcom for a few hours till you didn’t text me for 12 hours”

“I was trying to seem calm.” That actually makes her laugh. Because if there’s one thing she knows now, it’s that Yoongi has never once been calm about her. “I was still dazed from the date and the kiss and I was all confused and and I um, was so surprised and I hated that I had to leave even if I really wanted to tour” Yoongi confesses and ___ smiles from the other side of the counter. 

“I for a very long time believed that this all, a girlfriend, living together, the eventual stuff, planning a life with someone wasn’t in my books and for the longest time I was okay with it” The apartment falls quiet around them. Suddenly he looks younger somehow. Not physically, emotionally, like she’s catching a glimpse of the version of him that spent years convincing himself wanting less from life was safer.

“You just thought loving someone would mean losing parts of yourself.” That catches him off guard.

Because unfortunately she’s right. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening faintly like he’s still a little uncomfortable being understood this clearly. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “And honestly…” A tiny breath leaves him, almost amused at himself now. “I didn’t expect you to be this stubborn.”

___ smiles faintly. “Excuse me?” “We fought,” he continues, stepping closer again like he physically can’t stay far from her for long anymore. “A lot sometimes. Especially in the beginning.” His hands slide back around her waist naturally. “But you always treated the problems like they were against us.” He pauses, gaze steady on hers now. “Not us against each other.”

Something soft flickers across her expression immediately, because that mattered more to him than she probably realized.

“So, shall we break in the new mattress, take a nap?” ___ jokes and Yoongi chuckles holds her from the behind. “Is this us now, napping? So painfully domestic” he says, his warm hands back under the sweater. 

…

The passage of time in the villa did not feel like weeks or months; it felt like a long, slow fading of a color. As the first month since Jungkook’s departure bled into the second, the sharp, stinging pain of his exit turned into a heavy, dull ache that lived in the corners of every room. Hazel moved through the house like a ghost herself, her days defined by the repetitive rhythm of caring for Suhwi and the silent battle against the memories that clung to the walls. She had stopped checking the front gate every hour, and she had stopped jumping every time the house made a sound, but the silence remained a physical presence, sitting at the table with her during every lonely meal.

It was during a particularly quiet afternoon in the second month that the reality of his absence hit her in a new, devastating way. Hazel was organizing a chest of drawers in the hallway—one that Jungkook had used to store extra linens and household supplies. As she reached into the very back of a deep drawer, her fingers brushed against something soft and made of silk. She pulled it out slowly. It was a dark, charcoal-colored handkerchief, folded with the same geometric precision that defined everything he did.

As she lifted it, the scent hit her. It was the smell of cedarwood, cold mountain air, and a faint hint of the soap he used. It was the scent of the man who had guarded her door. It was the scent of the Architect.

Hazel sank to the floor, clutching the small piece of fabric to her face. She breathed it in until her lungs felt full of him. For a moment, the walls of the villa seemed to melt away, and she was back in the mountain cabin, feeling the heat of his gaze and the safety of his shadow. But as she held it, a terrifying thought crossed her mind. She looked at Suhwi, who was playing on a mat nearby, and realized with a jolt of grief that the baby was starting to lose the memory of this scent. To Suhwi, the world now smelled only of Hazel and soft laundry detergent. The scent of the man who had been the first to hold her with such terrifying care was evaporating from the baby’s life, one day at a time. Hazel spent that entire night sitting in the dark living room, the handkerchief pressed against her cheek, crying for a memory that was slowly turning into a ghost.

The transition from the second month into the fourth was a slow, quiet journey of healing and growing. The initial shock of the empty villa had faded, replaced by a deep, hollow ache that Hazel carried with her like a shadow. She spent her days in a state of dual reality—on the outside, she was a mother learning the new, heavier weight of her daughter, but on the inside, she was still a woman haunted by the "what-ifs." She would find herself sitting in the nursery during the quiet hours of the afternoon, watching the way the dust motes danced in the sunlight, and she would wonder if Jungkook was looking at the same sun from some cold, glass office.

Her grief was not a loud thing; it was a soft, persistent rain that dampened everything she did. Even when she laughed at Suhwi’s tiny, bubbling sounds, her eyes remained heavy with a sadness that only time could touch. She felt like a beautiful building that was still standing, but whose architect had taken all the blueprints away, leaving her to figure out how to keep the roof from falling in on her own.

As the days crawled forward, the baby continued to grow, indifferent to the heartbreak that filled the house. By the end of the second month, Suhwi reached a milestone that broke Hazel’s heart and mended it all at once. It happened on a Tuesday morning, a day that felt no different from the dozens of gray mornings that had come before it. Hazel was leaning over the crib, tickling the baby’s stomach and making soft, nonsense sounds to coax her awake.

Suddenly, Suhwi’s face transformed. Her small mouth opened wide, her eyes brightened, and she gave a massive, toothless, gummy smile. It was her first real smile—not a reflex, but a genuine spark of joy.

Hazel froze. Her first instinct was to gasp and turn her head toward the doorway, her lips already forming the name Jungkook. She wanted to yell for him to come and see. She wanted him to witness the structural success of the child he had protected. But when she turned, she saw only the empty, sun-drenched hallway. The silence of the house rushed back in, cold and unforgiving. She realized that she was the only witness to this miracle. The man who had stayed up all night monitoring the baby’s breath was not there to see her smile. The tragedy of it was so heavy that Hazel found herself smiling back through a veil of tears.

By the third month, the villa began to feel less like a home and more like a beautiful cage. Every design choice, every light fixture, and every piece of furniture reminded Hazel of the man who had curated her safety. She would walk into the kitchen and see the marble counters where he had prepared her recovery meals. She would look at the thermostats and remember how he had adjusted them to twenty-one degrees exactly. The house was a masterpiece built by him, for her, and because of that, it felt like he was rejecting her all over again every time she turned a corner.

Suhwi, however, was a burst of relentless, golden life that refused to let Hazel stay in the dark. By the third month, the baby had transformed from a sleepy newborn into a vibrant, curious little person. Her neck had grown strong, and she would push herself up on her tiny elbows, her head swiveling around the room as if she were looking for someone who was no longer there. She had developed a deep, melodic coo that sounded like a songbird in the morning, and she would hold long conversations with the shadows on the wall. Hazel would watch her and feel a sharp pull in her chest, seeing the way Suhwi’s jawline was becoming more defined. The baby’s personality was starting to bloom; she was stubborn and focused.

She began to feel that she could never truly heal as long as she was living inside his blueprints. She was an Interior Designer, but she was living in a space where she had no voice. The "Architecture of Ice" was everywhere, and it was keeping her frozen in the past.

As the fourth month arrived, the house felt smaller and the memories felt heavier, leading Hazel to finally start the process of moving. The physical act of packing up her life was a different kind of grieving. She would fold a tiny onesie and remember the night Jungkook had meticulously organized the dresser, his large hands looking so out of place among the soft cotton. She was an interior designer, yet she found herself unable to "design" her way out of the sadness. She moved through the rooms, deciding what to keep and what to leave behind, realizing that she was carrying a lot of invisible luggage. She was a mother who was becoming fiercely independent, a woman who was learning to trust her own instincts again, yet she still slept on one side of the bed as if leaving space for a sentinel who would never come home. The grief was becoming a part of her architecture—not a crack in the foundation, but a pillar that made her stronger, even if it was made of stone and ice.

Fourth month brought a sudden, sharp clarity. Hazel woke up one morning and realized she couldn't breathe in this house anymore. She needed a space that didn't know his name. She needed walls that hadn't seen her cry. She began to look for a small apartment of her own—something in the heart of the city, close to her old studio. She didn't want a villa; she wanted a home that she had chosen, a space where the air wasn't measured by a man who thought he was a machine.

She spent her afternoons scrolling through listings while Suhwi napped. She looked for a place with large windows and warm wood—the opposite of the dark, stone-cold perfection of the villa. She wanted a place where she could hang colorful curtains and place her design books on the shelves without feeling like she was cluttering a masterpiece. This was the "Breaking of the Villa." It was the moment Hazel decided that she was done living in a museum of "What Ifs."

When she finally found the right place—a sunny apartment above an old library—she felt a strange sense of relief. It was a small space, as it was hers. She sat on the floor of the empty villa one last time, looking at the dark hallway where the he used to stand. She realized that by moving, she wasn't trying to forget him. She was trying to survive him. She was moving from his structure into her own.

The move was a slow, painful process. Every box she packed felt like she was dismantling a part of her soul. When she reached the nursery, she stopped. She looked at the crib he had selected and the monitors he had installed. She realized that she was leaving the safety of his shadow to step into the sun on her own. It was a soft, quiet transition, one that didn't have a signature or a contract.

…

The decision to leave the villa was not made in a moment of anger, but in a long, quiet hour of clarity. Hazel realized that she could not heal in a place where the air was still measured by a man who wasn't there to breathe it with her. By the start of the fourth month, the silence of the large house had become a roar. Every time she looked at the marble counters or the perfectly calibrated thermostats, she felt like she was living in a beautiful cage designed by a ghost. She was an interior designer—a woman whose entire life was dedicated to making spaces feel like home—and yet she was living in a masterpiece of ice.

The process of packing was the hardest thing Hazel had ever done. It was the "Packing of Memories," a slow dismantling of the only life she had known since Suhwi was born. She started with the nursery, the room that felt most like Jungkook. She moved through the space with a heavy heart, placing tiny clothes and soft blankets into cardboard boxes. But when she reached the small wooden cabinet near the crib, she found something that made her knees go weak.

Tucked into a neat, black folder labeled Household Continuity, she found a series of small, hand-written notes. They weren't meant for her; they were addressed to the "Future Caretaker." As Hazel read them, her eyes filled with tears that she couldn't stop. The notes were written in Jungkook's sharp, clinical script, but the words were filled with a terrifyingly deep level of care.

Suhwi prefers the left side of the bassinet when the moon is bright. It minimizes the glare on her eyes.

The humidity must be kept at exactly 45% during the third month to prevent skin irritation. The backup sensor is in the bottom drawer.

Hazel forgets to eat when she is stressed. Ensure the rosemary broth is prepared at 6:00 PM. She likes it warm, not hot.

Hazel sat on the floor of the empty nursery, clutching the notes to her chest. She realized with a crushing weight that Jungkook had been planning her safety even while he was planning his own escape. He hadn't just left; he had built a bridge of information to make sure she wouldn't fall after he was gone. He had treated her life like a structure that needed constant maintenance, never realizing that he was the only foundation she actually wanted. He had been so afraid of being a burden that he had turned himself into a manual, a set of instructions left behind to take his place.

She felt a deep, aching love for the man who was so smart at logic but so incredibly stupid at emotions. He thought that by providing her with "optimal conditions," he was giving her everything. He didn't know that she would have traded all the perfect humidity and rosemary broth in the world just to have him sit on the rug and watch the baby sleep for five minutes.

As she carried the last box out of the villa and toward her car, Hazel didn't look back. She had the dark handkerchief in her pocket, and the memory of the baby’s first smile in her heart. She was a mother, a designer, and a woman who was learning to build her own warmth. She drove away from the villa, the air in the car felt a little lighter. She was no longer living in his blueprints; she was starting to draw her own.

A week later, Hazel officially moved into her new apartment. It was a sunny, open space above an old library in the heart of the city. The floors were warm oak, and the windows were large enough to let the sunset spill across the room in shades of orange and gold. It was a space that didn't know the name Jungkook. It was a space she had designed herself, choosing textures and colors that felt like a hug rather than a fortress.

With the move came the realization that she could no longer stay in her cocoon of grief. She had a daughter to provide for, and a soul that needed to work. Hazel decided to re-open her interior design firm, Lumina Designs. She didn't want a large office in a cold skyscraper; she set up her studio right in the sun-drenched corner of her new living room.

She hired Mrs. Han, the caretaker Jungkook had recommended. Mrs. Han was a quiet, steady woman who understood the gravity of the situation without Hazel having to say a word. She arrived every morning at nine, and for the first time in months, Hazel felt the weight on her shoulders lift just a little bit. Mrs. Han didn't try to be Jungkook. She didn't measure the air or audit the fridge. She just held the baby with a grandmotherly warmth that allowed Hazel to pick up her pencils and rulers again.

However, Hazel found that she couldn't go back to the way she used to design. Before the pregnancy, her style was sharp, modern, and editorial. She liked clean lines and expensive, cold materials. But as she sat at her desk, with Suhwi babbling in a bassinet beside her, her hands moved differently.

She found herself choosing velvet over leather. She chose soft, rounded edges over sharp corners. She found herself obsessed with "protective" design—creating spaces that felt like a sanctuary. When a client asked for a nursery design, Hazel spent hours researching the exact way light hit the walls at midnight, remembering Jungkook’s notes. She realized that his influence was flowing through her fingers. He had taught her that a room wasn't just a place to look at; it was a structure meant to keep its occupants safe.

Her new designs were softer, more emotional, and deeply personal. She was no longer just decorating rooms; she was building nests. She realized that Jungkook’s "Architecture of Ice" had taught her the importance of the "Architecture of the Heart." She was merging his logic with her soul.

By the middle of the fifth month, the studio was thriving. Hazel worked with a new kind of fire. She would spend her mornings sketching while Suhwi sat on a play mat, reaching for the colorful fabric swatches. The baby was a constant source of inspiration. Suhwi was five months old now, and she was a tiny force of nature. She had a laugh that sounded like silver bells, and she was obsessed with the texture of Hazel’s design plans, her tiny fingers crinkling the paper as she tried to "help" her mother work.

Grief still visited Hazel, especially in the evenings when the studio was quiet and Mrs. Han had gone home. She would sit by the window, watching the city lights, and feel the phantom itch of a presence that wasn't there. She still kept the charcoal handkerchief in her bedside drawer.

She realized that she wasn't "getting over" Jungkook. She was "incorporating" him into her new structure. He was the invisible support beam in her life. She was a mother, a business owner, and a designer who was finally standing on her own feet, but she was doing it using the strength he had left behind in those small, hand-written notes.

…

The light in the new apartment was different than the light in the villa. It didn’t feel heavy or filtered through the lens of someone else’s protection.

For weeks, the baby had been rocking back and forth, struggling with the physics of her own body. Hazel watched, holding her breath, as Suhwi let out a determined little grunt—a sound so full of focus it made Hazel’s heart ache with memory. With one final, powerful heave, Suhwi’s little body tipped over. She rolled onto her stomach, her head popping up like a turtle, looking surprised and immensely proud of herself.

Hazel let out a gasp of joy, her hands flying to her mouth. In that small, sunlit room, the milestone felt like a miracle. It was the first time Suhwi had conquered her own world without any help. She gathered Suhwi into her arms, kissing her soft forehead, and whispered a secret into the baby’s ear about how brave she was.

As the weeks moved into the fifth month, the pace of Hazel’s life shifted from a walk to a sprint. Her firm, Lumina Designs, was no longer a small side project; it had become a name that people in the city whispered with respect. Hazel had landed a major contract for a high-end boutique hotel, and the workload was staggering. She refused to hide her motherhood to fit into the professional world. Instead, she integrated it. She turned a corner of her studio into a high-end play area, and clients often walked in to find the lead designer discussing marble finishes while her daughter napped in a bassinet draped in silk swatches.

She designed rooms that looked like fortresses on the outside but felt like sanctuaries on the inside. She realized she was subconsciously designing the man she had lost—a mix of cold, hard logic and a hidden, soft warmth. Every room she created was a search for the balance Jungkook had brought into her life. She was a power player now, a woman who didn't flinch during budget negotiations, but when the sun went down and the office lights dimmed, she was just a girl sitting in the dark, wondering if the architect of her soul was proud of the house she had built for herself.

The fifth month also introduced a new challenge: the introduction of solids. It was a messy, emotional transition that felt like another door closing on the newborn days. Hazel sat Suhwi in a high chair—a sleek, modern design that she had picked out herself—and prepared a small bowl of mashed sweet potatoes. She remembered Jungkook’s notes about nutrition, his obsession with organic purity and the exact timing of digestive enzymes. She followed his logic, but she added her own touch, humming a song as she fed the baby the first spoonful.

Suhwi’s reaction was a mix of shock and delight, her tiny face wrinkling in confusion before she lunged forward for more. Watching her daughter eat was a reminder that the baby was no longer solely dependent on Hazel’s body. She was becoming her own person, an independent designer of her own life. Hazel felt a strange mix of pride and loneliness. She was successfully raising a healthy, happy child, and she was doing it with a professional excellence that had earned her a nomination for the "Emerging Designer of the Year" award. She was no longer the "recovering patient" the villa had known. She was a warrior.

However, the nomination brought its own set of ghosts. As the date for the award gala approached, Hazel had to face the reality of stepping back into the spotlight. She spent her evenings looking at gowns, but every time she saw her reflection, she saw the woman who had been cared for by a sentinel. She felt like a beautiful building with a perfect facade, but inside, the hallways were still empty. She had optimized her career, she had optimized her parenting, and she had redesigned her entire life, but the one thing she couldn't design was a way to stop missing the man who thought he wasn't enough for her.

…

The arrival of the sixth month felt like crossing an invisible border.

Just as the fifth month was fading away. It happened in the middle of a rainy Tuesday, Suhwi, usually a calm and focused baby, became inconsolable. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, angry red, and her small hands were constantly shoved into her mouth. By midnight, the baby was burning with a fever. Hazel sat in the rocking chair, her own heart racing as she felt the heat radiating from Suhwi’s skin. The baby’s cries weren't the usual "I'm hungry" or "I'm tired" whines; they were sharp, jagged sounds of genuine pain.

In the past, Hazel would have panicked. She would have looked toward the doorway, waiting for the dark, steady presence of Jungkook to take over. She would have waited for his cool hands and his calm, mathematical voice to tell her exactly what to do. But as she sat in the dark, she realized that the sentinel wasn't coming. The silence of the hallway remained unbroken.

Hazel took a deep breath, and suddenly, a strange calm washed over her. It was as if a voice in the back of her mind—a low, rhythmic voice—began to recite instructions. She stood up and moved to the kitchen with a precision that was terrifyingly familiar. She didn't fumble with the medicine bottle; she measured the dosage to the exact milliliter, checking the light just as Jungkook used to do. She prepared a cool compress, ensuring the water was the perfect temperature—not too cold to shock the baby, but just right to draw out the heat.

She spent the entire night awake, monitoring Suhwi’s temperature every thirty minutes. She recorded the numbers in a neat log, her handwriting becoming sharper, more like the script in the Handover Document. She didn't let her emotions cloud her judgment. She acted as the Architect would—treating the fever as a structural flaw that needed to be managed with logic and care. By dawn, as the first light hit the city, the fever finally broke. Suhwi drifted into a peaceful sleep, and Hazel, exhausted and pale, felt a sharp protrusion against her finger as she checked the baby’s gums.

It was the first tooth. A tiny, sharp pearl of white had finally broken through.

Hazel sat back, her eyes stinging with tears. She realized in that moment that she had absorbed Jungkook’s soul. She had survived the night by becoming the very thing he was—a sentinel of logic and a protector of the fragile. She had used his "Architecture of Ice" to guard her daughter’s warmth. She was no longer just a woman who had been cared for; she was a woman who had become the caretaker. She realized that Jungkook hadn't just left her with a house and a child; he had left her with the tools to be her own hero.

As the sixth month officially arrived, the apartment felt like it was blooming. Suhwi was no longer the fragile bundle of the villa; she was a vibrant, active six-month-old. She was now sitting up on her own, her back straight and her dark eyes—so much like his—surveying her kingdom of toys with a regal intensity. She had started babbling, a constant stream of "ba-ba" and "da-da" that echoed through the rooms. Every time she made a sound, Hazel would freeze, her heart skipping a beat, wondering if the baby was trying to call out to the man who was missing from the picture.

Suhwi was also becoming a little explorer. She would sit in the center of Hazel’s design studio, reaching for the long architectural rulers and trying to taste the different textures of the wallpaper samples. She was a child of design, surrounded by beauty and structure. She had a specific way of stacking her blocks—placing them with a deliberate, slow movement that made Mrs. Han, the caretaker, chuckle.

"She has the hands of a builder," Mrs. Han would say, watching the infant work. "She doesn't just play; she constructs."

Hazel would watch her and feel a deep, quiet pride. She was raising a daughter who was strong, curious, and independent. She was doing it all while running a firm that was quickly becoming the talk of the industry.

The final week of the sixth month brought the "Grand Project" Invitation. Hazel was sitting at her desk, reviewing the final touches on a boutique hotel project, when her assistant hurried in with a heavy, expensive-looking envelope. It was embossed with the seal of The Apex Group, the largest development firm in the country.

Hazel opened it, her breath catching as she read the letter. She had been headhunted. They weren't asking her to bid for a project; they were inviting her to be the Lead Interior Designer for The Obsidian Tower—a massive, landmark skyscraper currently under construction in the heart of the business district. It was a glass-and-steel giant, a building that was being hailed as the future of the city’s skyline.

It was the biggest project of her career. It was the kind of job that would put her name in every design magazine in the world. But as she looked at the architectural renderings of the building—the sharp lines, the cold glass, and the terrifyingly perfect structural integrity—her heart began to pound against her ribs.

Hazel looked at the name of the Lead Architectural Firm listed at the bottom of the document. The name was a new, prestigious firm she hadn't worked with before.

…

To Hazel, it was simply the opportunity of a lifetime. She spent the next three days in a whirlwind of preparation. This wasn't about the past; this was about Hazel, the Designer, taking her rightful place at the top.

The meeting at the corporate office was perfect. Hazel presented her vision for the "Obsidian Tower" to a board of directors who seemed mesmerized by her evolution. She was professional, sharp, and unshakable. They loved her "protective" design philosophy. The contract was signed within the hour.

Hazel walked out of the boardroom with a signed contract for the city’s most ambitious skyscraper, her heart soaring with a professional pride she hadn't felt in months. As she moved toward the elevators, the project manager caught her arm. "The owner is hosting an intimate luncheon in the private dining suite upstairs.”

Hazel followed the manager to the top floor. The dining suite was a sanctuary of glass, hovering above the clouds. The table was set for only a few people, but the air was filled with a scent that made Hazel’s blood turn to ice. It was the scent of rosemary, lemon, and a faint, sharp trace of cedarwood.

"The owner is running late," the manager whispered, gesturing toward the open kitchen at the far end of the suite. "But the chef is already preparing the first course. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Hazel found herself walking toward the kitchen, drawn by a magnetic force she couldn't control. A man was standing at the prep station, his back to her. He was dressed in a sleek, black chef’s coat, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were tense with focus. He was moving with a terrifying, rhythmic grace—chopping, searing, and plating with the precision of a man who saw food as a structural blueprint.

He didn't hear her approach over the hiss of the grill. Hazel stopped at the edge of the marble counter, her breath hitching. She watched the way he moved—the way he tilted his head, the way he adjusted the flame with a gloved hand. It was a dance of logic and heat.

"I told the manager the sauce needed another three minutes of reduction," the man said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that shattered the air between them. "The foundation has to be perfect before the presentation."

He turned around, wiping his hands on a dark cloth.

Hazel’s portfolio crashed to the floor. The papers scattered, but she didn't see them. Her world narrowed down to the man standing behind the stainless steel counter. The six months of silence, the new apartment, the warrior she had built—it all evaporated.

There, in the heat of a stranger's kitchen, stood her Architect. He wasn't the owner. He wasn't a titan of industry. He was a man in a black coat, his eyes wider and more haunted than the day he left, looking at her as if she were a ghost he had finally managed to summon.

…

you had an adamant rule that you weren’t allowed to have favourites, as it went against every moral code in your heart, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. little arin was perhaps the cutest little four year old you had ever come across, with manners, big sparkling eyes and an even lovelier disposition. you heart practically sang whenever she raised her hand to answer a question, or when you’d see her jumping around so cutely.

tonight was parents evening, and you knew you had a long stretch ahead, with some parents being more difficult to handle than others. you were often blamed for tiny things, and though that was just the life of a teacher, it still stung when you knew you gave it your absolute all. regardless, you put on a brave face as you set up your station in the large hall, watching other teachers do the same.

“you sorted?” your best friend, and colleague, yejin asked beside you, stacks of books propped on her hip as she approached your desk.

looking up, you gave her a grin. “yeah, even put sweets out this year. hope that means everyone’ll be nice this time.”

“i still stand by the fact anyone that can be mean to you is a psychopath.” she scoffed with a shake of her head, pushing a strand away from your face. “you got a big line up?”

“yeah, all the parents are coming. arin’s can’t make it, but i think they said her uncle will be attending instead.” you hummed, propping a sweet in your mouth.

she hummed too, putting her books down at the station beside yours. “lucky. i’ve had three drop outs already. can’t wait for them to get annoyed in two weeks because they feel misinformed on their child’s education.”

you laughed, shaking your head at her typically snarky behaviour.

the next few minutes were dedicated to making sure each of you tables were organised, so that parents could come to you during their allocated slots. yours, of course, stood out from the others, with a meticulous level of care going into all of your decorations. your kids loved coming with their parents for that sole reason, and you found that any tension from the adults were always lessened at the sight of effort being put in.

student books were organised alphabetically so they could have a look through, with examples of some of the work you had been teaching. colourful, phonics flashcards sat bundled in ribbon, with the children’s latest paintings all hung up behind and in front of you.

time began to trickle on rather quickly, with parents coming in and leaving, most polite, asking all of the right questions, but of course some left snide remarks. always something along the lines of their badly behaved children deserved better treatment, or that they wanted more attention, despite you doing every possible thing to do exactly that already.

by the time the night was winding down, you grimaced, looking at the time. it was late, with most teachers having finished up, but you still had one little student left. you reached for her file, heart already fond at the sight of her name.

“your little shadow’s next.” yejin teased quietly to you, packing up her own things.

you smiled with a shake of your head, not looking up as you prepared for your final appointment, crossing something out. you were told two weeks in advance that arin’s parents couldn’t attend, due to some family matter out of town, meaning her uncle would take their place. you couldn’t remember his name for the life of you, jaemin? juyeon? junghwan?

you were pulled from your thoughts as a small shadow loomed over your desk, your eyes peering up to meet large orbs adorned with the shyest of smiles.

“hi miss.” she waved, cheeks already red, cute hair pulled into pigtails similarly to how she always wore it.

“hello sweetheart. your dress looks so pretty!” you cooed, giving her a small high five to which she excitedly jumped to reach, causing you to smile. “mm.. uncle kook bought it yesterday for me.”

“that was so nice of him!” you nodded along, and as she turned in circles to show you properly, another looming shadow appeared.

this time, it completely engulfed you, with the scent of pine and musk hitting your nose almost instantly. your brain took a moment to catch up as it breathed in the intoxicating smell, your own large eyes peering up to meet those who you assumed was arin’s uncle.

oh.

oh.

whatever you had expected..this? this was not it.

dark hair, darker eyes, milky skin with piercings adorning his features, tattoos pouring down his arm as his t-shirt sat comfortably on his body. despite it being oversized, it did nothing to hide the pure size of him - shoulders broader than you had ever seen on anyone, chest puffed, height towering over you with ease.

a nasty part of your brain that you kept hidden away wondered what it would feel like to be between his biceps as he pushed tight.

worst of all, it looked like he was examining you too. you wished you could say he was doing it in a polite way, but with the way his eyebrows were pulled tight, his lips parted, his eyes trailing up and down you slowly, as though he was hungry..there was no civility in the way he devoured you.

you were polar opposites.

you, in your sweet cardigan and flowery skirt, hair tucked behind your ears and glasses pushed up your nose - you were picture perfect, exactly as his niece had described.

when jungkook’s sister had asked him to look after arin whilst her and her husband went to visit her in laws, he was more than happy to do so, loving her more than words. what he hadn’t realised was how excited she’d be to go to school every morning, with minute long rambles about the pretty teacher with the even prettier smile who wore cute dresses and made her hair all nice.

it was hard for his intrigue not to build after a while, especially once she had come one day almost screaming about how badly she wanted a strawberry dress because you too had worn one that day. he had taken her out immediately, closing his tattoo shop, and got to work, scouring every shop until he had managed to score one - to which she demanded she’d get to wear it for parents evening to properly show you.

seeing you now, all doe eyed and heart lipped, jungkook realised you were everything she had described and so much more. oh, you were sweet alright, the seconds long interaction with arin proved enough, but the decorations around you, your outfit, your demeanour, your voice. god, your voice.

you were a fucking problem.

for a moment, neither of you spoke, which in any other circumstance would have been entirely awkward, and yet you both stayed slightly rooted. somehow you both needed those beats of silence to really absorb one another, as though you were both slightly reeling from shock.

a scrape of a chair somewhere in the hall brought you back to life.

“oh..” you pushed your glasses up your nose, cheeks heating as you realised you had been staring. your brain failed to recognise he was still doing so. “i’m sorry..you must be..?”

he nearly grunted at the sound of your voice directed at him, liking it too much already.

“jungkook.”

you wanted to shudder, feeling almost humiliated by the reaction you were having to him. you peered down, watching as he extended his hand almost instantly towards you.

with a slightly shaking touch, your hands connected, his fingers swallowing your own whole. your limb was hidden within his in an almost comical way, your eyes connecting once more as sparks fluttered all over you over a mere touch. you felt like a school girl.

warm, calloused fingers, adorned with tattooes, caressed your own slightly, so gently you wondered whether you were imagining it, although it lasted so briefly. he didn’t let go until it began to border on confusion, slowly dropping your hand just as you spoke.

“miss y/l/n.” you managed.

“i know.” he responded almost immediately.

you didn’t catch the way his hand flexed beside him, still relishing your touch.

of course he knew. he was a man, after all, and after the first few times his niece proclaimed her love for her pretty teacher, his curiosity grew a million. seeing you now, it was very quickly making sense.

it was just something about you. you were lodging under his skin.

arin, oblivious to you both, tugged on his sleeve for his attention, pushing him towards the seats in front of the desk.

something in your chest bloomed at the sight of him so obedient to her, as he immediately listened, sitting down in the much smaller chair. it was endearing to see such an intimidating man folding for her with ease, and even sweeter watching her climb up onto his lap before he had even settled.

his arms caged her in protectively before looking up at you, the two making an adorable duo, something that had your heart utterly melting. she clearly adored her uncle, and he too was enamoured by her.

“well,” you said, forcing yourself back to reality, sitting down and reaching for her work folder. “shall we talk about this little one?”

“please.”

he leaned forward slightly, the change in position causing a small flush on your cheeks. his scent was intense.

“she’s doing beautifully.” you pulled out her phonetic workbook. “especially in reading, she’s picking things up quickly and really showing signs of independence. she’s choosing the books she wants to read, and they’re varying in difficulty which is always great to see.”

arin shyly hid her face in his chest, a sight so adorable you wanted to scream.

you smiled. “why don’t you tell your uncle what word you read all by yourself today?”

a pause. then, quietly..

“caterpillar.”

your smile only grew as you clapped your hands lightly, so pleased with her progress. “yes!”

her smile matched yours before peering up almost excitedly to gage his reaction.

“you didn’t tell me that, bug.”

jungkook was leaning down at her, face so soft, so unguarded, that it was hard to forget he had been looking at you non stop for the past several minutes, as though he was imagining every single possible sin.

“forgot.” she hummed back at him, causing him to laugh quietly, planting a kiss to her nose before murmuring something about how proud he was.

your stomach did something silky at the sound.

god, were you ovulating?

you leaned back, ignoring the flush in your cheeks and the shake of your fingers, pulling out work sheets, early writing, drawings she had made, even the class project she had contributed with. you were surprised at how eager he was, asking questions with genuine care, all whilst arin played with his hands, cuddling into him casually.

“she’s struggling to speak up in groups?” he grunted a little. “only a little, at the beginning. she warms up quickly, but she’s quite hesitant at first.” you nodded.

“is that a bad thing?” he asked quietly, as a means to not let her hear in case it was.

to that, you shook your head immediately. “no, not at all. some children just like to listen first, it’s quite natural. they like to assess before they leap in, it’s a safety thing.”

his eyes met yours once more at that, his lips pursing. “safe.” he repeated.

he tasted the word as though it had kept out of your own mouth and into his own, as though he could savour you with a single 4 letter combination. the way he assessed you then almost made you feel self conscious, as you watched his eyes trickle down from your own, to your lips, your neck, your chest, before trailing all the way back up.

your pulse skipped. your fingers were really restless now.

“her favourite lesson is art by far. her drawings are so sweet, she often takes them home for her parents. she’s working on a big project right now, with some of the older children, for the school library.”

“doing a butterfly, uncle koo.” she murmured, leaping at the opportunity to tell him. “it’s blue and pink.”

“yeah?” he hummed down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. “bet yours is the best one.”

to that she giggled loudly, as though he had said the funniest thing on the planet, a small but sure smirk forming on his face at her reaction. you smiled yourself, finding the two sweeter than most.

“she loves butterflies.” you added softly, as you took out some more drawings. “she tends to go out near the bushes during free play, or she’s near the nature corner trying to rescue something.”

jungkook was fucking enamoured by you. your small little smile, the way your lips pulled back to reveal such sweetness. a guy like him didn’t feel like this - this was odd. unheard of. confusing.

“rescue something?” his eyebrows raised.

“worms, mostly.”

his mouth twitched. “sounds like her.”

arin looked up with a small pout, still playing with one of his silver rings. “one was hurt.”

“i know bug, you told me.” he assured.

“she asked to put it into a shoebox. she brought leaves, twigs, made little breathing holes.”

this earned you a larger smile on his face as he let out a soft laugh, something that nearly had your breath taken away. he completely transformed, as though it was the loveliest thing he had ever heard.

“yeah? did it survive?” there was a teasing tilt to his tone.

“for three lovely days. you held a funeral for mr worm, didn’t you arin?” you hummed lightly down at her, to which she nodded immediately, jungkook closing his eyes momentarily as a huff of amusement left him.

you couldn’t help but watch him almost eagerly as he again, murmured something down at her, to which she smiled bashfully. he was all hard edges, tattooed and pierced, and yet he was putty for his adorable niece.

“she’s sensitive, definitely, which isn’t a bad thing whatsoever but it does mean socially she’s still catching up.” you softly proceeded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. jungkook watched it. “she’s made some lovely friendships this year, and they’re really solidifying.”

“yeah, she keeps mentioning a yuna..”

you brightened. “yes! they’re really inseparable at the minutes it’s so, so cute!”

“she also tells me she likes when you read stories.” he added.

you blinked at him softly, tilting your head with a slight hum of confusion.

“said something about different voices. she keeps asking me to read her sleeping beauty.”

you let out a soft laugh at that, shaking your head. “some of the girls have been coming in during their play time and asking to be read a book. they’re on a princess kick at the moment.”

to that, he huffed in amusement once more. “yeah, she keeps telling me to get out. something about her prince charming will wake her up.”

“he will.” she grumbled a little quietly in his arms, to which you smiled widely.

“i’m happy you like them.” you redirected, happy that your students were enjoying reading enough to enact it at home.

“curious about these different voices.” jungkook interested, eyebrow raised. “show me.”

“show..you?”

“what, that bad?”

you laughed, unable to hold it in. “dreadful.”

“now i really need to see.” he couldn’t help the mischievous glint in his eyes, still too busy being enamoured by you to stop staring so openly.

“i’m not doing voices at parents evening.” you continued to laugh, shaking your head, but the pink glow on your cheeks gave you away.

“a shame. i’ll be thinking about it tonight.” he murmured casually, as though he wasn’t openly telling you that you’d be on his mind.

your stomach flipped.

before you could even conjure up a response, arin suddenly tugged a folded piece of paper your way, almost buzzing with excitement as she peered up at her uncle momentarily too.

“look, miss!”

you smiled automatically at her, unfolding it with a quiet “what’s this?”, stretching out the paper to see.

and immediately, you froze.

a drawing, one of her many cute ones of course. the sun in the corner a stark yellow, the green of the grass at the bottom alongside the lovely house in the background. in the middle of the paper stood arin, in her cute dress and pigtails, both of her parents by either side, with a large love heart above their heads. what had you shaken, however, were the two figures to the side, also holding hands, one that resembled her uncle a little too well, and the other? one look and you knew that was you.

above you both sat an even bigger red heart.

you couldn’t have even played the plausible deniability card, considering both figured were labelled with a terrible scrawl of “miss” and “koo”, further causing you to inhale sharply.

“arin..” you choked out.

she simply ignored your state, pointing and labelling everything. “this is mummy and daddy and that’s me, and that’s our house and this is you miss, and this is uncle koo and we all live together.” she rambled.

your eyes were widening as you made the mistake of looking up directly to jungkook, unsure of what to say or do. he, however, seemed absolutely enamoured by the picture, focusing directly on the both of you.

“yeah? what’s this, bug?” he asked her, pointing at the massive love heart.

“means love.” she casually snuggled into his chest, as though it was completely normal. in the case of a four year old, that much felt true.

his lips lifted at the corners, in clear satisfaction. “you did good. let’s put it on my fridge when we get home, yeah?”

you let out a small little noise, as though what you were hearing was utter madness disguised in a bow. he was staring at the drawing in a way that had you genuinely confused, as though he was considering it to be a reality, as though he hadn’t just met you mere minutes ago.

as though it represented something so much bigger.

“she likes stories..” you managed, trying to make the mood a little lighter out of embarrassment.

he finally peered up at you, eyes so much darker than usual. “she’s observant.”

you weren’t sure what to say, your shaking fingers now in your lap as yejin quietly watched from the desk over, practically enamoured by the sexual tension radiating off of both of you. you were bewildered, thrown off your professional course as you simply went blank, all thoughts gone of out of the window.

thank god, arin, your saving grace, yawned loudly into jungkook’s chest, pulling you both out of the trance you were ultimately locked in. you watched as he hoisted her onto him more securely, before finally standing up, height completely looming over you in a way that had your gaze slightly glazed over. he wanted to see that look again. desperately.

“thank you for your time. this has been..insightful.” jungkook murmured, just as you stood up, smoothening your skirt.

you were sure your cheeks were on fire at this point, as a mixture of humiliation, curiosity, and frankly, hot need coursed through you at both the sight of him and his words.

“t-thank you for coming.” you stuttered out, nodding lightly, as he simply stood watching you for a few extra moments.

jungkook’s gaze only left yours to trail over you fully now, up and down as though he was savouring the sight of you, his fingers grazing the bottom of your cardigan instinctively, almost desperate to feel the woven strawberries his niece had gushed about so earnestly. he watched your breath hitch, his ego climbing as he realised he had the exact same effect that you were having on him.

oh, he was about to ruin you.

with a good night, you watched him leave, niece resting her chubby face on his shoulder, all whilst you slumped back into your chair, completely exhausted from the interaction. yejin all but leaped towards you, hands on your desk with wide eyes.

“oh. my. fucking. god.” she whispered down at you, to not cause any alarm with other teachers and parents.

you were fucked.

—

the weeks after parents evening were easily some of the most challenging of your adult life so far. to say you were being tested was an understatement, as your integrity of being a teacher came into challenge by none other than jeon jungkook.

you were notified that arin’s parents had to stay back for an additional two weeks, meaning you were seeing him on a minimum twice a day, five days a week. though the interactions were fleeting, both at drop off and pick up time, he took advantage of every seconds.

first came the fleeting touches. he’d watch as you handed the children back to their parent’s, taking the time to speak to each one earnestly, saying your goodbyes to sweet cherubs who would wave eagerly back at you. whenever it was his turn, he watched as your cheeks flushed pink almost immediately, your lips parting, brain malfunctioning in real time.

“pretty dress.” he had said to you once, as his niece bounced over, his fingers lightly grazing your wrist. “i like pink on you.”

“thank you.” you were sure your cheeks were on fire at this point, much to his amusement.

another time, he had grazed his fingers against your wrist, feeling your pulse for a moment too long as you handed him arin’s bookbag, a soft gasp leaving your lips at the contact. judging from his cool and collected demeanour, you assumed he wasn’t as affected as you were, but you couldn’t have been further from the truth.

jungkook’s entire mind had become you. your dresses. your floral perfume. the cute way you’d push up your glasses. there really only was one word to describe you as, and that was adorable - a stark difference to his darker being.

he’d go to work, opening up his tattoo shop, having to take regular breaks during sessions just to smoke a whole fucking pack of cigarettes in hopes you would leave his brain. this wasn’t normal. it wasn’t healthy. he didn’t know you. he didn’t know you. he didn’t know you.

and yet, he knew you. all little arin would do day and night was talk about her lovely teacher, and how excited she was to go to school, how upset she’d be that the weekend was coming. it was hard not to think of someone already stuck in your mind when the world would put them in every direction you’d look in.

he liked hanging back whenever he’d pick her up, too. one time, he had come in late to pick up, the school gate closed, meaning he had to walk through the long way into reception. it took him a while but once he reached your classroom, the sight nearly had him letting out a shaky breath.

his niece, colouring, so adorably, as you cooed down at her, guiding her to do it within the lines, giving her praise all the whilst she beamed.

once he had made his presence known, he stayed behind for another 20 minutes just to speak to you. he wasn’t much of a talker, but he couldn’t help but hover around you, listening as you shyly answered his questions. he felt ridiculous, asking anything just to get your attention, even asking about lesson plans to hear you light up and talk.

jungkook was a domestic man. he didn’t look like one, not with his appearance, all tatted and rough, but he had always wanted a family of his own - one look at you and his breeding kink was already blaring loudly within his ears.

oh, he had big plans for you.

y/n. you’d look good next to him, he thought, all sweet and doe-like. men like him ruined girls like you, but he wanted to be better than that, and be worthy of you. he had his own business, a good place in the city, enough money in the bank to spoil you rotten, a good head on his shoulders. he could offer you stability. could offer you so much and more.

the pair of you were ruined.

half term finally arrived, and it felt like both relief and punishment.

relief, knowing that you were spared jungkook’s presence, allowing your brain to finally exist once more in comfort, without the constant push and pull of how much you wanted him. he had become your personal brand of torture.

punishment, knowing that he was no longer in your presence regularly. arin’s parents had come home earlier than planned, meaning jungkook had simply stopped coming one day, a small frown on your face at the thought.

you had spent the last fortnight in what could only be described as pure anticipation, body learning his schedule before your mind could ever keep up. his heavy presence, his darkening eyes that would watch you with each passing move at exactly 3.15, when the children would finally come out.

he was always on time, always watching, always saying just enough, but never too much. it made it so much worse when you compared it to some of the other dads who flirted casually, openly, directly - jungkook stalked.

there had been the afternoon where he leaned against the doorway to your classroom, watching arin pack up, having stayed behind for an afternoon club. black t-shirt, sweats, hair slightly messy - he looked so good that you had to turn your back to him, leaning up to blutack things onto the wall.

“you always dress like this for work?” he asked you from across the room, heavy gaze following you shamelessly.

you peered over your shoulder nervously. “like what?”

he didn’t respond, tongue in his cheek as he openly checked you out, head tilted before his niece hopped over, shouting out a sweet bye bye to you. you watched as he was pulled away, his eyes hovering over every inch of you, only pulling up to meet your eyes once he was about to properly leave.

you shook your head at the memory.

tonight was different. it felt so much heavier than usual, so much more impactful, and exactly what you needed.

dressed in a dress that was obnoxiously short, you looked at yourself in the club bathroom, eyes dazed, skin slightly sticky from the heat of packed bodies. your body was on show, a complete 180 of what you typically looked like, with alcohol booming through your veins, providing you with a candied reality.

the club pulsed around you as you pulled down your dress at the bottom, pulling your straps up your shoulders to stabilise it over your breasts, you legs on show, your tiny, lacy panties ready to be seen underneath if you even thought of bending over. violet lights sparked in every corner, and though the bathroom was empty, you swore you could still feel everyone around you.

yejin had insisted you go out with her tonight, your other best friend jimin tagging along in the name of a good night.

something along the lines of, “more alcohol and even more bad decisions.”

you had let them dress you, style you, even down to the lack of bra underneath the dress, with him scoffing at the thought, letting out a mutter of how it would ruin the silhouette of the dress.

you were so used to looking like innocence personified that it felt euphoric to finally become sin, and as you entered the club once more, you felt yourself become engulfed in it. you had been here for an hour or so, and already multiple men had hit on you, buying you drinks, going so far as to openly grab you but it did nothing.

none of them compared. none of them were him.

you felt plagued, whining every time your lips touched the rim of a glass, remembering him even in your moment of desperation. you were here to forget him, not to remind yourself of his presence.

oh, but only if you knew.

if only you had looked around you.

if only you had actually opened your eyes.

jeon jungkook rolled his shoulders for the umpteenth time that night, tense, jaw locked and hardened as he watched your scantily dressed body saunter around, hands tied into that of your friends. he watched as you drank your cocktails, rolling your eyes as men tried to approach you, your dainty fingers pushing against their chest with a dismissive look.

who were you?

he hardly recognised you. no, he was used to the strawberry dresses, the flowers you often tucked behind in your ear, the cute dresses that touched your calves, your sweet ballet flats. your eyes would scrunch with each and every smile, head tilting as your hair sat in buns and ponytails.

you right now, however, were not that girl.

there was something sultry imbedded into you, with the way your hair sat so sleek down your back, your skin on show and your giggles hidden behind a manicured hand. god, he had never been harder in his fucking life. his girl, was this really you?

he had every intention of coming to you after half term, to properly ask you out, just like a girl you deserved. seeing you now made his brain malfunction - why the fuck would he wait, when you were right here, right now, all his.

he had been here just as long as you had, and considering this was his friend, jin’s, club, he had been lounging in the vip, nursing a drink. he looked angry, with every person looking at him avoiding him, when in reality he was watching with staggered breath.

there really was nothing casual about the way jungkook watched you.

his friends had long stopped trying to talk to him, with conversations around the vip section becoming static in his ears whilst his world narrowed to the little slip of skin exposed when your dress rose higher as you danced.

he had downed his drink within seconds, with his newest sitting untouched for twenty minutes.

it sat sweating beside his hand, long fingers drumming against the glass, his body restless as he sat, trying to leave you be. he wanted to be respectful. fuck he was trying to do right by you, leave you alone.

namjoon said something, beside him, and yet he couldn’t hear a single word because you were laughing. your head tipped back throat exposed, whilst some stranger took it as ample opportunity to come closer to you, whispering something into your ear.

jungkook’s jaw locked even harder.

“that the teacher?” namjoon asked, with a low whistle as he traced his friend’s eye-line, catching sight of the pretty lady.

he couldn’t answer.

not when you had taken that very moment to turn, and your dress. fuck.

it clung like sin.

all those prim and proper outfit choices felt blasphemous to think about now, especially now that he had seen you in all of your glory. all those sweet, pastel dresses he had spent weeks dreaming about, peeling them off of you inch by inch, were now replaced by the sight of you in front of him, practically naked.

he genuinely couldn’t breathe.

he should have looked away, he owed you that much. instead, his mind became uglier - thoughts of wondering hands, strangled moans, that pretty dress pushed up to your waist. god, he’d ruin you. you’d let him too, from the looks of it.

“you look sick.” jin grumbled as he sat beside his friend, pouring namjoon a drink. “what are you moping about? this isn’t a good look for me, you know.”

“feel worse.” jungkook let out a humourless exhale, rolling his shoulders once more.

the disgusting realisation that he had tried to be good was enough to drive him insane, because that was the problem. he had tried to court you right, respectfully, like you deserved - tried to keep his filthy thoughts of touching something as soft and delicate as you far away, only to walk into a club and find his sweet teacher dressed like every bad thought he had ever had.

he was done. done pretending like he was unaffected, and done pretending like he wasn’t absolutely enamoured by you. he had never felt like this towards anyone in his life, not even the long term relationships he had been in - he didn’t just want you. he wanted to own you.

possessiveness and ownership ran at the forefront of his mind whenever he looked at you, and he knew it was sick, but the part that flickered inside of him whispered into his ear that you wouldn’t mind the idea whatsoever. an even more fucked up part of your mind promised him that you would like it.

every man had his eyes on you and enough was enough. the bartender, the sleazy guys, even the ones with extra money in their pocket - enough. you were his. surely you knew that by now?

he catalogued every single face, making good note of what they looked like before finally standing up in all of his glory, shoulders wide, biceps tense. his chair had lightly scraped, capturing the attention of all of his friends, who watched as he finally began his descent away from the vip section, and right to where you were.

-

you didn’t know where the heat was coming from anymore. the club was warm, the alcohol even warmer as it ran down your throat, rendering you officially tipsy. you were practically on cloud 9, finally able to breathe and enjoy yourself the way you wanted and planned.

something else, however, had began pricking at your senses.

you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you knew it was ridiculous considering you could actively feel multiple eyes on you, wandering gazes from men who wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into you but this was different. it felt different.

you tried ignoring it, only to fail, as every few seconds your body kept reacting to something in the unseen, the hidden. your thighs felt restless, your throat tight, your skin far too aware of your surroundings - you blamed it on the tequila.

“you’re flushed!” yejin shouted over the music.

“yeah..i feel really hot.”

jimin laughed. “that’s the point.”

you rolled your eyes at him, pushing his shoulder gently as he twirled you both. you took one last sip of your chilled drink before glancing at the bar.

“i need another.” you groaned, already ready to get drunk, but the lack of liquor was proving to be a problem. “wait, get me one too, i’m about to finish this.” jimin asked, giving you a pearly smile.

you nodded dramatically, before turning to the bar, fighting your way through a sea of people. you could feel hands all over you, and though they weren’t welcome, you weren’t annoyed by them either, as they only added the euphoric state of your mind. you moved around people in a blur of neon and heat, lights flashing down on you harshly before you managed to get to the bar finally.

bass thudded through the floor, so much so that you could feel it in your heels, and through your ribs. you squeezed up to the bar, solidifying yourself a place before politely calling out to one of the bartenders.

nothing. he completely ignored you, causing you to frown, trying once more, earning a passive look before he turned to serve someone else.

you pouted, head tilting in a mixture of tipsied offence and confusion. “rude..”

before you could even conjure up anything else, or try again for that matter, you felt something against you.

a large body pressed against yours, tightly, to which you could feel every ridge, every bite of muscle engulfing you in that very moment until you could do nothing else other than simply gasp. you froze, breath held in your chest, as you watched two large arms snake from either side of you, caging you meanly into the bar with no escape.

you would have recognised those tattoos anywhere.

you froze, your breath completely stalling as you were crowded completely against the bar edge, your front pressed harshly, whilst your back was pushed against heated skin. you were crowded, deliberately, intentionally.

pine. musk. him.

your lips parted before your brain could keep up, just as you felt breath touch your ear.

“that pout for him?”

your knees nearly buckled.

your shaking hands pushed back against him just slightly, enough to turn in his arms and see for your own two eyes whether this truly was a reality. big mistake.

you stood face to face with jungkook, his head dipped low, eyes capturing your own almost instantly. his tattoos were so much clearer under neon lights, his piercings glinting, his eyes so dark, his shoulders so wide. you genuinely couldn’t comprehend this. couldn’t fathom he was here, capturing you so no one else could have a look.

claiming you.

he looked almost offended by how beautiful you looked in that moment, all starry eyed and heart lipped.

“jungkook.” your voice came out shaky, breathless even, so much smaller than intended.

his gaze dragged over your face visibly. over your eyes, down to your nose, dragging against your lips, grunting once he looked down at your body, before coming all the way back up to meet your stare once more.

“baby.”

your stomach flipped so hard you gripped the bar behind you harshly.

“what..what are you doing here?”

his jaw clenched. “watching you.”

no embarrassment, no shame - he said it like a well known fact. it should have unsettled you, and yet, you felt a shaking exhale leave you.

“how long?” you dared to whisper, causing him to push you harsher against the bar, your bodies so intimately pressed against one another. “all night.” he whispered, head dropping down to meet the shell of your ear.

the hands at either side of you now came forwards, fingers grabbing at your waist, pushing you that last cm into him, meaning your own hands came up press against his chest, all whilst his head sat almost touching your own, eyes unable to look away from one another.

he was touching you. intimately.

before either of you could speak again, jungkook broke eye contact, looking behind you as the bartender finally decided to appear. one look at jungkook and he was gulping, recognising him as the owner’s best friend, immediately giving you both the highest of attention.

“what do you want, pretty girl?”

pretty girl?

in that voice?

you forgot every fucking drink in existence.

“i..” your mouth open and fell, looking down at your hands on his chest, flexing your fingers gently, before your eyebrows furrowed. “that gone already?” he asked you in mild amusement.

you flushed hard.

“vodka soda, please.” you tumbled out, holding him delicately.

he ordered for both of you, swiping his card with ease, not even sparing you a second glance during payment. it was only when the bartender moved away to make the drinks that you realised he had stayed where he was exactly, with no intention of moving back, still pushing your body against him intimately. now that you were touching him back, his chest flexed under your hands.

the music swallowed everything but him.

a hand let go of one side of your waist, instead reaching up to cup your chin, fingers wrapping around your neck also, to tilt your head upwards. he was examining you still.

“missed this face.” he hissed quietly underneath his breath, causing you to flutter your eyelashes up at him, stomach swirling with butterflies. “look at me when i talk to you.”

your gaze met his once more, forced as his hand tightened around your neck, causing you to practically slump against him. you liked it, liked it a little too much - the feeling of almost feeling powerless at the hands of a man who had been on your mind the day you met him at parents evening.

your thighs pressed together.

“do you know,” he began, sounding thoughtful, so soft, “how many men have been looking at you tonight?”

your pulse jumped as his mouth dipped close to your ear, letting out a gentle little, “hm?”

“nearly dragged one outside for touching you.”

a cocktail mixture of heat, confusion arousal and fear jolted through your nervous system, as you found yourself letting out a shaky breath. “why?”

“because i’ve been trying so fucking hard to be good for you, y/n.” he hissed then, almost sounding in pain.

his words hit like a tidal wave, as you desperately tried to catch up, fingers now digging into his skin beneath his t-shirt hidden chest.

his thumb pressed into your jaw, forcing your face higher. “tried real hard, pretty girl.” his voice was low enough to not be carried by the music, an ode to you and you alone. “thought you were a good girl. thought you deserved a man to do this right.”

he leaned closer, just as your lips parted.

“tried to wait until half term ended, give you some space to think.” his eyes shut tight for just a second, as though reminiscing his once plan. “was gonna come to you with flowers like some fucking gentleman, take you out, walk you home. was gonna do all that sappy shit ‘cause you deserve it.”

the words sounded sinful in his mouth, but the imagery in your head was enough to have you whimpering openly. the thought of him, jungkook, so enamoured by you, more than what you thought. you were so sure this was one sided regards to the way you felt, and yet here he was, declaring it to you in front of others.

“but then i walk in here,” his eyes deliberately ran down your shaking body. “and find you wearing this.”

you gulped almost nervously. “do..you not like it?”

“more than just like it, baby. fucking love it.” he hissed, offended by your thought track. “problem is every other bastard in this place is looking at you too. drives me fucking insane.”

your eyes left his, trying to catch your breath, so overwhelmed by everything around you - the thump of the music, the flashing lights, the heat, the proximity. he watched you, examining you in detail, recognising every single emotion on your pretty little face.

his thumb dipped, touching your bottom lip, dragging it gently over until it pulled, his eyes trained solely on your mouth. “you’re in my head. can’t get you out.” he admitted quietly, for you to hear and you alone.

the sentiment was not lost on you, as something inside your stomach, soul and mind broke at the prospect. you had assumed he had a roster of girls, that he was using you almost as placeholder because of convenience - this..this wasn’t what you had expected.

knowing he felt the same way as you, equally as confused, equally as enamoured; it felt like confirmation that you weren’t going insane. the magnitude of your feelings, no matter how sudden, felt heavy in your body. to know he was feeling the same, despite his usually quiet and reserved self made you want to scream in joy.

“i can’t stop thinking about you either.” you whispered, so faint that he wouldn’t have heard you had his eyes not watched your lips part.

that alone, was the confirmation jungkook needed as he suddenly pulled away, giving you and your body space. the look on his face was devastating, as though you had said the one thing that could truly undo him, his hands shaking as they released you, running them both through his hair messily - he looked ruined and you had only said a single phrase.

you blinked up at him, dazed.

“jungkook..”

“don’t.” his voice came out rough.

he sounded strained, as though his entire resolve was now left hanging on a thread. his jaw ticked at you openly as he stared and stared and stared, looking away momentarily as though he was thinking, wanting nothing more than to be good to you, be the gentleman he knew you deserved. he needed to be.

and yet, he lost.

he looked back at you, face eerily calm as he took both of your hands and pulled once more, your body pulled against him. fingers intertwined as he brought the back of your own to his lips in a sudden sweet kiss. “come with me.”

your breath caught for the millionth time that interaction. “where?”

“somewhere i can think.” he let out a humourless little laugh, all disbelief.

any rational person would have asked more questions, clarified what was going on, why he seemed so undone by you and your tiny dress, but frankly, you didn’t care. you were utterly captivated by him, and having his attention like this felt addicting, like a class a drug created entirely for you.

so, instead, you nodded.

jungkook began to lead you, body close to yours, creating a path with ease. his hands never left yours, steadying you as you stumbled a little, making sure you were good as people watched you both, men ogling you and women ogling him. you managed to catch yejin’s gaze, who had a beaming smile on her face once she recognised who you were with, animatedly pointing at jungkook with a big thumbs up, making you flush even deeper than you had all night. thankfully, jungkook seemed to stay ignorant of it.

heat ran down your spine as he took you left, walking past security who nodded at him, opening up a pair of doors that seemed inaccessible to a large majority of the people here. your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you were led up a set of stairs, private, dimly lit, the music growing quieter with each passing step.

the club noise completely muffled to a dull noise, leaving your heartbeat as the loudest noise around you.

jungkook was ahead of you, broad shoulders filling the space in front in a way that made you want to moan. fuck, he was just so big all over, it was one of the most attractive things about him - he didn’t even need to try, just being around him made you safe.

halfway up the stairs, he suddenly stopped, your fingers still locked with his.

your front brushed his back as you walked into him slightly.

you watched as he turned to face you, the cool air of the staircase easing your body’s heated temperature whilst his state did nothing to sedate the growing fire in your stomach. you peered up, watching as he stepped down, pushing you against the railing gently, dipping his own head down so he could breathe in your scent like a mad man.

“you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

dark eyes, wrecked. he looked sinful, utterly dangerous for the space between your legs.

to his question, you merely bit your lip, nibbling on it. he watched, eyes tracing the action with a harsh sense of affection - his sweet teacher was still there, it seemed, simply hidden underneath smoky eyes and bare legs.

“gonna take you upstairs, y/n.” he whispered softly. “i’m gonna treat you exactly like i wanted from day one, like i should have. need to know you’re coming because you want me too.”

it was your turn to almost take offence, with your eyebrows pulling tight. your shaking hands became confident, resting on his chest, fingernails digging slightly into skin to mark your territory.

“want you. wanted you from day one too, jungkook.” you promised him, big eyes fluttering in a way that wanted him to take you then and there.

a beat of silence stretched between you.

you watched as he shut his eyes, exhaling lightly, before pulling forward and pressing his lips faintly to your jaw, grazing it as an almost promise to you - he wouldn’t let you regret your choice.

pulling away, he let out a breath, before taking a hold of your hand once more, also pressing a kiss to it as he led you up the rest of the way, this time with an assured sense of urgency.

he opened the door to the private room, and your eyes pulled back in both a mixture of awe and intrigue. you had never been in a place like this, adorned with such lavish furniture, a private bar, a lounging area where a few guys sat around, some of them talking to girls, all whilst jungkook began leading you to another door across the room. all eyes were on you, and you realised these were clearly his friends, from the way they all either smiled politely at you or smirked at jungkook openly.

as he pulled you into an additional room, you watched as he locked it behind you, to ensure a level of privacy, only for you to turn, your stomach dropping in pure anticipation.

a large bed.

the sight of it nearly had you moaning out as it confirmed every thought in your head, your legs growing weak, thighs desperately pushed together at the understanding of what was going to happen. it was all you had been able to think about for weeks.

the thought of him being just as desperate as you, bringing you here just to ruin you, despite having played the gentleman for the entirety of the time you’d known him - your ego bloomed at the thought of having a man like jungkook so down bad for you.

you could hear footsteps behind you, breath hitting your shoulder as his head dipped, breathing in your perfume once more. his body pressed against yours meanly, your back to his front, against him in ways where you could feel him intimately.

“sweet girl.” he hummed just as you looked over your shoulder, meeting his heavy gaze.

he had the faintest of smirks on his face as he read you like a book, a fucked out expression over you and he hadn’t even touched you properly - oh the fun he was about to have. his hands grabbed onto your waist, pushing you lightly as he led you forward, all the whilst planting pepper kisses to the back of your neck.

your small little dress began to ride up as you were plopped onto the bed, bouncing lightly as he stood, hovering over you, looking at the lace of your panties that was now visible, a dampened patch inbetween your legs that had his cock visibly straining against his jeans. his mouth salivated at the sight.

“the things i want to do to you, baby.” he sighed, as your face sat crotch level for him, your gaze fluttering over him in anticipation.

“then do it.” you whispered, almost taunting him, desperate to see him break in front of you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke, simply staring at one another, until he suddenly lunged for you.

you gasped as you scurried backwards on the bed, just as he hovered over you, pinning you down harshly on the plush covers, watching the way you sank in comfortably. he grabbed your arms, pinning them above your head, leaning down to press his head against yours.

he looked possessive by definition, lips curled in almost snarl as he breathed you in, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of him already so intimately against you. one of his knees separated your legs, cold air hitting the wetness between your thighs, to which he grunted lightly at.

“my good girl. gonna let me ruin you forever, baby? no going back after this, you’ll be mine.”

to that, you nodded almost instantly, hips bucking upwards to get any sort of friction. “please..want it.”

how could he deny his girl?

his lips dropped against yours immediately, claiming harshly.

lips moved in unison as you immediately moaned into his mouth, causing him to groan as he felt you utterly melt. your hands, pinned against your head, were pliant against his own fingers as his lips claimed you, kissing you like a man starved, all whilst grinding down on you for friction.

you could feel how hard he was, how much bigger he was than you in this position and it made your brain malfunction, realising that he truly had every intention of breaking you tonight, just like you wanted.

soon enough, his tongue demanded entry into your mouth, to which you allowed, feeling him explore you in ways that had you whimpering at the thought of it between your legs. it was like he could read your mind, applying further pressure between your legs, the noises leaving you enough to render him dead on the spot.

once he pulled away to let you breathe, he watched as a thin string of saliva separated you, the sight enough to have most cumming in their pants. he couldn’t wait, couldn’t be rational, not when you were here, moaning for him, grinding, desperate to be touched by no one else other than him.

immediately, he sat up, watching as you propped yourself up on your elbows, lips slightly bruised.

he leaned over, grabbing your dress and pulling it up almost meanly, pushing it over your waist and to your stomach, causing you to crash back down on the bed, your hands shaking as they looked for something to grab.

“fuck.” he elongated, groaning loudly at the sight inbetween your legs.

pretty, lacy and tiny. your panties did nothing to hide how wet you were, as they sat completely soaked against you, desperate to be peeled off, hungry to be touched. he immediately positioned himself between your legs, grabbing either thigh before yanking you down to meet him, a squeal leaving your lips at his harsh actions.

“look at you, y/n.” he hissed, nose brushing against your clothed pussy immediately, breathing in the scent. “j-jungkook!” you squeaked, hands flying to his hair in almost embarrassment, as you watched him simply grunt against you like a pervert.

“a good man would be gentle with you..” he whispered underneath his breath, planting pepper kisses to anything he could get his hands on. “but i can’t do that baby. you understand, right?”

“don’t want you to be gentle.” you immediately shook your head in a whimper. “wanna feel you properly.”

that was all he needed. confirmation from his girl that she wanted it just as nasty as he wanted to give it to her - you really were a match made in heaven.

and so, he pushed your panties to a side, blowing against your pulsing clit for a second as he admired how fucking pretty your pussy looked like this, before utterly devouring you.

you let out a loud squeal, hands flying to his hair almost immediately as jungkook began eating you out like a man starved. your poor clit was being abused by his mouth as his sucked, licked, traced and bit, making you feel very inch of his emotions towards you.

you bucked your hips into him, desperate to get away from the overwhelming emotion, but he kept you pinned, grunting loudly at you each time you tried to pull apart. instead, you were resolved in pulling at his strands harshly, crying out his name despite knowing that everyone outside the room could probably hear you.

fuck, he knew you would taste good. one look at you and he knew you were candied all over, but this? how could he ever live without a taste of your pussy now that he was here? the way your thighs trembled violently, your core leaking, all whilst he played with you.

he relaxed one of your thighs with his hand before his fingers began prodding at your entrance, his eyes looking up to capture your own just as he inserted one, watching the way it scrunched up in a mixture of pleasure and shock.

“fuck, jungkook!”

the call of his name on your tongue as he gave you no time to adjust was euphoric, pumping his digit in and out, in and out, in and out as he suckled on your clit like a mad man. soon enough, he couldn’t help himself, inserting another whilst you whimpered about it being too much, only causing him to scoff against you.

“gotta be able to take my cock, pretty girl. need this pussy stretched out.”

you bucked your hips into him further at his words as he set a relentless pace, so deep, fingertips curling every chance he got. sure you had played with yourself, and had boyfriends touch you, but this was on another level. no man had ever made you moan so loudly, always having to fake orgasms and get off privately after but this? you realised there was no way you could let jungkook out of your life, not if your pussy craved this exact feeling forever.

“you’re so good to me. taste so good.” he groaned, all but making out with your pussy, your slick dripping from his chin. “don’t know how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

“wanted this too.” you whimpered back.

“yeah?” he scoffed, sucking, pumping. “i should’ve ate you out on your desk like i wanted. should have made you lock the door and kept your mouth full.”

“y-you can still..fuck..still do that.” you promised him, moaning uncontrollably at this point, scratching at his shoulders, at the sides of his face, anything you could get your hands on.

to that, he grunted, sucking particularly harshly on your clit. “yeah? you want me to do that, baby?”

you couldn’t respond. not when you were already close, already feeling something build in your stomach that you knew would ruin you for the rest of your life - three weeks and he had managed to outdo any man in your life thus far, and you paled to imagine the thought of not having him after this. not when his fingers pumped so meanly, tongue circling only to suck even meaner, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably around him.

“k-kook..m’gonna cum.” you managed to choke out, but it was like he couldn’t hear you, only going harsher, more eager, more desperate, his own hips grinding against the bed to feel some relief.

white, hot light soaked through you as your hips lifted off of the bed, a loud and choking squeal escaping just as your orgasm finally hit you. you could feel it run up and down your veins, coursing through you harder than any other time in your life, clenching around his fingers in a tight clamp. jungkook choked at the feeling, eyes shutting tight before opening up immediately to watch you orgasm for him, body shaking, whining and crying.

he continued to pump, not caring that you were a bundle of oversensitivity until you began slapping at his shoulders desperately to get him to stop. he listened, although reluctant, pulling away from the space between your legs with a small pant, your panties in his hands as he pushed them into his back pocket.

he was so much more perverted than you thought, and yet you liked it. yearned for it even, enjoying it beyond belief as you watched one another pant. you were dazed, eyes completely glossed over with a sense of need you had genuinely never felt before, watching as he pulled you up from your perched position.

you felt his hands on your dress, helping you remove it, unzipping and pulling it above your head, whilst you yanked at his own t-shirt, desperate to have him as bare as you. he couldn’t help the small smile at your actions, loving how needy you were now that you had cummed - god, you were so adorable.

soon enough, all that was left between you were his boxers, to which, you let out a pretty little sigh at the sight. he was big, too big for sure, but the print of him so harshly pressed against his boxers had you oozing between your legs once more, looking up at him almost shyly.

“dunno, kookie..i-i..don’t think you’ll fit.” you admitted honestly, the use of such a cute nickname doing something to him as he immediately hovered over you again, pressing kisses to your lips hungrily. “gotta make it fit, right baby? just need to take it.”

you nodded at him, so pliant in every way, his submissive doll. god, he felt like he was corrupting you, and yet he knew you were also leaving your mark on him too.

he wanted nothing more than to fuck your throat, but he knew he wouldn’t last, and so, he pulled down his boxers quickly, pumping his cock with one hand, pushing your hair away with the other. he asked you to lift your legs for him, to which you did sweetly, revealing your messy pussy once more, a slow breath escaping him.

he ran the tip of his cock up and down your core, collecting slick, just to see your expression. you were propped up on your elbows, watching him with an open mouth, a blissed out expression appearing everytime he nudged your sensitive clit, loving the feel of something so much larger than his fingers ruin you already.

“big breath.” he whispered down at you, as he began to push inside, watching the way your elbows gave out, your head falling plush to the pillows.

you grabbed onto his arms, letting out a loud, broken moan as the tip of his cock stretched you out wide, pushing deeper and deeper inside of you until you could genuinely feel him in your stomach. he wasn’t deterred by your nails digging into him, causing his skin to break, only further thrusting inside of you until he was fully inside, eyes never leaving yours.

watching the way you struggled to keep your eyes open, whimpering, shaking, yanking him down to you whilst also pulling at his hair, grabbing at his skin. god, he was going insane. he couldn’t breathe, not with you gripping him so tightly, not when he was completely inside you and still wanted to feel so much closer than what he already was.

“too big.” you whimpered out with a quivering lip, as he panted above you, pressing kisses to your face. your cheeks, your nose, your eyes, your lips - his angel girl. “doing so good for me baby, fuck. look at you.”

he took one of your hands, kissing it before pressing it against your own stomach so you could feel the slight bulge, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

the mixture of pain and pleasure was utterly addicting, as though this was the one thing you had needed, craved even, without realising. how were you ever supposed to live without it now that you’d had a taste?

a whine was pulled from you as he suddenly pulled back, and gave you a thrust, skin slapping against skin almost immediately. he did it again, and again, and again, and again, until you were finally moaning, squealing each time he pushed back down on your stomach so you could feel him even deeper.

soon enough, he was setting a pace, thrusting j in and out of you, the sounds of your moans and his grunts filling the space, echoing out to the rest of the vip section.

you were usually a reserved person but even you couldn’t bring yourself to care, feeling utterly gone in the hands of a man you barely knew. this wasn’t like you, it was uncharacteristic - even your past boyfriends and flings were soft with you, equally as quiet and hesitant. jungkook went against everything you had ever known with his rough thrusts and harsh kisses, even the way he declared his interest for you felt too loaded to be deemed normal.

“so good to me.” he grunted into your ear as he began to set a faster pace, your moans echoing against the four walls, your eyes shutting tight. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” you whined out, legs widening for more.

the sound emitting from you both were downright sinful, as the tension of the past few weeks finally exploded between you both, jungkook fucking you like a man with a mission. his head rested against your own, hips ploughing into yours, cock all but bullying your poor pussy into submission as your lip continued to quiver, it all beginning to feel like too much and not enough.

“you’re so perfect.” he hissed. “you’re driving me insane. i can’t fucking think anymore, can’t..fuck, lift your hips..can’t do my job, can’t eat, can’t sleep. just you, all of the time.”

he sounded angry, as though you were genuinely plaguing him when all you had done was simply exist, doing nothing more than orbiting his life. it was enough to drive a man like him to ruins, as he realised very quickly that he had no intention of operating his life without you as his.

his words were ruining you too, as tears began to climb to the surface, only to flood and escape just as quickly as they formed. you were so overwhelmed by him, in the greatest of ways, and his delectations for you - you had never been desired so greatly, so openly, without any care of what it seemed like. it was obsessive, darkly so, and any other woman would have been smart enough to push him away. unfortunately for you, you simply spread your legs, begging him to go deeper.

“that’s it, baby. cry for me.” he cooed, genuinely enamoured by how sweet you were underneath him.

you raised your arms, wrapping them around his neck as he cupped your body, pulling you up so that he was practically fucking you off of the bed. you wanted to get closer. wanted to feel closer, even though it wasn’t even possible.

“feels so good.” you whined at him through hiccups, to which he nodded down at you, chest inflating, knowing he was bringing you pleasure. “yeah? like it when i fuck you open, my sweet girl?”

“wan’it all the time.” a sob almost tore out of your throat at the thought, the possibility even.

guys like him and girls like you, they didn’t make sense. you were too soft, too gentle, too understanding. he was rough all over, uncaring half the time with his words, mean by nature. lord knew that one taste of you had confirmed he would spend a lifetime changing that if it meant he could keep you for a second longer, especially with the way you were looking up at him with the sweetest of faces. how could he not be enamoured?

he let out a shaking breath, gripping you. this wasn’t normal, he knew that, fuck he was so aware it killed him - not even a month of knowing you and he couldn’t fathom not having this, not when you were everything he had ever secretly wanted. he knew you were the same too, with the way you were babbling, gripping onto him, your high approaching already but he didn’t want you cumming just yet, not when he had just started.

and so, he slowed his thrusts until he finally came to a halt, a loud, desperate whine echoing from the walls as you hit his chest. “why?”

instead, he grinded into you, making you feel every inch, every vein on his too big cock, just to see you squirm, just to see you shake.

“you’re mine, y/n. my girl now, you hear me?” he whispered down at you, face void of any emotion other pure, fucking devotion.

your quiet sobs only began to grow louder as you nodded earnestly up at him, fingers shaking once they finally locked into his hair once more, grabbing, pulling. “your girl.”

“my girl.” he repeated, panting as he began pick up his pace again. “fuck, the things i want to do to you.”

he smacked your ass harshly, the sound echoing around the room, hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over until all you could feel were the shooting sparks trailing over your aching figure, your limbs curling around him desperately.

“do them. i want them all.” you begged him, hips lifting. “wanna feel you all the time, kookie.”

“yeah? kookie’ll do anything for you, baby. anything you ask for, i don’t give a fuck, it’ll be yours, you understand?” he was panting, voice harsh, almost mean. “this tight pussy was made for me.”

you let out the cutest “mhm” to confirm, knowing that his words were factual. his words rolled in your head, knowing you belonged to him both mind and body was beyond euphoria, but to know he truly meant it - fuck. it was insanity. this was genuine, unadulterated insanity.

soon enough, your positions had changed, as he bullied his cock back into you as you sat on top, your load moans heard by anyone close by. the feeling was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and though you had been stretched, jungkook choked at the feeling of how tightly you were clamping him.

he watched as you rode him, letting you take it at your own pace, your tits bouncing with every thrust. his bunny. you were too cute in this position, and as he sat up, his back against the headboard, he couldn’t fathom how sweet you looked trying to pleasure both yourself and him.

it wasn’t about the pace, it was about the effort. you put your all into everything, and despite him wanting to break you, it was this that had him coming undone in his mind. his girl, bouncing on a cock that barely fit earlier, ignoring the pain, completely overcome by the unbearable pleasure, rubbing her own clit.

“just like that.” he grunted, chest rising and falling as he watched you eagerly, his hands teasing your nipples. “such a good girl. just wanna feel good, don’t you? bouncing on my cock like a fucking slut.”

you clamped down hard on him at the name, liking it way more than you ever thought you would. “n-not..a slut.”

“yeah you fucking are. my slut, creaming on my cock like a whore.” he hissed, one hand coming up to grab and tighten around your throat, as he began to take charge, thrusting up and into you.

your eyes began to haze over, completely gone at the feel of him snapping into you.

“want you like this always. no thoughts in that pretty head, just taking it.”

your sobs only grew louder as his hand tightened on your neck, the lack of oxygen heightening your emotions. when he released you momentarily, you gulped in a large breath as his thrusts only hit harder, your ass bouncing against him with lewd noises echoing around the room.

you could feel it coming, your high rising in the pits of your stomach as you collapsed into his arms, falling forward to which he caught you almost immediately, not halting his movements even once. he cupped your face to his, cooing at you gently, pressing sweet kisses to your lips as though you were the prettiest thing he had ever fucking seen.

“gonna’cum.” you slurred, completely fucked out and cock drunk at this point as he completely wrapped his arms around you to trap him to his chest.

“fuck, me too baby. where do you want it?” he hissed, body marked from all of the scratches you had been leaving on him, sore cuts having formed.

you hiccuped as you met his gaze, lips glazing his. “inside. want you to cum here.”

your hand took a hold of his as you lead it to your pussy, where you were joined, the ploughing of his cock doing nothing to ease the restlessness of your mind. his breath caught at your words, wanting nothing more and yet never ever in a million years assuming you’d like the same. you weren’t even using protection, just fucking raw like rabid animals and hoping for the best.

what would be the worst case scenario? the thought of you pregnant had him seizing up, his balls full and ready to unload at the prospect of you carrying his child. he didn’t really give a fuck if it was too soon, or if you barely knew one another - he knew what he wanted. known it for years, and now that you were in front of him, begging for him to cum inside? he’d give you everything you wanted.

“yeah? want kookie to get you nice and round? get you pregnant?”

you hated the effect of his words as you nodded eagerly, matching his thrusts as a means to get exactly that.

his jaw became slack at the enthusiasm on your face, grunting loudly as he felt you clamp on his cock one last time, letting out a too loud squeal as you finally came.

hot, flashing white obscured your vision as you closed your eyes, electricity running up and down your veins, a final, devastating whimper escaping your bruised lips. your legs shook around him, your pussy clenching harshly to the point he choked, gripping you tightly, feeling his own orgasm wash over him.

you both fucked back into each other to ride out your highs desperately, with a mixture of lips clashing, moans shared between embrace, skin still slapping against skin. only when you wined out of overstimulation did he finally stop, chest heaving, arms still caging you.

the minutes after blurred into the quiet buzz, and music that could faintly be heard from downstairs. your eyes closed as you let him manoeuvre you, soft kisses being planted on every inch of you, sweet nothings whispered into the confinements of your ear as though they belonged to you, and you alone. your heart inflated at the way he brushed your hair out of your face, keeping you full with his cock with no intention of pulling out.

“did so good for me, baby.”

you almost shyly hid your face in his neck, slightly embarrassed by how intimate the situation now was with the absence of sexual tension. he wasn’t deterred, instead smiling down at the way your cheeks heated up at his attention, a quiet huff of amusement leaving him.

“i meant it by the way.” he hummed, positioning you so you were more comfortable, all whilst his cum leaked on either side of his cock, still stuffed inside of you. “you’re my girl, yeah?”

it was your turn to smile up at him, not bothering to respond but instead, press a soft kiss to his lips in confirmation.

all his.

—

end of term performances were the bane of your living existence. the children were stressed, the teachers were stressed, everything required a level of attention and meticulous care to the very last second all in hopes of pleasing parents. it felt excessive at times, but seeing your students up on stage, so adorably singing their hearts out just as they’d rehearsed did something to your brain that you utterly adored. it was all worth it in the end.

you stood, just behind the parents, in a corner of the room, watching the performance in front of you with a soft smile, holding up a thumbs up whenever one of your children looked at you for support. they were all performing beautifully, and judging from the fact there seemed to be not a dry eye in the sea of parents, you were pretty proud of yourself.

your stomach, however, was filled with butterflies at the sight of jungkook sat, alongside arin’s parents, only a few rows in front of you. you’d recognise your boyfriends shoulders anywhere, with his towering height and bigger build - even calling him that made you want to giggle into your own hands like a school girl.

the days following the club felt like a fever dream. he had cleaned you up, taken you home and stayed with you all night, leaving only reluctantly due to work commitments. he texted you as much as you needed, knowing you were an overthinker, always checking in on you, facetiming you more times than you could even count.

it had only been two months since that night but things were rapidly progressing between you. it was pretty clear to both of you that this wasn’t a normal relationship, and that the feelings you both shared for one another were intense to say the least. you felt insane half of the time, almost too scared to tell him the depth of your feelings for him, and yet jungkook had no qualms about it whatsoever.

whether you were in his arms, or over a call, or even stuffed full of his cock - he took every opportunity he got to tell you how deeply he wanted you - no, needed. you often came into the tattoo shop after your own shifts just to spend time with him, where he’d feed you, hold you, breathe in your scent.

you had met all of his friends, and his family, including arin’s parents who were quite literally over the moon over jungkook’s choice of partner. everyone who would meet you couldn’t believe he had managed to get someone so different, and despite being a ladies man, you were the definition of a keeper.

little arin had practically exploded at the confirmation you would be in her life in a more intimate way, constantly asking if you could come over to her house to play now that you were uncle kook’s girlfriend.

it all felt like a massive whirlwind of events, some that felt too fantastical to really be a reality. yejin teased you with every passing moment, until you had set her up with one of jungkook’s friends, jin, who owned the club. that resulted in her coming into work rather disheveled, clearly having showered and dressed in a hurry as she took you into your empty classroom to unload all of the dirty experiences.

it seemed that you were happy in every facet of your life, in ways you genuinely didn’t think were possible. even stood here as you admired the back of his head, you could feel your cheeks heating up, harbouring a soft smile you hid behind one of your hands.

soon enough, the performance was over, the children collected by their parents, all singing one another’s praises whilst you made your way to your classroom, humming underneath your breath. it was late and you just wanted to finish off a few bits and bobs before making your way back home.

you bent over a pile of finger paintings, hair pulled up into a messy bun to get it out of your face, your lip bitten. you just needed to pin a few up before you left, humming quietly as you gathered everything you needed, climbing up your step stool.

you leaned upwards, wobbling slightly as you almost lost your footing, a small squeak leaving your lips. before you could move an inch, two hardened hands grabbed you by your waist, positioning you back properly.

looking down, you met the gaze of your boyfriend, who was looking up at you in amusement.

“oh! i thought you left.” you blushed pink, embarrassed at being so clumsy in front of him.

“wanted a kiss.” he simply responded, before picking you up with ease, putting you back on the ground to actually face him.

the giggle you let out was one he was growing to love more and more with each passing day as you leaned upwards, pressing a small peck to his lips. he grunted, causing you to leave a few more, not wanting to have a full blown make out session at your workplace despite doing it so often at his. perks of being the boss.

“where do you want this?” he asked, taking the paintings out of your hands, barely stretching his hands up for the same space you had to climb just to reach.

fuck. you hated how attractive that was.

“thank you.” you pressed another kiss to his back once you had informed him, shuffling away to clean the rest of your station.

“you were good with them today. couldn’t stop watching you, think arin probably noticed.” he laughed a little underneath his breath once he had finished up, walking over to you. he slung his arms around your waist, pulling you in so your back sat flushed against his front. “didn’t think it’d make my brain go crazy.”

“what’d you mean?” you hummed, fingers tracing his fingers.

“is it too soon to get you pregnant?” he asked openly, causing you to gasp out loud, slapping his arm in protest at such crude language.

“kookie!”

he couldn’t help the smirk as he watched you flush bright red, the giggles that left you a clear indication of how you really felt.

“what? can you blame me?”

“you can’t talk like that.” you murmured through a shy smile, despite his kisses coming to attack you on your neck, jaw and cheek.

he leaned, forehead against yours, the moment oddly intimate. more intimate than anything else you’d ever really known, and yet that seemed to be a norm with him. he planted kisses to your face, anywhere he could access, as though nothing was enough and yet he wanted more and more and more and more.

“okay, help me just organise these drawings and then we can go home.” you teased, to which he nodded immediately, a man made pliant by the woman in his life.

you handed him a portion, whilst you did the rest, organising them in alphabetical order so it was easy to access tomorrow when you handed them back out to parents. you continued your smooth hum from earlier as you both worked respectively, the quiet between you welcomed and comfortable.

as you completed yours, you noticed jungkook, furrow in his brow as he stared at one openly in his hands. he was examining it in great detail, causing a pearl of curiosity to burn in your mind.

“what’ve you got there?”

he didn’t answer, as you walked over for yourself, cheekily sliding under his arm so you could view it within the confinements of his warmth. his expression shifted as one of his hands immediately took a hold of you, a too large hand gripping your stomach possessively. you loved how it felt.

a crayon drawing.

arin’s.

5 stick figures. a cute puppy in the corner, sun in the sky, grass on the ground.

your chest tightened as you recognised what you were seeing immediately.

arin, holding both of her parent’s hand’s, a big love heart above all of their heads as she depicted her happy little family. beside them, two others, holding hands, one labelled “uncle kook” and the other “auntie y/n”.

it looked incredibly similar to the one she had made three months ago, in that parents evening hall, where she had already depicted her two favourite people outside of her parents together, happy. a prophecy, it felt like.

the difference in this depiction, however was the big, fat diamond on your finger, and the veil on your head.

whilst you were busy gasping, eyes wide, finally looking at what she had depicted, you didn’t notice jungkook staring down at you, gauging your reaction whilst only pushing you back deeper into him, the incessant monster in his brain telling him to make it a reality and to do it quickly.

his wife. fuck. what a dream.

he’d make that happen. soon.

—

IM BACK!

guys, this was originally supposed to be 1k words but unfortunately, i cant shut the fuck up to save my life omg

i hope you guys enjoyed, i just love this pairing so much, aren’t they the cutest ever 😢 i have a few ideas pending for potential drabbles in the future if you guys are interested

thank you guys so much for reading, and thank you for your continued patience - if you want to show some love, my kofi is here, there’s no obligation whatsoever!!

It was ten to three when you climb the few steps leading up the front porch that next day. Good on time for once, you thought with a small hum. Adjusting the coat that sits snug around your torso, you attempt to flatten out the creases that dent into the fabric. 

Fingers brushing along your cheek, you feel around your face for any abnormalities, a zit that you might've missed when checking the mirror this morning — half worried that you'd accidentally grown a uni brow. 

You don't know why you feel nervous about today. Coming over to see to the children was never a difficult task, even with their very difficult father around. Rayne's words from last night had repeated themselves over and over in your head all day, you think that might be the reason. 

"Father is acting strange around you." 

Your curled fist hesitates just shy of the wood, so close to a knock that never comes. Glancing toward the windows, you hope to find Cassian peeking through a curtain, the way he'd taken a liking to doing as of late — but there is no movement from inside. 

The sound of your knuckles rapping against the door echo across the front yard. Somewhere in the distance trees rustle as birds take off from their naked branches. The sky is a pale gray and you gaze up at it when you wait to be let inside. Time moves agonizingly slow and after a full minute you almost consider knocking again only to be interrupted as the front door finally unlocks. 

Jungkook stands on the other side but he doesn't look quite like himself. His hair, usually laying neat atop his head, fell unevenly down the sides of his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, like whatever sleep he'd managed last night hadn't been enough. 

Despite that he's still dressed accordingly. Though the button up sits looser on his chest today, the cufflinks are already undone, as are the first two buttons around the collar. In other words, Jungkook did not look like he would be heading to the office any time soon, which meant you'd have to spend the afternoon with him in the house as you tended to the children. 

"Hi," You smile, raising one hand in an awkward wave that he doesn't reciprocate. Letting your arm drop back to your side, you duck your head when stepping past him and over the threshold. 

It hadn't been particularly cold on your way here but the Jeon house still greets you with warmth. Shedding yourself of your coat, you're surprised when Jungkook suddenly reaches out to take it off your hands. He doesn't look at you as he does, swiftly turning his back on you to hang it beside his own. 

It is then you notice that both Rayne and Cassian's coats are missing — and that the house was awfully devoid of the younger's giddy laughter. 

"Where are the children?" You ask when glancing up and down the hall with a small frown, trying to catch sight of them around a corner or on the stairs. They're nowhere to be found. 

Jungkook exhales a deep sigh as he brushes past you. "They're at their grandparents house," He grunts when heading through the archway leading into the living room. He doesn't wait for you to follow, doesn't even glance over his shoulder to make sure you are. 

"Grandparents?" You stumble after him, still looking both left and right, half expecting them to be jumping out at any moment, but they never do. "Oh I wasn't aware… Did you leave a message? I must've missed—"

"I didn't." 

Jungkook cuts you off. He's come to a halt in the middle of the room, his body turned enough to hide the expression on his face. Then he gestures toward the sofa closest to you, wordlessly demanding you sit. 

Your gaze flickers between him and the couch, but Jungkook remains silent as he waits for you to move. Forcing your feet to drag along the carpet, you make your way over to sink down on the soft cushion, fingers curling around it to anchor yourself when you stare up at him.

Somewhere in the distance the old clock sounds. You count each tick and when fifteen of them have passed Jungkook finally pulls himself over to the large windows looking out over the back yard. 

He slides his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, the nonchalant stance contradicting the tense air that surrounds you. His eyes are set on the trees outside as he studies them intently. For a moment you could almost believe that he'd forgotten about your presence entirely. 

Another thirty ticks on the clock go by until you finally manage to clear your throat. "Why?" The single word drags across your tongue like sandpaper and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. 

Jungkook's response is not instant. He inhales deeply, then holds it before letting go slowly, his attention still held by the trees beyond the glass. "So that we can talk.", He says as a matter-of-factly. 

Your stomach twists. Talk. To talk is what you had been wanting to do for the past week but he had warded off your every attempt. And now he wants to talk? Your lips pull into a grimace which you're thankful he doesn't see. You were not so sure that you and Jungkook had the same idea of what talking might involve — and the fact that he doesn't elaborate beyond the statement sends your thoughts spiraling. 

By this point the blood circulation in your fingers were starting to get dire as your grip on the sofa grows hard enough to possibly tear. "Listen," Your voice is shaky and strained when you open your mouth to speak, "If you're going to fire me then just go ahead with it because I—"

"I'm not—" Jungkook lifts a hand to drag down his face, eyes squeezing shut and you hear him mutter a quiet 'Jesus' under his breath before he turns to you fully. "I'm not going to fire you, alright?" 

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, you imagine him biting down on the flesh hard. Letting his hand drop into his pocket again, he leans back against the window behind him. "I just thought…" He trails off, gaze sweeping across the room and you tried to recall a moment in which you'd seen him act so… uncertain before, only to find none. 

"I thought we should talk." 

You nod slowly, fingers uncurling from the couch to come and rest atop your lap. "Yeah… Sure, we can talk." He makes it sound so simple when you know the truth to be the furthest thing from it. Yet all you can do is anxiously wait for him to get whatever it was he had to say off his chest. 

Jungkook finally clears his throat, chin dipping toward the floor before he picks it up again, like he struggled with whatever he was about to say next. "I've been acting rather undignified as of late." He huffs, forearms flexing as his hands shift within the confines of his pockets. 

That was… Not what you had expected when he said he wanted to talk. For many days now you had been forced to live with the uncomfortable reality of Jungkook's distance. The dismissive and fleeting conversations all leaving the impression that he wanted as little to do with you as possible after uncovering your lie. 

You let your gaze drop to intertwined fingers resting on your lap. His unexpected approach to the conversation had caught you off guard and you do the first thing that comes to mind — to reassure him. "It's okay—" You've barely gotten the words out when he speaks again. 

"No. No it's not." Jungkook shakes his head, nose wrinkling in distaste that seems directed at himself rather than you. "I should have spoken to you properly right away." 

He pushes himself off the window, the sound of his footsteps filling the silent air as he walks over to the couch opposite you. The cushion gives way under his weight when he sits down. Hands slipping out of his pockets, he clasps them together over his bent knees when he leans forward. 

"It wasn't right," Gesturing vaguely in your direction, "Blowing you off like I did. It's not something I'm proud of." Despite the weight of his admission Jungkook's eyes are locked on yours — searching for something he doesn't seem to find. 

"I understand why you did it." And you did. In fact you're almost certain you would have reacted the same if it had been you. Even though you were unable to wrap your head around just why it had been so important to him, the principle of being honest was still something you had cast aside for your own gain. 

You exhale a quiet breath, "I should have been truthful from the beginning." 

Jungkook nods slowly, "You should have." The words settle over you heavily and a second later he manages a deep sigh, "Trust is…" He trails off, gaze now fixed to the floor, "It's sacred to me." 

All the guilt you had been in constant battle with comes rushing back and you're barely able to croak out a weak, "I'm sorry," 

This time Jungkook actually glances up at you, "I know you are." He continues after a short pause, "I see you with the children, I see them with you." You watch as he swallows, adam's apple straining against the column of his throat. "My own prejudice was getting in the way of their needs and I don't like it." 

His brows pinch together momentarily but he forces his gaze to stay with yours. He shifts slightly in his seat and you find yourself doing the same. The distance between you, though no more than a coffee table, seems far right now. 

Finally, Jungkook inhales slowly through his nose. "Cassian thinks highly of you." His lips part like he wants to say more, "And I— I suppose I do too." 

Your brows raise just slightly at that — eyes widening a fraction when you blink in surprise. "I'm…" You fumble for words, palms slick with sweat where they clasp together across your lap. This really wasn't what you had expected of him and you half expect to have him snap his fingers in your face to wake you. 

But Jungkook's own hands remain tightly locked with one another. He inhales sharply, obviously sensing your confusion. "What I'm trying to relay here is an apology." His gaze drops to the floor only for him to pick it up again. "And to ask of you to look past my recent behavior in favor of the children." 

His words are somewhat strained but no less sincere. The admission settles between you for a long moment and Jungkook's eyes drift to his interlocked hands as he stares them down. You can make out the line of tension where it clings to his jaw, the firm press of his lips and you knew this wait was torturing him. 

Straightening up, you manage to find your voice, soft with relief. "Of course," You say, watching the way his fingers move restlessly. "I have so much love for both Cassian and Rayne, that will never change."

Jungkook visibly relaxes at that, his shoulders slumping as he nods slowly. And while it was true that you held the children in high regard, there was another reason you were willing to put this entire mess behind you — perhaps one you should keep to yourself, only you can't. 

"I'll look past it in favor of you as well," Your soft hum is no louder than a whisper but he hears you, oh he hears you. 

His once relaxed posture vanishes in an instant and his body snaps into something tense and rigid. The attention he'd been giving his hands shift back to you in a split second as he regards you through narrowed brows — features stringing together a guarded expression that makes the fragile air crackle. 

Backed against a wall by your own words, you squirm uncomfortably in your seat. "I mean I…" You murmur awkwardly as you bring a hand up to rub at the goosebumps that prickle your neck. "I see how much you care for them both and I… Well I care about you." 

Jungkook's gaze narrows further and he shakes his head. "You shouldn't." His tone has twisted itself into something colder — more distant and you can't help but frown. 

Spending as much time in his home as you had meant seeing much more than you know he wants you to. The tears, the anger and the hurt — all the things he must feel but never speak on for the sake of protecting his kids. 

And though you were not a parent you could only imagine how difficult it must be to raise two children on your own, especially ones as young as Rayne and Cassian. 

It had been easy for your heart to open itself for them both and for as long as you'd tried to deny it — Jungkook had found his own place there. You think it was the way he remained gentle despite everything that had first made you pause. The caring nature he tried so hard to cover with indifference had tugged at something deep inside of you.

The affections you held for Jungkook were never part of the plan, but you could no longer push them aside like this. 

"Why not?" You know that you're pushing more than you should now, but when had you not? Even when you notice the muscle in his jaw twitching do you continue, "You have been nothing but generous, in more ways than I deserve, I mean I lied and you still—" 

You're cut short when Jungkook rises from the couch abruptly. He shoves an inked hand through his dark hair, gritting a single word out that has you silenced, "Don't." 

He turns his back on you, walking over to the cold fireplace to stare at the old clock sitting on the mantle. For a long moment neither of you speak and time itself seems to slow down there in the living room. 

You study his form, gaze dragging over the stiffness that seems to etch itself deep into his bones, even so, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than he was admitting. 

The conversation that had started out so good, almost too good, was now back to where you and Jungkook had always been — distant. You would be lying if you said it didn't bother you.