I could spend a lifetime watching you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has she been listening all along?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think about this guy?” 

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

“Okay, then what about this one?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk. His name is Jeongguk. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the hell is he going to raise a child? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit. He’s cute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” Minji shouts in defense of herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s complicated,” Jeongguk begins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it.”

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

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

“y/n!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch. That hurts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he’s hot!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry!” You apologize. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, this is just pretend. 

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

Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As it seems, fate has other plans. 

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

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

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

The heavy downpour of rain patters against the windows. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about your brother?” Jeongguk inquires. 

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

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

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

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

“Eomma?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is still practice… right? 

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

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

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

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He’s bashful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

Jeongguk is late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“y/n, how big is your boyfriend?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You, yourself, nearly choke on your own drink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeongguk- Love?”

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

“I know this sounds silly-” you begin. 

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

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

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M- maybe we could hold hands?” 

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

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

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

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

“Can I suggest something?” 

You nod, agreeing. “Anything.” 

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

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

“Then can I hold you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C- can I?” you stutter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subconsciously, you raise your arms to cover your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guk- love, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s it, angel?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

“There’s someone else…right?”

Yoongi stood by the door, a hand frozen in the air that was meant to grab the handle. You watched every move of his with careful eyes, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed ever so slightly because he tried to swallow down the tone of heaviness outlining your words. The way his pinky trembled at the very revelation he tried to hide from you. The way his shoulders slumped forward just a little with the weight of the atmosphere around him; the guilt of destroying something that was once nothing but precious to him.

You continued to watch him with sad eyes, tired and exhausted from breaking down more times than you thought you could. Tired of waiting for him to finally be honest with you. Tired of wishing he would leave everything and for once… just come back home to you.

That was all you desired, all you ever wanted from and with the man that now stood by the door that could lead him away from you.

A home. A family. A future.

It was suddenly unclear when all these lines had begun to blur, beautiful memories now remaining just what they were. Memories. Ghosts of mere moments that once meant the world to you. Running around with tender footsteps, making their way into your mind and settling there with no name to leave, tormenting you yet comforting you to no end.

How was this supposed to end?

Was it supposed to end?

Did you… want it to end?

“Yes.”

~

Min Yoongi was the man that had taken his sweet time to fall in love with you. At first sight, the real person was hidden behind a professional, well-kept mask, one that took you quite a while to look past. You watched the man that had your heart learn how to love, learn how to cherish a relationship, learn how to lean on someone instead of fighting the waves himself.

You walked with him through it all, at times behind him when he needed someone to fall on, at times ahead of him when he needed someone to guide him, yet mostly by his side, when he needed someone to love.

When he needed to be loved.

You watched him grow warmer by the day, the frost of the ice that guarded his heart slowly thawing under the warmth of your touch. You watched him learn how to trust, through trial and error and endless moments of heart-wrenching pain, you witnessed his growing dependency on love itself.

You never gave him a reason to doubt the power of love, if that's what he thought it was anyway. When he needed a lap to rest his head on after a tiring day at work, you were there. When he broke down after struggling to live up to the expectations of his company, you were there.

When he thought he had found the one but she walked past him and betrayed the very trust that he had taken ages to build, you were there.

The reason he ever lifted his eyes to look at you who were once standing in the shadows, the reason he found himself leaning into your embrace every time he faced a difficulty, the reason he considered the possibility of loving you after years of loyal and devoted friendship was just that.

You were there.

When Yoongi found himself standing against the wall one evening with a clock that had stopped ticking in his hands, a tender smile had tugged at his lips as he replaced the spent batteries – because he thought back to the day he finally saw how beautiful you were. He remembered thinking how blessed he had been to have someone – who taught him the very definition of love – right under his nose, yet never realizing your value until all he had was you.

You were there.

You were there when no one else was, you were there to smile with him and cook with him and lay with him when no one else was and Yoongi had remembered thinking that that was the reason he had fallen in love with you.

Because you were there.

But...someone else came along.

It had swept you away like the torturous waves that could swallow up a tiny boat dancing to its tunes, it hit you harder than you thought it ever could, it pulled at the delicate strings of your heart and tested its patience until it had no option but to snap, leaving you with nothing but endless sorrow to drown in.

But, there was just no way you could resent him for what he had done.

Min Yoongi was just built that way. He was the one man that you looked up to, the person who inspired you to slog until you drop, just to show you the bittersweet satisfaction of your hard work that greets you at the end. He was the man who showed you parts of yourself that you didn't bother paying attention to, proceeding to write you sweet love letters describing those very parts and telling you how much it makes him love you even more.

He was the man who would wake up earlier than you to cook you a meal before he left for work, only to show you the little heart that he had formed with a green onion leak over the meal that he had set for you. He was the man who would make you sit on the floor while he sat on the bed behind you, massaging your head and shoulders until you felt like you were no longer on the ground but rather floating on cloud nine.

He was the man who stayed up all night by your side just because you couldn't sleep, washing away your worries and holding your hand until you had opened the email that would tell you if you had been accepted into the university that you had applied to. He was also the man who shed his first tear of grief when you didn't get accepted, only because the sight of you breaking down in front of him struck him with a pain that he had never felt before.

Min Yoongi had never felt for someone else until you came along. He had been pushed and cornered and hurt all his life that it became a habit to look out for himself first. But somehow, you changed that. You made him want to make someone happier, you made him want to put someone else first. You made him want to cry when someone else was crying and you made him want to smile when someone else was filled with joy.

Perhaps the sight of him changing before your eyes made you cling to what you had with him even more. You fought hard and convinced yourself that it was love that you shared with him, and that it would be love that would bring him back to you, but somehow it had turned into a mockery.

You felt ashamed to even use the word love to describe what you shared with him. Because as much as you believed you could give your life for him, you also watched him drain that very life out of you, willingly and knowingly.

That couldn't be love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud.

Love Never Fails.

These were the words that had filled your heart with a warm feeling. You weren't much of a believer in God, but these very words that a little boy on the bus read out to you from his Bible changed the way you looked at the man you had loved.

If love never fails, then was it really love?

And even if you convinced yourself that your love for Min Yoongi would never fail, it couldn't lessen the pain that slashed a knife through your chest when you wondered if it was Min Yoongi who had failed to love you.

~

And do you tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen? An eternal love bullshit you know you’ll never mean, Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

“Baby- careful!” you heard a sharp voice call out to you, a sudden gust of wind making your knee-length skirt dance away in the direction you saw Yoongi stumble in. Blinking in confusion, you turned around to catch sight of Yoongi fallen to the floor with a…frying pan in his hand?

“What are you doing?”

An incredulous laugh escaped his chest as he stood to his feet, not forgetting to send you a pointed glare before he banged the pan onto the cabinet, your shoulders jumping in surprise at the resounding clank. Yoongi took a step toward you, clicking his tongue in disappointment before reaching out and pulling out the earphones that were blasting music a little too loud for his liking.

“I told you not to wear these in the kitchen, right?”

Your eyes rolled before you could stop them, shoving his hand away and reaching for your phone to turn off the music.

“I told you to stop nagging me, right?” you mimicked his tone, raising your eyebrows at him.

He nodded, picking up at frying pan and clouting your head with it lightly. “Next time I should just let the pan fall on your head.”

You gaped at him, eyes trailing up to look at the cabinet over you that was wide open. You must’ve knocked over the pan while you were pulling out the pot for your noodles.

But then again, Yoongi was your saviour, so…

“You won’t let that happen,” you casually commented with a smug smile, turning around in time to avoid the second deadly glare that he had already begun sending your way. You sensed that he wanted to shoot you with a witty reply, but the depth of your words rendered him speechless.

“You’re right,” he agreed with you, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as he wondered how he found it so easy to let you win at a silly argument. “I could never let you get hurt.”

Your smirk somewhat covered the flutter of your heart that had managed to reach your cheeks through a shy smile, turning around to wave the packets of noodles in his face.

“Want to eat some ramen with me?” you winked at him.

Yoongi’s jaw locked in place, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“No.”

“Aye,” you whined, shoving his shoulder softly, “you’re ruining the joke.”

“You’re hanging out with Jungkook too much,” he grumbled.

You shook your head, tearing open the packets and popping some raw noodles crumbles into your mouth.

“It wasn’t Jungkook, I saw it in a k-drama,” the smirk returned to your face as you turned to face him again, pulling on your best Seoul accent as you spoke,

“Ramyeon meokko galle?”

That seemed to do the trick, a strained laugh bursting out of him before he could actually think about what you had said.

“What the hell,” he cackled, bending forward onto the counter for support as he clutched at his stomach.

“You do realize that men usually ask that question, right?” he laughed heartily, dramatically wiping at a tear that wasn’t even there.

“It’s about time women start showing men who’s boss,” you whistled, a little too unbothered by his statements because he had already ruined the joke for you. You watched the water boil, your fingers reaching for the seasoning mix just as his hand stretched over you and into the packet to grab some raw crumbles as well.

“I can’t seem to argue with you today,” Yoongi smiled lightly, crunching on the noodles.

“You can never argue with me,” you acknowledged, to which he nodded.

“You’re right,” he said again, reaching out to kiss the side of your head. Your lips tugged up at the corners, turning to face him as you spoke with an over exaggerated pout.

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Oh?” Yoongi’s lips rolled into a thin line. “Am I now?”

“You are,” you nodded cutely, the pout still playing on your lips, making him giggle like a little boy. He caught your face within his palms, squishing your cheeks before leaning forward and placing a solid kiss to your lips.

“Stop being so cute, or else I’ll eat you up.”

“Please do,” a series of giggles bubbled out of you as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Yoongi smirked, his hand moving quickly to snatch the packet of seasoning from your grip, reaching up and holding it above his head.

You looked up, blinking once, twice, before shaking your head.

“My love,” you began, a light scoff reaching his ears. “Why do you always have to make me feel like I’m the shortest girl in the world?”

“It’s cute,” he shrugged, waving the packets as he stuck his tongue out at you, teasing you.

“Right,” you nodded, facing him and sending him a dashing smile. “If you think I’m cute because I’m short, then why are your brains stuck in your knees?”

“What?”

Before he could comprehend your question, you stuck your fingers into his armpits, his entire body jerking forward as he squeaked in surprise. In one swift movement, you pulled the packets from his hand, his mouth falling open as he touched the tender spot that you had just pinched.

“You may be tall, but I know how to get my way.”

“Okay boss lady,” he nodded, giving up just as quickly as he had started. “You’re on another trip today.”

“You’re just a little weak today,” you shot back, shaking your head in amusement as you emptied the packets into the boiling water. He hummed in agreement, not bothering to fight you on that as he pulled out the noodles, slipping them into the water.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, Yoongi walking around to pull out two bowls just as you turned off the stove. He then opened the draw next to you to take out two sets of chopsticks and two soup spoons, placing them on the table and handing you the vessel holders for you to bring the pot of ramen onto the table.

“Mmm! This smells heavenly,” he commented, bending over and taking in a long sniff of the flavoured steam. You giggled, taking a seat beside Yoongi.

“Ah-” he stood up, walking to the fridge and pulling out two eggs.

“My soul food.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your mouth watering at the sight of the noodles that you were serving into your bowl. You licked your lips as you picked up Yoongi’s bowl, giving him a larger portion before setting it down for him to crack his egg into it.

Just before you could start, Yoongi placed a tiny plate with a perfectly fried egg over it beside your bowl. You gasped happily, looking up at him as he smiled fondly at you, patting your head.

“That was quick!”

“I know you like your eggs well cooked, so I fried one for you.”

You squealed like a little kid who’d just been told they could stay up a little longer past bedtime, fond eyes wide as you clapped happily. “You know me too well!”

“That I do,” he nodded, pulling at your cheek. “Cutie.”

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yes I do.”

“You do?”

Yoongi nodded again, mixing his noodles with his chopsticks.

“I do, because somehow, I happen to love you more.”

A gentle smile grew on your face as you reached out to touch his cheek delicately. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

He looked at you for a moment, gently resting his chopsticks against the bowl as he rose to his feet, leaning towards you and kissing you tenderly. His thumb grazed the skin under your eye, a soft sigh leaving him as he pulled you just a little closer to him.

You reached up to place your hand over his, your other hand making its way to the back of his head, pulling him closer as well.

“Baby…” he mumbled against your lips, your eyes opening just a little as you peered up at him, “Can we…?”

“I thought I asked you this before,” you giggled, gesturing towards the bowls of ramen. Yoongi laughed, bending down and resting his forehead against yours. With soft movements, he smoothened out your hair, fond eyes trailing all over your face.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You froze, eyes trained on him, a shy blush heating up the tips of your ears. He smiled at that, thoroughly loving the effect he had on you yet somehow determined to make you believe that he truly meant what he said.

“The most gorgeous…” he continued, pulling you up by your arms and making you lean against the table.

“The sexiest,” he bit his lip as you giggled, large palms making their home over your waist, squeezing your skin gently.

“The most thoughtful,” he pointed towards his own bowl of ramen that you had served for him, not missing the larger portion in comparison to your own.

“The most loving,” he kissed your nose, fingers running over your face as he just smiled, taking in your beauty.

“The most amazing girl I’ve ever come across.” He finished proudly with a firm kiss to your lips, your eyes sparkling with so much love that you struggled to contain.

“Min Yoongi,” you caught his face within your hands just like he did, squishing his cheeks and giggling happily at the sight of his lips that were pushed into a pout.

“I love you so, so much.”

He smiled through the pressure against his mouth, his cheeks bunching up into lovely pink apples that you were tempted to bite into.

“I love you more, boss lady.”

~

“Oh, fuck-”

A loud, lewd moan reached Yoongi’s ears, eyes dazed and drunk as he looked up at the woman who moved swiftly over him, short blonde hair wild and frizzy as he groaned at the sight.

“Yoongi…” he heard her whisper, voice strained with an impending high, the obscene sound of skin slapping against each other somehow disgusting him yet turning him on even more.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He reached up to grasp at her hair, harshly pulling at the brown roots as he yanked her down into a deep, messy kiss. He swallowed her moans and desperately grasped at her supple skin, chest burning and muscles aching yet there was no end in sight for either of them.

“Hyung?” he heard a distant whisper, a grumble tumbling out of his chest as the woman’s movements stopped instantly. Both heads turned toward the door that was locked, Yoongi’s head falling back in frustration as he wiped at the sweat over his forehead, pushing the woman off of him.

“What is it?” he snapped in anger, wincing as he pulled his pants back on with a strangled whimper.

“Your mom is here.”

“What?”

“Your mom is here to meet you,” he heard Taehyung explain, voice soft yet laced with thorough disappointment.

Everyone knew what Yoongi was up to, yet none of them had the guts to confront him about it, not even once. As much as Taehyung wished that he had never seen this side of his hyung, he knew that there was no other option but to silently watch it unfold, knowing that meddling with fire was not the wisest thing to do.

“Tell her I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

Yoongi was quick to reach for his phone, somehow convinced that the music he chose to play would soon drown out all of his worries.

Just as the music began to thump loudly, he walked back to the woman who lay on his bed, bare and glowing skin greeting him, his lip catching between his teeth.

“So…where were we?”

~

I just wanna be happier Please feel the warmth in my hands They're cold, that's why I need more of you

A soft dip in the bed made your toes curl, the cold air greeting your bare feet just as the blanket was tugged away from you. You sniffed in a long breath, turning to face Yoongi who had just reached home.

“What time is it?” you croaked, rubbing gently at your right eye that was stuck together with sleepy matter.

“Just a little past 3 AM,” he mumbled, making himself comfortable over the bed and snuggling in a little more into the warmth of the blanket.

“Wasn’t it a little too cold for you?”

“When?”

“You just took a shower, didn’t you?” you asked him, sleepy eyes looking over blindly at the outline of his figure in the darkness of the room.

“How did you know?”

“I can smell your shampoo, silly,” you smiled, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. He hissed at the touch of your cold skin against his, a shiver running through his body.

“Oh,” he laughed dryly, turning to lay on his back, “Yeah, I was really sweaty.”

“Were you practicing?” you asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Alone?”

“Hmm?” he turned to look at you, startled by your question.

“The boys were over for dinner today, were you practicing alone?”

“Uh, yeah- no, I was just going through that one part I missed last week, then I worked out for a while,” he explained calmly, but you didn’t miss the way he swallowed thickly after he stopped talking.

“You’ve changed,” you suddenly whispered.

Yoongi fell silent, chest freezing at your words. Under the blanket, you reached for his hand, icy fingertips touching his equally cold skin.

“Why would you say that?” he murmured under his breath.

“You were always so lazy to wash up after you came back home, I wonder why you’ve been showering every day after work,” you smirked, a soft giggle leaving you.

You heard him sigh softly. “I figured a little struggle is worth the satisfaction of being clean.”

“Ah, I see,” you laughed, giddily pulling at his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

“What did you cook for dinner?” Yoongi asked.

“I didn’t cook, we ordered in. Jungkook wanted to eat pizza but Namjoon wanted to eat some Korean food, so we just ordered a bunch of different things and had a few drinks,” you answered with a fond smile.

“That’s nice,” Yoongi squeezed your hand gently.

“Yeah, it was. I missed you, but I know you needed to make up for the week that you had taken off.”

“I did,” he hummed.

Somehow, Yoongi noticed the sudden warmth of your hand in his, eyes opening in the darkness as his heart began to race. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it had become a habit for him to wait for you to fall back asleep before he slipped his hand out of yours, but today it felt different.

Your hold on him was loose, yet he wondered how it was possible for him to feel the warmth of your skin that was once just as cold as his. It made him feel rotten to know that even though he couldn’t give it back, your love was always radiating through your touch, soaking him and warming him to his bones.

He didn’t know why, but a sudden urgency took over him, his hand brushing yours off abruptly. Yoongi sat up in the bed, pushing the blanket off of him, a strained sigh leaving his throat.

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he breathed out, “Just a little hot all of a sudden.”

“Should I get you some wat-”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Just…sleep. I’ll be right back.”

“Yoongi are you sure you’re okay?” He could hear the worry in your voice, his head falling back in exasperation. He let out a few shaky breaths, legs swinging over the side of the bed.

“Yeah, I am. Just… just stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You blinked, slowly lifting yourself up as he rushed out of the room, swallowing thickly. There was something going on, that much you were sure of, but you didn’t know how to ask him about it.

~

I really don’t know what went wrong I grew up with a blue question mark in my mind Maybe that’s why I’ve been fighting for my life But looking behind, I’m standing here dazed The powerful shadow swallows me The question mark is still blue Is it anxiety or depression?

Yoongi gulped, hands flat against the counter, and eyes opened wide even though he couldn’t see anything. He told himself that he shouldn’t be feeling this way, that he shouldn’t feel bad, that he just wants to do something for himself. For once, he just wanted to be happy.

He didn’t know what went wrong, but all he knew was that one morning he sat with a book on his lap and a pen in his hand, overcome with the guilt of the realization that the lyrics he was writing was not about you.

Yoongi knew, he knew that he loved you, but he couldn’t shake off the sudden feeling that chased after him. He would often find himself shaking his head in disagreement when an unknown desire sparked through his stomach, knowing that he didn’t have you in mind when he felt that way.

He didn’t know what went wrong when he began to stay awake longer than he liked too, thinking about things that you didn’t do, fantasizing about qualities that he suddenly noticed you didn’t have. He didn’t know how to shake off the feeling that made him feel sick to the stomach, because even though he knew he loved you, he also knew that he wanted something that you could never give him. Something that he unknowingly began to search for in other people. In other women.

But the guilt never left him.

Not even for a moment.

Not when he took the very first step toward a woman that was not you, not when he came back home to you that very night, not when he slept beside you with your hand in his. Not once did it leave it.

Especially tonight, when all he could think of was how unfair it was to him. He stood in the kitchen, the soft buzz of the refrigerator keeping him company as he breathed in deeply, willing himself to let go of every ounce of guilt that was pulling him down.

Your touch was… home. It made him shiver at the sensation, the memory, the scent. There was just something about you that wanted him to stay yet drove him away. You were love, you offered nothing but love to him, but he wondered why it suddenly became so suffocating. It was as if the very own rose that he cherished dearly began to pierce into his skin, convincing him to drop it.

And so he did. Or he decided to do so, anyway. He chose to let go. Even if he faced the terrifying conflict of having to choose you or leave you behind, he shook his head at the returning guilt that told him to choose you.

He wouldn’t, he told himself.

He wanted to be happy, he told himself.

He was not happy with you, he told himself.

And even if it made him feel a tiny bit better, he stood oblivious to your presence as you watched from a distance when he told himself that he wanted to be happy, yet he couldn’t be happy with you.

You didn’t know what went wrong, and even if you tried to fight the pain that pinched at your heart, you stood dumbfounded by the entrance of the kitchen, a pair of socks in one hand that you had carried for Yoongi.

You wondered what was suddenly so necessary when Yoongi would gently step out of bed and tip-toe his way out of the room with his phone in his hand, your eyes shutting just a little when he turned back to see if you were awake.

You wondered why he would diligently shower, head to toe, before he got back from work, the scent of his aloe and cucumber shampoo strong and heavy each time he lay his head on the pillow, strong enough to notify you of its role to cover up a scent that had once been there. A scent that he didn’t want you to know about, a secret that he never wanted you to find out.

You wondered why Yoongi suddenly lost interest in your work, a man who had once spent hours just listening to you rant about sudden bursts of happiness that made your heart flutter during your day, tiny reminders that made you feel happy for choosing your career without the pressure of another being. You wondered why Yoongi stayed out late and you sat back at home with your back pressed into the pillow behind you, heart full with stories that you wanted to share with him yet silent cries slipping past your lips because you didn’t understand the sudden painful feeling of not having someone to talk to.

You stood silently with fingers frozen around the material of the yellow sweater that you had also brought for him, wordlessly questioning yourself, feeling smaller than you ever had.

What went wrong?

When did it change so drastically that the man you loved no longer felt happy with you?

Would you ever get an answer to your questions?

Would you ever feel like you were not at fault for driving him away?

~

Don't say you're fine Cause you're not Please don't leave me alone, it hurts too much

“…yes.”

And it hurt.

It hurt you so badly to the point where your knees gave out beneath you, weak arms trembling as they held you up against the floor. Something within you began to burn, an ache that had no relief, a fear that had no reassurance.

Suddenly, everything was too real for you.

The random notifications during the night that made Yoongi walk out of the room, the late-night sessions at the company even though the rest of the boys were free and resting at home, the sudden distance that you had no name to describe. The endless sleepless nights that you spent worrying and tossing impatiently until somehow, you slipped into a restless, unsettled sleep because Yoongi never came back home.

The way his touch suddenly lost affection, as if he did something simply because he had to, and not because he wanted to. The number of times he would kiss you tenderly but pull away abruptly after a moment as if something just snapped him back to reality. The dinners that he would cook suddenly losing the experienced touch that Yoongi would always brag about; sometimes being too salty, sometimes too bland, sometimes too spicy that none of you could eat another morsel.

It all suddenly made sense.

Because it was out of the horse’s mouth.

“I never intended to hurt you, but-”

“But there is someone else.”

Yoongi’s head dropped, gazing awkwardly at his shoes.

“Yes.”

You wished it did not hurt you as much as it did. You wished Yoongi would just let go of the handle of the door that he was holding onto and just hold you and apologize. You wished he would tell you that he would let everything else go and come back to you. You wished he would tell you, even if it was one last time, that he loved you.

That he loved you so much that it hurt. That it hurt as much as you were hurting right now but his love would soothe your pain and fix all the pieces of your heart that were slowly beginning to crumble under the weight of his words. You wished he would do all those things because that was what you needed from him.

Not him awkwardly standing several feet away from you as if he had never stepped foot into the house that you once called home with him. Not him admitting that he had actually fallen out of love with you so that he could find it with someone else. Someone who was perhaps prettier and smarter and kinder, in every aspect that you were not, someone who was worth destroying the precious moments that you shared with him. You didn’t need this from Yoongi.

You needed Yoongi.

“Is she- is she waiting for you?”

Yoongi sighed, never really wanting you to find out the way you did. It burdened him and stressed him out even more that he wasn’t the first one to tell you about his own shameful sins, but his own band member. Yoongi looked down at the fading bruise on his knuckles, a painful reminder of the fight he had with Jimin.

Yoongi knew that Jimin was very emotional, and that was the reason he tried his hardest to hide this away from Jimin. But Yoongi had caught him just as he had muttered the painful words to you over the phone, his fists trembling in anger before one of them raised up to punch Jimin in the jaw.

But then again, Jimin was not an emotional fool for no reason. He didn’t just want to reveal Yoongi’s darkest secret to you just like that. Jimin knew that he had a right to feel the disappointment and hurt that he felt towards his hyung, and before he could even register the pain that was coursing through his face, he returned the favor and punched Yoongi back in the nose.

“You ungrateful bastard!” Jimin had screamed at the man who had fallen to the floor with a hand over his bleeding nose.

“How could you do that to her? You shameless son of a-”

Yoongi had Jimin pinned to the wall in a flash, face red and cheeks trembling in fury, fists bunching against the hoodie that Jimin was wearing.

“Stay out of this.”

“You don’t tell me what to do!” Jimin pushed against Yoongi, a loud yell following soon after.

“Don’t get between (Y/n) and me.” Yoongi pointed a shaky finger at Jimin, which drew an incredulous laugh out of the younger lad.

“You’re so fucking shameless to actually tell me that, you jerk! How could you tell me that when you’re the one who brought another woman between the two of you?!”

Yoongi shuddered at the memory.

With eyes that shook with embarrassment, Yoongi looked up at you.

“Yes.”

He watched you carefully, a sudden pain tugging at his heart. He felt bad, that much he allowed himself to acknowledge. He felt bad to see the woman that had stayed with him through thick and thin now fallen to the floor because he had just broken her. He knew that the only right thing to do would be to comfort you, but Yoongi feared that he might give you a false hope to cling onto. He didn’t want you to latch onto him and stop him from leaving. No, that was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he needed.

So he stood painfully far from you, the couches and tables in front of him only decorating the space that so beautifully reflected and mirrored the distance he had created between the two of you.

“Yoongi…” he heard you cry, his eyebrows pinching together when he saw you raise a hand in his direction. “Please, just- just… I don’t know! Don’t go!”

His jaw clenched at your words.

He wondered if the liberty that he allowed himself included walking towards you and holding you, but somehow Yoongi thought about his limits only after he had pulled you to his chest. He didn’t know why he did that. He didn’t know if he had the right to do that. But he just knew that in this moment, he couldn’t bear to see you so broken in front of him.

“Please don’t go!” you pleaded, desperately pulling at his shirt and moving closer to him. “Don’t go, just don’t go. Please Yoongi!”

Yoongi simply ran his hand over your head, finally coming to his senses just as he stopped himself from bending down to kiss your head.

He shouldn’t, he remembered thinking.

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling you just a little closer, suddenly at a loss for words because what could he possibly tell you? That you should stop crying and let him whip up a few eggs and toast for you? That he would spend the rest of his evening by your side so that you wouldn’t feel lonely?

That it would all be okay?

How could he comfort you after all the shit he’s just put you through?

“Yoongi, don’t you love me anymore?”

And if he wanted to wince at that, he hid it. There was just no way he could speak to you; no way he could give you an answer. There was no way he could just tell you that no…he didn’t love you the way he did before.

He didn’t love you the way he loves someone else now.

Your eyes squeezed shut at his silence which was just another reminder of the impending doom that was crouching down upon you. The man that you loved, loved someone else now. The man that you waited for everyday had someone else waiting for him too. The man that you so desperately wished to keep by your side was about to walk back into the arms of the woman he had so easily fallen for.

“Please,” you tried one last time, pulling away to look up at him through eyelids heavily lidded with exhaustion. “Please, don’t go.”

“I am so sorry, bub.” Yoongi looked pained, a delicate hand resting against your cheek. He frowned when your eyes scrunched shut at his touch, your cheek leaning into his palm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yoongi please,” you shook your head, chest aching and desperate hands reaching for his shirt.

“Please, please! Tell me we can work this out! I’ll do whatever it takes, please just- just don’t go…please don’t go.”

“(Y/n),” his head fell, eyes downcast and pained, “I can’t stay, and you know that.”

“No I don’t,” you wiped at your eyes, straightening up, “I don’t. I don’t know that, you can stay, you have to stay, please!”

“I have someone waiting for me.”

And maybe you really should have anticipated the pain. Never did you imagine the pain of heartbreak, the fear of being alone, the reminder of an empty house and an empty spot in your life to be so excruciating. Because if you did, you could’ve braced yourself.

“What about me?” you whispered, broken.

His eyes glazed over with tears that mirrored your own, a defeated sigh hitting your face.

“I’m sorry.”

“I have been waiting for you too, Yoongi.” You tugged at the collars of his shirt, the sudden realization that there was no winning him back draining you.

“What about me?”

“I don’t- I… (Y/n),” he shook his head, telling himself that it was alright to comfort you, holding your face within his hands.

“I don’t know what else to do, but I can’t stay, I can’t be with you after what I’ve done, I can’t do that to you.”

“I don’t care,” you blubbered out, holding his hands that were cold against your skin. He sighed at the same reminder, the warmth of your hands feeling so toxic to him, so unbearable that he retracted them.

“I don’t care Yoongi,” you begged him, this time holding his face, his eyes falling shut. “I just need you to stay with me, I don’t care about anything else.”

“I… I really, ugh,” Yoongi pulled your hands away from him, another cry leaving your chest, feeling nothing but dejected and hurt.

“I promised her that I would go back to her.”

“But what about me! You promised me too!” you yelled out in frustration, banging at his chest as he fell back onto his heels. “You told me that you would never leave me! You told me that there would never be another person! Why can’t you keep those promises?”

Yoongi covered his face, exasperated. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me,” you pleaded.

“Make me understand.”

Just as you were about to reach out for him again, he exploded, slapping your hands away in anger.

“How do I make you understand? What do you want me to say? That you don’t make me feel as good as she does? That you don’t make me happy anymore? That I’m just so fucking tired of you that I want nothing more than to be away from you?”

Eyes wide at his words, the whimper that was at the tip of your tongue died right there. He watched you process his words, a hand reaching for you without his knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed out, holding the side of your face. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know it was possible, but you broke even more than you thought you could.

“Yoongi.”

He shuddered at the strained whisper of his name, feeling incredibly rotten yet knowing that there was no way out of this.

“I’m sorry.”

And before you could think of what was happening, Yoongi stood to his feet and turned away from you, making his way to the door.

“No, wait no…Yoongi please wait!” You scrambled to your feet, knees wobbly and weak yet you managed to reach him before he could leave. “Please, don’t leave me!”

And even if that guilt returned and whispered back to him, telling him to just give in and hold you one last time, telling him that it was okay to be with you and that somehow, something would work out, he refused to pay heed to it.

Yoongi wanted to be happy, and all he knew was that his guilt would not stop him from doing something for himself. He wanted to put himself first, he wanted to be with someone who made him feel happy, and he knew that even the sight of you begging him not to leave would not stop him from pursuing his happiness.

“I can’t stay with you, I don’t…I don’t feel love for you anymore.”

~

And I thought my heart was attached For all the sunlight of our past But she's so sweet, she's so pretty Does she mean you forgot about me?

It could be embarrassing, honestly. The number of times you tried to contact him, the various methods that you used to reach out to him. But it was as if he just disappeared, leaving barely a gust of wind and the faint scent of his presence behind, making it seem as if the time you spent with him never happened. If someone had to see the state you were in, it would be easy to mistake you for a mentally disturbed individual, but you couldn’t give up. How could you?

You had promised yourself that your love for him would never fail, but never in your wildest dreams did you think that fighting for your love would be as difficult as this. You convinced yourself that it was Yoongi, and that even though he showed you something, deep down he genuinely still loves you and is probably just going through a phase. A phase that you were willing to look past, but nothing could ever compare to the hurt that had finally taken over you, your eyes red and weak as you looked up at the woman who had walked out of the studio.

She was…beautiful.

It was as if you were looking at a mirror that showed you not what you could see, but what you could never see before. She just had everything that you didn’t. And unlike you, it would be easy to mistake her for a perfect individual, a unique being that God must’ve chosen to not give any flaws to.

She was tall, taller than you, legs toned and shining glittery golden under the yellow lights of the hallway. There was a purse, probably as expensive as her own existence, white and spotless that hung over her arm. She wore a pair of tight fitted baby pink jeans, stopping just above her ankles and showed off her perfectly manicured white toe nails, a simple pair of white and brown sandals leaving soft taps against the marbled flooring. Her hair, one that made you frown for the first time because you knew that Yoongi didn’t fancy short hair on women, was blonde and curled softly, a fringe covering her forehead and complimenting her sharp brown eyes.

But then again, maybe you didn’t know Yoongi the way you thought you did.

For the first time, you could give yourself a valid reason for Yoongi’s betrayal. This woman was the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen. And maybe it shouldn’t have made you feel at ease, but you finally understood why Yoongi found a stronger reason to not stay with you.

When her eyes fell on you, you knew she didn’t know you, and even if it was for the better, the smile that she flashed you made you feel even smaller than you thought you had felt before. It was warm, pretty and so perfectly sculpted that it made you wonder if it was fair for such a lovely looking being to exist.

And even if you didn’t want to accept it, his words played itself in your mind, tormenting you. Comforting you. Killing you.

“It is what it is.”

“We’re here, bubby,” a delicate whisper floated towards you.

Yoongi smiled, touching the side of your face that was resting awkwardly against the window of the car door, gently tucking away the hair that had fallen over your eyes. “Bub,” he ran his hand over your cheek. “We’re here.”

You had just looked so cute, he remembered thinking, a squeak that surprised him leaving his mouth, eyes widening in worry that he might’ve woken you up with that, even though he was trying to do just that. He watched with fond eyes as you smiled lazily, arms stretching out ahead of you as you, too, squeaked.

“I suppose you didn’t do that on purpose,” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“What? The super cute noise that made me want to squeeze your cheeks until you cried? No,” you mumbled through a smile, cheeky eyes stealing a glance at him.

“Huh,” he scoffed, head tilting to the right suspiciously. “Aren’t you too smart for your age?”

“No sir,” you shook your head, “I learn my tricks from you.”

Yoongi shook his head at you, an enamored rush of giggles filling the car. “You better get your cute ass out of my car right this moment, or the police might find a dead body here tomorrow.”

“Ouch,” you clicked your tongue, “Wouldn’t that be such a sad sight.”

“It would, so out you go, boss lady.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Oh?” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow at you. “Getting feisty, I see.”

“You wish.”

Yoongi rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Okay, I see what you’re doing.”

“Maybe I do want to see the police here tomorrow.” You carefully ran your finger over your collarbone.

“You wouldn’t be alive to witness it,” Yoongi gave you a look.

“No one said the dead body would be me.”

His eyes widened.

“Wow. Now my girlfriend wants to murder me. Lovely.”

You sent him a sweet smile.

“I learn my tricks from you.”

There was nothing to see, really. The air was cold and the sky was dark, almost black. But Yoongi insisted that he needed to get you out here at least once before you die. Talk about being dramatic.

You were basically stinking, but it wasn’t in a bad – I just had a bucket of sweat poured on me after an embarrassing seven-minute workout – kind of a stink. You, and Yoongi, could literally make the wild animals that had absolutely no business with you run a mile just by the scent of the medicinal whiff that was radiating off of your bodies, even through your clothes, if you will.

Yoongi had been insistent to apply a mosquito repellent on every inch of your body that his hands could reach, a constant ‘I can’t let mere bugs destroy the night I have planned,’ nag making its home in your mind just by the number of times he had repeated it. And okay, maybe it didn’t hurt as much to admit that you didn’t let him have it easy either, running around the house for a good ten minutes, an electric mosquito bat in your hand as you reminded him that the sickly smelling lotion was not necessary.

And maybe he was not impressed by the fact that you were illustrating the technique of killing by making him the mosquito.

He did flinch – even if he never admitted it – each time the bat sparked the ends of his hair, not just on his head but also the tiny ones over his arms and calves, but he was adamant. As he said, ‘I can’t let mere bugs destroy the night I have planned.’

God save you from those plans because all you could focus on was the one place that was swollen pink and hot, the one place Yoongi did forget to apply the repellent on.

Your earlobe.

If it wasn’t disgusting enough, you had smeared the blood that wet your finger the moment you touched your ear onto his shirt, a groan greeting you in return.

“I swear to the heavens right now, if you do that again, I will push you off of this cliff.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He sat you down on the thin blanket that soaked up the dew of the grass under it not even a minute after he placed it over the ground, conveniently ignoring your ‘I told you so,’ lectures that you whispered under your breath, shoes placed neatly next to the big bucket, mind you…bucket, that he brought along with him.

Yoongi would never admit that the pink and green flowers on the plastic bucket, one that he picked up from his mother’s house just a few days ago, embarrassed him. His whole idea of ‘If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist,’ ideology seemed to work until he heard the tentative, yet well-planned mumble reaching his ears.

“Those flowers look really pretty, don’t they?”

And it was both a blessing and a curse that it was too dark. A blessing because it hid the way his fist clenched and jaw locked in embarrassment. A curse because it was just too dark to see any flowers around the two of you except for the ones on the bucket that shone under the flickering light of the candle that he placed next to it.

“Woman,” he tried to threaten you, “Don’t test me.”

“What?” you asked him innocently, “I’m just appreciating how beautiful they look. Don’t they?”

Yoongi scoffed again, a forced, tight smile stretching across his face. “Ha-ha, yes…they do.”

You sat back with hands on the ground, a proud smirk playing on your lips, your silence screaming of its victory in his face.

Yoongi wished you would sit tight and not poke at his patience for just a while, knowing that the sight of his surprise would render you speechless, so he bit his tongue and convinced himself to just gulp down every taunt and tease that you never failed to shoot his way.

“Hey, Yoongi?”

He blinked.

“You do know that your ass is going to have two round, wet spots after you get up, right?”

He blinked, again.

Did he really have to go through this for the next twenty-five minutes? Maybe.

But maybe it was worth it. Even if his fingers were numb from holding himself up on his arms for the past painfully-long-yet-incredibly-short few minutes, even if he couldn’t do anything about the mosquito bite on his little toe, even if he felt like his ears were about to fall off, he somehow knew that he just could, he really could, do this again.

Because nothing compared to the dazed look on your face as you stood up – awe-struck, fond and excited hands pointing to the faint pink brushes against the distant sky. Nothing could compare to it, even if the sunrise that he wanted you to see (at least once before you die) shone delicately yet assertively, painting bold strokes of golden and red, blending in with the dark cover that was bidding its farewell, it couldn’t compare to the softest gasp of admiration that he heard from you.

Even if all you could do was look up at the prettiest sky you had ever seen and still say that the sun looked like the fried egg that he had made for you for a few days ago, he could do this again. Yep, even if he wanted to smack you for saying that, he could do this again.

Why?

He had asked himself, even if he didn’t possibly need an answer, he still wondered.

Because he loved you. And because he wanted to just…make you happy.

He could do this again.

As long as mere bugs don’t ruin it for him.

You don’t know why you were reminded of that memory. Maybe it was because you watched Yoongi walk out of the studio with a sanitizer in his hand, calling out to the woman who had stolen him away from you, just to give her some too.

Maybe it was because of the song that he wrote after that morning with you, exclusively for you, Fried Eggs and Flowers, one that always brought a tender smile to your face, even now. Maybe it was because of the way Yoongi never got tired of reminding you of what a pain in his butt you had been that evening even though he swore he had good intentions.

Maybe because you wanted to do that again, with him.

And as much as it hurt to watch Yoongi walk past you without even noticing that you were not even a few feet away from him, you let him go.

Maybe there just was…another girl.

Maybe if you accepted it, it would hurt less.

Lesser than the pain of imagining Yoongi doing all the things that he did with you, with someone new.

And only God knew if He listened to the silent plea that reached out to the heavens that very moment, a fervent wish that Yoongi never forgets you when he does.

~

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

“Ma.”

There was a different aura to the woman who stood in front of Yoongi. Bold yet broken, head held high yet eyes lowered in disappointment. He didn’t know how it was possible for his mother to portray two contrasting emotions at the same time, yet somehow, she just did.

It reminded him of the conflict he had been facing for the past four weeks. A relatively short period of time compared to the two years he had spent with you as your lover. Well, almost two years.

And he faced yet another conflict, in that very moment. Shoulders sagging with guilt yet hopeful eyes glancing up at his mother, hands feeling disgusted yet somehow wanting to reach out and touch her fingers to pull it up to his head. Yoongi felt ashamed to stand in front of the woman who had once raised him to be a strong young man, yet all he wanted to do was run into her arms and cry until he couldn’t anymore.

And she did give him a reason to cry.

Because never in a million years did he think that his own mother would raise her hand on him.

It was a feeling like no other, fluttering eyelids not knowing whether to screw shut or remain wide open, a trembling hand reaching up to touch the angry skin of his cheek. The aftershock of the slap made him stagger back a single step, soft and rapid breaths hitting his face and he suddenly sensed that it wasn’t over.

And it really wasn’t.

Because then came the purple handbag flying at his arm, then at his head before it dropped to the floor. Yoongi had his mouth sealed shut, feeling unworthy of making a single sound of complaint even if he just wanted to tell his mother that it hurt. And she was a mother, she was his mother. Because she knew.

That’s right, she attempted to punch his shoulder, I want it to hurt.

She pulled at his hair, weak hands dragging him forward and forcefully pushing him back, it should hurt.

Another slap to the face that actually really stung, just like you hurt your mother.

She finally grabbed his collar, pulling him down to look at him. Heavy, exhausted gasps left the older woman’s chest, trembling fingers tightening around the material of his shirt.

Just like you hurt her.

Yoongi didn’t feel it. He chose not to feel it. He chose to ignore the pain he had given you, but somehow, the eyes that were brimming with disappointed tears, staring at him sadly, made him…think. Yoongi knew that he wasn’t a man to go back on his word, but he had never been looked down upon the way he was right then. It made him think that he might’ve underestimated the damage he had done.

“Eomma.”

“You don’t deserve to call me that.”

His eyes screwed shut, palms flat against his thighs as he kneeled before his mother.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yoongi-ah,” the break in her voice pained him. “I am so disappointed in you.”

The sharp intake of his breath let her know that she hit the right nerve.

His mother was just the kindest woman he had ever met, with the warmest heart and softest skin, hands that had always been a little weak and shaky but never failed to take care of him, feeding him, brushing his hair, ironing his uniform for school. She had always had a soft spot for Yoongi, in contrast to her husband, who was certain that good values and morals were more important than emotions and happiness. She would silently cheer for him when no one else did, she would slip in a few thousand won notes into his backpack each time he left home, she would run her fingers delicately over the ink in Yoongi’s secret notebook that he had hidden away from everyone because she knew him better than he knew himself.

And she knew that this time, Yoongi had to fall flat on his nose before he learned his lesson.

So she said nothing, burdened and regretful sobs leaving her mouth, but still placing her hand over his ear delicately when he lay his head on her lap.

He wouldn’t listen, she told herself.

He needs to find his own way, she told herself.

Hopeful eyes rising up to the ceiling, she cried again.

He needs to find his way back to you.

~

“Yoongi…”

There was no way he could get enough of that sound, his fingers momentarily stopping, frozen in awe. Had it always been this exciting to act like giddy teenagers trying to hide their little high-school romance?

He didn’t know, because currently, he was a man on a mission.

His fingertips danced their way across the visibly glowing skin of the woman under him, dainty touches teasing her, making her gasp, making her want more. His eyes traveled across the ink over her hipbone, a few characters in a language he couldn’t understand, deprived lips sinking into her skin, wanting more himself.

He groaned when he heard her moan lightly, one hand supporting her body as he pushed her further into the tight space of the bathroom stall, movements slowed yet driven by the urgency of getting out of there before someone notices that he had gone missing.

Somehow he found himself moving up, trailing wet kisses along the prominent muscular ridges of her stomach, twisting his way around to kiss the dip of her waist.

“Please,” he heard her beg, his mind going blank at her request.

Her touch was just so…different. If he was in his right mind, which he wasn’t, he would’ve taken a moment to think of how different it was from yours. But the fire that ignited under his skin, the blown-out pupils that locked eyes with the woman in his arms, made him temporarily lose his cognitive abilities.

She was so gorgeous.

Hot and bothered, blond hair somehow looking so incredibly sexy even though it had begun to fade, he gazed down at her with such sinful desires that it wouldn’t be possible to word it without a blush rising to his cheeks. So he continued following his instincts, wandering hands moving swiftly, lips to her skin and ears alert and eagerly absorptive, taking in every little sound that he pulled from her.

And somehow, it did make him happy. He remembered thinking that.

She made him happy.

And maybe it was okay to allow himself to feel this happiness. Even if it came at the cost of your own.

~

Oh, I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Yoongi let out a heavy breath, fingers trembling as he held onto the letter that he had received.

A letter from you.

It had been two months since he last met you. Two months since he had grown used to ignoring your messages and calls. Two months since your breakup had made it to the news and caused him nothing but absolute chaos and trauma.

He had struggled through it alone. Not that he was completely alone, save for his girlfriend who was so sweet and supportive, and the staff members and managers who had given more than their all to just take down the hurtful comments and articles that were flooding almost every corner of the internet possible.

Alone in the sense, he didn’t have the support of his band members. After facing a lot of embarrassment, the boys swore to never cover for Yoongi and his shameful activities again, and even though it hurt to admit, the fight between Yoongi and Jimin had created such an unhealthy impact on the band that it almost threatened to break at one point.

Yoongi had made it a point to put your safety as a top priority, much to his girlfriend’s dislike, but he just knew how bad the internet could be. So he had made specific instructions, creating a separate security team for you, but Yoongi failed to hide his shock when he had been notified that you were no longer in the country.

So to have a letter coming from you was surprising, to say the least. Yoongi noted that the date on the letter and the date he last received any sort of communication from you matched, and even though he had no reason to, Yoongi found himself sweating at the feel of the letter in his hold.

Maybe this was really the end. The end that he had written off two months ago but another version of it coming from you this time. And because that was what he so desperately chased after, Yoongi unfolded the papers.

"Yoongi,

This is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. I never thought even once that there would be a time I would speak with you for the last time, and somehow… I was not satisfied with our last goodbye. I totally understand if you never read this, or if you’re too busy and this letter gets thrown somewhere you could never find it, and if that does happen, then I guess our last goodbye was really the last.

But if it isn’t, and you do get to read this, I hope someday you would acknowledge what I am intending to tell you.

Min Yoongi, you are such a wonderful man. I have never once regretted anything I have done with you, for you, because of you, because I have never experienced love the way I did with you. I love you… so much, it hurts. It’s funny that I mention that because for the past few days, I have been feeling so sick, and all I crave for is your love. I really, really miss you. I miss everything about you. And at times I lie on my bed and think about every little thing that used to make me feel happy during our relationship.

There were times you would secretly scribble little dicks and boobs over my face with a marker when I was asleep, and as much as I despised you for that, I suddenly think of the things I would do to just listen to that laugh of yours again whenever I woke up and would yell at you. It makes me wonder, you looked really happy back then. Was it ever real? Did I ever make you happy? Maybe I am just far too much of a gone case, and I delude myself by thinking that maybe I did. Maybe I did make you happy.

Anyway, I also miss every part of you. I think one of the things I miss most is your scent. I remember it so vividly, it’s like a part of me, a memory that will never leave, but then again, it feels so foreign. I don’t think I should be telling you this, but maybe the gut confidence that this letter might never reach you is helping me be even more honest. I bought the perfume that you used. The exact same one, from the exact same store. But it doesn’t smell the same as you. It’s far too strong for my liking and it makes me think that it’s not your perfume, but rather your own scent that mixed with it is what I miss.

There’s just another thing that keeps me up at night. Your hands – they were always cold. I really wonder why, because you’re the first man I’ve ever come across that had cold hands. Not that I have touched many men’s hands (because you would always glower at them and scare them away), but I guess it’s just a common misconception that men always have warm hands. Your hands were like ice, if you let me describe it that way. And it used to make me happy to think that they complimented the warmth of my own. Just like yours, my hands, unlike most girls, were so hot and clammy that it used to disgust me, until I met you. It made me think that we really were perfectly designed for each other, to complement each other.

Okay maybe I am delusional. Why am I telling you about things that made me happy? Please believe me, I don’t intend to make you think that you could do better. That is not my intention.

I saw her. I don’t know her name or anything about her but I saw her once, and it really settled the restless feeling in the pit of my stomach. She is just…so beautiful. She looks so kind and pretty and lovely and I just knew that she…well, how do I put it? She is good for you. I think that is what you deserve. If she makes you happy, then I guess all the pain I went through was worth it.

Yoongi paused, placing the paper down and digging the edge of his wrist into his eyes. This was all too much for him to digest, and he suddenly sat back down on his chair, wondering how he managed to read one full page while standing up.

Taking a quick sip from his bottle, Yoongi picked up the letter again.

I don’t want you to feel bad, okay? I mean, I understand that you’ve never gone through that much of problems the way you did with me, but it’s okay…I guess. I don’t mind you being happy, because that’s exactly what I want. I love you too much to curse you or wish bad things for you the way some people do, but I just want you to know that it’s okay to be happy. Don’t beat yourself up over this. I could see the struggle you went through, the battles you had been fighting, and if this is what makes you happy, if she’s what makes you happy, then so be it.

Now that I’ve actually gotten into the flow of writing, it makes me think…why am I even writing a letter to you? It’s not like you might magically have concern for me and read something that comes from me because I guess you’ve put me on your blacklist or something haha. It’s embarrassing, I guess I’ve called you over 600 times over the past couple of months, and that’s nothing in comparison to the texts I’ve sent you. I had even sent you a package, it was that silly couple photo booth things that we had done last year, and I wanted you to have a copy of that. It’s stupid, I know. So feel free to throw it out. You don’t need to keep that. I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.

Oh geez, I just realized that I am coming off as some crazy stalker ex-girlfriend who never lets go. But no. I’ve never stalked you, and I never will. I can assure you of that. I guess, I just wanted to properly speak to you once before we finally cut off all ties. It hurts to think that it was easy for you to just let me go without properly giving us one last chance, but fine. It’s okay.

Um, I guess I’m running out of words. If you did receive that package, you might wanna throw out the pictures, but some part of me wishes that you would hide it away, maybe push it into some random book that you never read or place one of them behind your phone cover or some shit. It’s okay though, if you don’t want to, I mean. But it would really make me feel good if you do. Maybe it’s me being selfish this time, but some part of me doesn’t want you to be as happy as you were with me.

Your words still play in my head sometimes, you had mentioned that she makes you feel good. I guess you’re talking about sex or what not. Fuck I did not just write that. Okay no worries, it’s not like it can change anything but yeah. I guess she does make you happy. But is it too much to ask of you? That I don’t want you to be happier than you were with me?

Okay I’m sure that if you haven’t already, you’ve probably torn this paper and thrown it away lol. And I guess I deserve that. I’m being all soppy and shit and that really wasn’t my intention (You can see me being all formal in the beginning but I don’t know where I went wrong).

Okay Yoongi, if you’ve reached this part of the page, well…thank you for reading I guess? I couldn’t be more embarrassed but I feel somewhat better because I’ve finally worded every emotion that has been haunting me for the past few months. I really, really hope that you don’t blame yourself for this, for everything. I get it, it’s normal and natural for people to fall out of love and get attracted to something new. But maybe I didn’t expect that to happen to us.

Well, shit happens. We happened too, once upon a time. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused and I guess it’s pointless to say this but I love you. I always have and I always will. And I REALLY want you to be happy. *whispers* just don’t be happier.

And this is where we part ways.

Thank you, Min Yoongi. For making me happier than I’ve ever thought I could be."

Yoongi sighed.

He let his eyes scan the messy curls that your pen scribbled over the paper, getting even worse towards the end, probably because you were losing patience as time passed. Ironically, that’s what had happened to him as well.

Yoongi thought back to how much you hated to write. He knew just how much you despised the idea of sitting in one place with a pen to a book for more than three minutes, and somehow Yoongi felt his eyes glossing over at the efforts you had taken to write this for him. It wasn’t easy for Yoongi to just cut you off completely, and maybe he did acknowledge the affection he somehow still had for you, not finding it in his heart to simply block and delete your number. Neither could he unfollow you from any social media accounts that he had. He just couldn’t do it. Because he knew that would break you too much.

To lessen the burden of the guilt that had been eating at him, Yoongi figured that hurting you lesser than he already has would be for the best. For both of you. He knew he wanted to be happy, but he didn’t want you to be sad at the same time. Perhaps it was too much to ask for, after doing nothing less than snatching your heart out only to smash it into a million pieces and drop it back into your hands, Yoongi just didn’t want to hurt you any more than he did.

So he kept your number on his phone. Even if he changed your contact from ‘My bubby’ to ‘(Y/n)’, he didn’t delete your number. He never once unfollowed any of your accounts, even if he often found himself sitting in a corner with his thumb hovering around the ‘Unfollow’ button, he didn’t do it.

Because maybe, he remembered thinking, maybe he didn’t want you to be sad.

~

Yoongi pushed at the knob of the shower, the sudden silence in the bathroom making him shiver, wet feet padding across the tiled floor and reaching for his towel. He sniffed, wiping his hair vigorously before proceeding to dry off the rest of his body, wrapping the damp towel across his waist and using his shriveled up hands to wipe at the fog on the mirror.

His movements paused when he caught sight of the pink bruise across his collarbone, eyelids – heavy with exhaustion and lack of sleep – blinking up at his reflection. He had been careful for the longest time, and he just couldn’t find it in his heart to blame the woman for getting carried away and leaving a mark on his skin after the past few hours that he had spent with her. But he couldn’t go home this way. Not when he had just got done washing off the remainder of her perfume from his skin.

Not when he had you waiting at home, for him.

“Yes?” Namjoon answered the phone with a sigh.

“Can you give me your concealer?”

“My what?”

“Your concealer.”

“The make-up?”

Yoongi snorted. “Yes.”

“I’m not at the building right now.”

“Where are you?”

“Well…” Namjoon coughed awkwardly, “I’m at (Y/n)’s place with the boys. We’re eat-”

“-is that Yoongi?” He heard a distant voice call out.

Yoongi panicked, disconnecting the call before Namjoon could put you on the line. He had not answered any of your calls that day save for a text that he sent you telling you he’d be back late. There was no way he could talk to you right now, let alone explain the situation that he was in.

Slipping out of the bathroom, Yoongi walked back to his bed with white streaks of vapor steaming off of his body, dropping his phone over the mattress and opening the little suitcase that was placed near the couch, an emergency package you had set for him.

Two new pants, two sweaters if it got too cold, two t-shirts if it was too hot, three pairs of white socks, a new pack of black underwear that was still in the plastic packaging, a few toiletries, and deodorants, a cough mixture, a bottle of eye-cooling drops and multivitamins.

Yoongi sighed, sitting on his haunches with a sad expression as he gazed down at the love that was radiating off of your little preparations for him.

There was simply no one who could take care of him the way you did.

No one.

“Doughnuts!”

Yoongi blinked, folding the letters slowly and slipping them under his keyboard. With a soft sigh, he turned his chair to see his girlfriend shut the door to his studio, a large orange plastic bag in her hand. She smiled brightly at him, blonde hair bouncing against her shoulder blades when she skipped her way towards him.

“Hi, baby.”

She took a seat on his left thigh, an arm circling around his shoulder.

“Hi, sweet girl.”

“I got us some doughnuts,” she gestured toward the bag excitedly before placing it down on the floor.

“Mmm,” Yoongi hummed, eyes fluttering shut when she leaned forward to kiss him. Ever so softly, she caught his face, her index finger under his chin to guide him up to her while her other hand slipped into his hair.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against her lips, eyes opening slightly to gaze at her.

“Me too,” she grinned down at him, pulling him into her arms as he snuggled his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in deeply. His fingers made their way to the strings behind her that were tied into a loose knot, tugging at them until it released.

“No more work?” she inquired in a small voice, eyes briefly scanning his table to see that his computers were turned off.

“I’m done for the day,” he murmured, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses along the dip of her collarbone. Pulling her a little closer, Yoongi’s hand traveled around her to rest against the small of her back. The soft sigh that left her when his fingers slipped past the material of her crop-top brought a smile to his face.

“Yoongi,”

“Hmm?”

He heard her gulp, his eyes opening when she placed both of her palms flat onto his shoulder to push him away.

“I’m kinda hungry.”

“Me too.”

Her eyes twinkled under the false lighting on the ceiling above them, raising a hand to touch the side of his face.

“You’re so cute,” she smiled, running her thumb along the expanse of his cheek.

“I’d rather not have you call me that.”

“No, but you are,” she gently insisted, grazing the skin under his eye. “I’m so lucky to have found you.”

Yoongi’s eyes opened, blinking up at her in silence. He watched her as she continued to run her eyes over every little feature of his face. There was a sudden change in the air, he noted, something that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Yoongi…”

He nodded in response.

“There’s…uh,” her gaze broke away briefly. He continued to watch her in silence.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She looked nervous, a look he had never seen on her before. Brows pinched together in worry, Yoongi sat up a little straighter, grabbing her hand in his.

“I’m listening.”

Her eyes flitted across the studio to the attached bathroom, her chest rising and falling evidently as if every breath she took in was forced.

“Babe,” Yoongi touched her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly at his gesture. “You can tell me anything.”

Blinking back at the man who was gazing at her with so much love and concern, her expression changed almost instantly. Her frown disappeared, hands responding to his touch as she leaned forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

Yoongi played along with it, movements slow with confusion when he kissed her back. She pulled away after a moment, gaze falling to her lap after she pushed him back against the chair.

“I love you.”

If there was something that could’ve warned Yoongi about the shock that he would experience, maybe Yoongi could’ve handled it better. He sat frozen, hands staying where they were and eyes glassing over with tears. Although on the outside it simply looked as if Yoongi was shell-shocked, there was a storm going off on the inside, a sudden dizziness making its presence known to Yoongi just as his head fell back against the chair. A feeling that he couldn’t quite describe began to squeeze through his abdomen, a feeling that he had never felt before.

Yet, all that he was certain of was that the tears that were collecting in his eyes were not tears of happiness.

“I love you, Yoongi.”

I love you so much.

His eyes scrunched shut at the voice in his head. Never before had he experienced auditory hallucinations before, not even when he was drunk out of his mind or had just woken up from a horrendous nightmare. But he heard it once, jaw clenching at the sound that filled his mind like a drug that had an intention to confuse him, an illusion with a fatal role that chased him.

When he attempted to focus on the voice of the woman who had just confessed to him, a hand flew to his ear when he heard that sound again. It was almost as if his mind wanted to hear it again, repeating it out of the faint memory that had clashed with his present.

I love you so much.

“Ah,” Yoongi shook his head, pushing her until she got the message and got off on her own, her eyes brimming with worry when he stood up and covered his face.

“Yoongi?”

“Stop—stop, just… stop talking.”

Her lips rolled into a straight line, nodding wordlessly even though his eyes were closed.

Yoongi gasped, breathing out heavily and bending forward to rest his palms against his knees. He felt her place her hand delicately over his shoulder, head shaking violently before he straightened up, shrugging her off.

“Can you just go?”

“Yoongi, what happened?” she asked worriedly, reaching for his hand but he dodged it, shaking his head again at her.

“Just go, please.”

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get you some water-?”

“No.”

“I think you need to just sit down. Come here-”

“I told you to stop fucking talking!”

She flinched at his voice that suddenly boomed through the tiny space of his studio. Faltering immediately, she took a step back, her eyes downcast.

“My god!” He yelled out, both hands raising up to cover his ears.

“All you do is talk, talk, and talk and all I can hear is her voice! Everything you’ve said, she’s said to me, everything you’ve done, she’s done with me. Why can’t you just shut up when I ask you to?”

The sudden silence in the room was loud, too loud for Yoongi’s liking, a grunt leaving him as he pushed his fingers into his temples. Maybe he pushed it too far. This was something that should’ve remained in his mind, forbidden words that were not meant to be voiced out. An exasperated sigh forced its way out of his chest, a sour expression growing as he pulled at his eyebrows helplessly in frustration.

Just as he was about to apologize for taking things too far, he saw her smile.

“Last week I found out I got pregnant.”

“What?” The whisper of shock tumbled past his lips without him noticing.

She laughed, nodding in confirmation.

“I’ve been sick, and I thought it was because of that stupid sushi place that you took me to. I told you I hate sushi so much.”

“Wait—what?”

She suddenly took a bold step towards him. “But you’ve been so out of it lately, Yoongi,” she frowned.

“You never cared about me. You still don’t. You’ve never bothered to ask me what I like, what I don’t. Why do I need to keep telling you such things?”

Yoongi gulped, his heart racing anxiously.

“I hate sushi so much but I ate it because it made you happy. I love doughnuts so much and I’ve been bringing them over every time I come to the studio, but you never touch them. Why?”

She stood right in front of him, eyes reaching the level of his own. With a careful finger, she pushed it into his shoulder. Exactly in the place where he had had his surgery a few years ago.

“Why don’t you try them? Why can’t you do something to make me happy? Are you that selfish?”

She jabbed her finger into his flesh once more. “Huh? Are you?”

The sight of his fists clenched by his sides caught her attention, a soft laugh escaping her chest.

“What more could I have expected? You left the woman who loved you more than life itself just because you needed something new? Someone new? Why would the same man who did that, do something to make me happy?”

“If this is about the doughnut-”

“This is not about the fucking doughnuts, you dumbass!”

Huffing at the strength she didn’t realize she needed to explode the way she did, she breathed out heavily, opting to simply glare at him to fill the gap.

“Baby,”

Before he could reach her, she slapped his hands away, pointing a finger straight at his face.

“Don’t you dare touch me right now.”

Yoongi licked at his lips, desperate to hear more about the tragedy that had already begun to torment him.

“You’re pregnant? Like—how? Why… why didn’t you tell me before?”

She couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief. “You wanna know why?”

Yoongi frowned deeply, his head beginning to ache with a dull pain.

“You really wanna know why?”

“Will you just tell me already?”

She stared at him for a moment, tears glistening in her eyes as she gazed at Yoongi.

“Because you don’t make me happy.”

The road I always walk and the light I always receive But today seems like an unfamiliar scene Have I become used to it or have I collapsed?

“What?”

“You heard me, Yoongi.”

She sat back down on the couch with a huff, placing a shaky palm over her eyes.

“You must think I’m dumb,” she commented in a low whisper.

Yoongi stayed where he was, frozen to his bones and trembling eyes running all over the place.

“You’ve never forgotten about her, Yoongi. Not once. And it shows. You fucking stink of regret each time you come to me, but because you were running away from it, I never spoke to you about it.”

She somehow managed to pull the strap-on sandals that she had taken off by the entrance of the studio, slipping her feet delicately into them.

“It’s a different thing that I really liked you, but what you did was so fucking cheap. You deserve to rot in hell for that, man.”

Yoongi’s eyes fell shut at her words, a slow poison that had already begun to get to him, a fire that was burning every inch of his skin. But all he could do was stand and listen to her and she adamantly stood her ground with the intention of placing a mirror in front of the man that had turned a blind eye to all of his sins.

“You made me eat fried eggs. Up until some point, I thought it was you that liked them. But fuck,” she shook her head, pulling at the straps of her shoes aggressively. “You looked like a ghost was hovering over you each time you had to eat it. It became so evident that it wasn’t you who liked fried eggs, but (Y/n).”

She switched onto her other foot.

“You hid me away from everyone. When your bandmates were here, you asked me to leave like I was an embarrassment to you. I totally get that we met under such circumstances, but Yoongi,” she sighed, looking up at him. “You could’ve at least treated me like a decent human being when we were not behind closed doors. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel like my one and only role in your life was to make sure you get a good fuck. And holy shit, did that hurt.”

“It wasn’t only-”

“Don’t even think about defending yourself right now, Yoongi. You know that you don’t have any toilet paper left to wipe your ass at this moment.”

And just like that, Yoongi fell silent again.

“I’m sorry we had to have this conversation, Yoongi. But it’s best if we end things here instead of dragging this any further. I don’t think I’m as strong as (Y/n) to handle you leaving me for someone else. If you did it once, you can do it again. So,” she finally stood up, reaching to the side to pick up the packet of doughnuts that she now intended on finishing all by herself.

“I should get going.”

Yoongi looked back at her with desperation in his eyes. “What about the baby?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, shaking her head at him before she dropped her gaze to her stomach.

“I dropped it.”

Yoongi felt his heart clench painfully, another blow to his chest that evening that left him silently gasping for air that he found so difficult to find.

“Why?”

With gentle fingers that touched her stomach, a watery smile began to form on her face.

“I couldn’t let my child have a father like you.”

And yet again, it was as if Yoongi was watching himself walk out of this door, his eyes scrunching shut painfully and his clenched jaw and fists that curled around the crumpled material of his shirt did nothing but scream to him, telling him not to open his mouth. That this would be something he wouldn’t be able to recover from. A wound that would never heal. An ache that could never leave.

But he found that he was more desperate at that moment than he had ever been.

“Don’t go.”

The woman stopped by the door, fingers still hanging loosely around the handle, an inaudible sigh slipping past her lips.

“I can’t stay with someone who doesn’t make me happy.”

“Yoongi hyung! Hyung!”

The sound of loud slaps reached his ears first, almost before a dramatic time gap after which he realized that those slaps were actually directed to his face, wincing weakly at the stinging sensation over the pink skin of his cheeks.

“Hyung!”

“Ugh,” Yoongi groaned, raising a hand to protect his sore cheeks from any more slaps.

“Are you okay? You fell down the stairs!”

Yoongi frowned, nodding nevertheless and squinting to try and recognize the unfamiliar voice that was speaking to him.

“I’ll get him some water,” he heard another voice briefly mumble, his eyes finally opening to see a tall man hover over him. With wide eyes, he wordlessly gestured for the stranger’s upside-down face to move out of his way.

“Oh- let me help you up!” He suddenly yelled out loudly, Yoongi’s ears already beginning to hurt by the sound of the overly excited man. Yoongi had just tumbled down a flight of stairs, for crying out loud.

With a grunt, Yoongi managed to sit back up, shutting his eyes when he felt his head lose control.

“Oh, oh, oh! Hyung!”

The giant of a stranger suddenly caught Yoongi by his shoulders before he could fall back down again, a strained grunt leaving the man as he tried to hold all of Yoongi’s weight by his arms.

“Oh shit,” Yoongi heard someone else call out, coming back to his senses as his eyes flew open again.

“Here, have some water.”

Yoongi couldn’t resist the force that spread his mouth open, water flowing into his parched mouth like a burst of freshness that he didn’t realize he desperately needed. Blinking away the black spots in his vision, Yoongi nodded to signal that he had drunk enough.

“Hyung, are you okay?” asked the same loud voice.

Yoongi turned slowly, eyes locking with the man who was too close to Yoongi for his liking.

“Who are you?”

The tall man looked to the side to his friend who was also confused.

“Did you forget me? I’m Mingyu. That’s Woozi.”

Yoongi looked in the direction of the man who had brought the bottle of water for him.

“Hi,” Woozi greeted him with a small smile.

“Woozi?”

“Yep.”

Yoongi was still frowning in confusion, too dazed to pinpoint where he had met these men before. “Are you guys from our company?”

“SEVENTEEN,” Mingyu replied. He couldn’t help but raise a finger to poke into the side of Yoongi’s head.

“Did you hurt your head so bad that you forgot us? You cooked dinner for Jungkook-ah and me when we stayed over last week, remember?”

“Ah… the 97-liner's dinner night.” Yoongi nodded.

“Are you okay, hyung-nim?” Woozi asked.

“Uh yeah, yeah. I don’t know what happened.” Yoongi glanced to the flight of stairs that he had been making his way down a few minutes ago.

“When was the last time you ate?” Woozi inquired.

“Uh, in the morning, maybe. I had some coffee with Hoseok.”

“You had a coffee on an empty stomach?”

“I like to.”

Woozi gave Yoongi a pointed look. “That’s why you fell. It’s 7:30 PM right now.”

“Come eat with us, hyung! We were just about to go to the hall to eat.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go back to the studio.”

“I don’t really think you have much of a choice,” Woozi shrugged with a smirk.

Soon, Yoongi yelled out in surprise when he was lifted off of the floor, Mingyu picking him up effortlessly with an accomplished grin shining brightly on his face.

“Mingyu! Put me down this instant!”

“Not until you’re done eating as much as I wish to feed you.”

~

It was obvious.

It was so obvious that something was wrong the moment Yoongi entered the dining hall along with Mingyu and Woozi, it made his toes curl with a cringe that reflected directly onto his face.

Jungkook’s voice died down in an instant the moment his eyes landed on his hyung, whatever conversation that he was in with the rest of the boys dissipating as if it had never been there.

Jungkook was a man of respect, a man that knew how to respect and a man who could earn respect for himself in return. So just like his elders had correctly taught him, Jungkook welcomed Yoongi, even if it brought a bitter taste to his tongue.

“Ah, hyung. You’re here.”

“I am.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden flooring made Yoongi wince, the headache that was pounding in his head still very much alive and excruciating.

“Hello!”

Two voices greeted Yoongi, the men receiving a small smile in return.

“I hope you remember us, Yoongi-ssi,” Kihyun smiled, stretching an arm across the table full of food to shake hands with Yoongi.

“I certainly do. I see you guys often here.”

“Are you doing well?” asked Minhyuk. Yoongi nodded, although far from well.

“I am. How are you both?”

“We’re rocking!” Kihyun smiled brightly, briefly greeting Mingyu and Woozi before everyone settled. Yoongi sat between Minhyuk and Woozi, noticing an empty seat beside Jungkook but not finding it in him to walk all the way across the table to sit there.

“The food here looks so good, no wonder we always come here,” Minhyuk grinned at the sight of several plates of authentic Korean dishes that almost covered the entire table, a sight that was enough to get everyone’s mouth to water.

Even Yoongi, for that matter. Yoongi had been too absorbed in his own work for a long period of time that he himself couldn’t remember, basically living on sausages, instant noodles, or gimpab. Not that he was complaining, but the bowl of mul naengmyeon – Korean cold noodle soup – that was almost filled to the brim that sat in front of him made him realize that he was hungry.

Hungry for food that he had been deprived of for the longest time, and with a little smile that he sent in Mingyu’s direction – that was the best he could offer – Yoongi felt grateful for having a meal, with people around him.

“Hey!” Woozi frowned. “I thought you guys visit to meet us.”

“Yeah, we’re side-tracked now. I see what friendship means to you guys.” Mingyu’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the two guys who were giggling into their hands like little teenagers.

“What century are you all living in? We’re Koreans. Our hearts are Korean. And most importantly, our stomachs are Korean. Food comes before anything else.”

Kihyun chuckled at Minhyuk’s words, patting his friend on the back. “Spot on.”

“I see,” Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head with fake disgust and looking towards Jungkook.

“That guy right there. Learn something from your dongsaengs! We value people more than food.”

“Shut up and eat before I throw some of this kimchi juice on you,” Kihyun warned.

Yoongi didn’t miss the small smile on Jungkook’s face that had disappeared as soon as it grew, eyes downcast at his food without a single word spoken. There was just so much pain that Yoongi was responsible for, especially those closest to him. But his heart twisted with regret to see the maknae get so terribly shaken by all of this. Yoongi felt the first tinge of shame tug at his insides at the sight of the younger man whom he had proudly brought up for the past few years. He could only hope that somehow, someday, Jungkook would be able to look back at his hyung with pride. But the odds were highly unlikely for that.

He had accompanied Jungkook to school, cooked for him, watched over him with a fatherly gaze that made Yoongi’s chin stick out with pride at every little thing the maknae mastered. He had taught the fellow how to drink too, going on to become maekju buddies, teaching Jungkook the perfect ratio of beer and soju that would make a mind-boggling drink, 4:6, a number that Yoongi was sure Jungkook would never forget. Jungkook would fondly recite the numbers each time he would pour the soju into the tall glass, filling up the rest with ice-cold beer that had both of them, well, three of them, laughing whole-heartedly for the rest of the night.

The third person being another maknae that Yoongi had once been exceptionally close to; Jimin.

The maknae that stood at the entrance of the hall with a deep frown etched onto his face, a cold gaze fixated on Yoongi before he looked away in disgust.

“Jimin-ah!”

Jungkook’s lips rolled into a tight line in fear of both of his hyungs creating a scene in front of people who had no idea of what was going on behind the scenes.

“Ah, oh—yes… Eat up, guys! I just came to see you; I’ll catch you-”

“No, no, no, eat with us!”

“I’ve got some work to do,” Jimin tried to explain, not even bothering to spare Yoongi a glance. Biting his lips in response to that, Yoongi silently twirled the stainless steel chopsticks with his fingers, feeling hurt but knowing that there was nothing he could do to repair the damage that he had done.

“Hyung, eat with us,” Mingyu whined, mimicking Jimin’s pout and shaking his shoulders. “We haven’t eaten together in so long!”

“Really, I’ll meet you guys some other time,” Jimin tried again, hopelessly looking towards Jungkook who shrugged.

“Eat with us,” Jungkook said simply, patting the empty seat beside him. That made Jimin sigh, knowing that there was no way out of this.

“That’s right!” Kihyun cheered, “No one here wants you to go. What do you say, Yoongi-ssi?”

Yoongi swallowed, looking up and nodding without any thought.

“You’ve probably not eaten, so stay.”

Jimin looked down at Jungkook who was nervously chewing on his lips, nodding and patting the maknae on his head.

“Okay. Since the maknae insisted, I’ll eat with you guys.”

Woozi glanced in Yoongi’s directly with a frown. Jimin had openly ignored Yoongi’s words, and somehow the blank expression on both of their faces spoke volumes. But for the sake of keeping the peace, he stayed silent.

“Thank you for the food!”

Ten minutes into the meal and the room is filled with heartfelt – yet extremely loud – chit chats, joyous laughs over lame jokes, and pieces of meat or fish that were being transferred from one bowl to another as an act of love. Brotherly love, if you will.

Something that Yoongi has also been deprived of for the longest time. It made him frown, that much he would admit, but Yoongi had blamed the sniffles on the chili that he had bit into while devouring his noodles. Jimin and Jungkook had soon broken the ice, the ice that had formed instantly the moment Yoongi had stepped foot into the hall, and even though it was quite a sight to see, Yoongi couldn’t help but feel dejected.

He couldn’t help but feel unwanted.

Not that the others were not welcoming enough, but the unsettling thought that if the cloth that was covering his mistakes was drawn, he would be too ashamed and bare, knowing that this treatment would naturally be a return gift from the rest of the boys too. So Yoongi sat quietly with his eyes following the conversation but heart elsewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be a part of a gathering that was filled with so much love.

“But I must say,” Mingyu pointed his chopsticks up aimlessly. “BTS has truly been an inspiration to us. The entire music industry too.”

“Mhm,” Minhyuk agreed with a firm nod.

“I mean, we all have had our fair share of struggles and pains. There is no point in comparing who went through worse shit, but each member of BTS has really taught us the meaning of teamwork.”

Jungkook smiled at Woozi’s words.

“I’ve never seen a bond as strong as you guys,” Kihyun shook his head. “I mean, sure, we all are a part of a group and we all love our members so much, but you guys are on another level.”

Mingyu and Woozi both nodded in agreement.

“Ya’ll are basically family.”

Somehow, Jimin and Yoongi both looked up at that statement, eyes briefly meeting before Yoongi looked away.

“We are.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agreed with Jungkook, a sudden wave of sadness washing over his expression.

“And I really can’t talk about this enough, but I’ve seen RM hyung and Suga hyung work, like personally,” said Mingyu with a determined raise of his eyebrows. “It’s insane!”

Yoongi chose to wipe his mouth.

“Namjoon hyung is out of this world,” Jungkook smiled fondly. “He’s my role model.”

“The whole world knows that, Jungkook.”

“As they should.”

Woozi didn’t let the awkward silence settle.

“Yoongi hyung is extremely talented too.” Woozi placed a gentle hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I get a lot of inspiration from him. In terms of music, relationships, life. Everything.”

And Jimin tried really hard to hold back the scoff that almost made its way out of his throat.

“Right. You might want to rethink the whole ‘relationships’ part of your package.”

Woozi frowned at that.

“That sounds rich coming from you, Jimin. You both fight like an old married couple all the time, it’s quite obvious you both’ve had a tiff before this dinner as well.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched, nodding and forcing a laugh out.

“Yeah right.”

“Guys, who’s up for some ice cream?” Jungkook quickly stood up out of his chair, attempting to distract everyone from the tension that had already begun to set over the entire evening.

“Me,” Minhyuk raised his hand.

“I’ll pass,” Kihyun shook his head.

“I’ll have some,” Mingyu nodded in Jungkook’s direction.

“Me too,” said Woozi.

“Okay! Jiminie hyung?” Jungkook turned to face the sulking man. “Ice-cream?”

“You’re eating?”

Jungkook nodded with a soft smile.

“Okay. I’ll take the same flavor as you.”

“Alright. Uh—” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Yoongi hyung?”

“Hmm?” Yoongi looked up, red eyes brimming with tears of exhaustion and pain. Jungkook felt his stomach clench painfully at the sight of his hyung.

“Will you have some ice cream with us?”

Yoongi swallowed, a light-hearted laugh vibrating through his chest.

“Nah. I’m good. You guys go ahead.”

And so they did. Slowly, each member got up and patted Yoongi on the shoulder before they eventually made their way out of the hall. Woozi lingered around for just a moment longer, worried eyes watching over the man who had his face downcast.

“Hyung-nim?”

Yoongi looked up.

“Make sure you eat well, please.”

Yoongi scratched at his eyebrow, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed with emotions and sensing the urge to break down then and there. It had just been too long since someone had told him that, and what hurt the most was that all he could remember was you reminding him to eat healthy meals instead of those stupid sausages that he would always munch on.

“If you need someone to talk to, or eat with, I’m always here. Please remember that. Always.”

With a trembling hand, Yoongi patted Woozi’s arm. “Thank you, Woozi.”

“Anytime.”

“Go on,” he urged Woozi to follow the little crowd that was standing at the door. “Have fun.”

“Take care, hyung.”

“Yeah.”

A loud uproar of laughter caught their attention, everyone’s eyes on Minhyuk who appeared to be flustered, shaking his hands violently with a wide, embarrassed grin on his face.

“Minhyuk-ah!” Kihyun yelled out in surprise. “Really?”

“No, no!” Minhyuk laughed heartily, firmly denying it. “I don’t!”

“I know you do!” Mingyu accused him with a deep smirk, pointing a finger right in his face. “You do have a girlfriend!”

“I don’t, guys!” The man blushed furiously, shaking his hands desperately as if that would make everyone believe him.

“Ooooooooo!” Everyone hollered at the revelation, not believing the innocent victim’s words at all. “Who is she?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend! Mingyu is lying—”

Woozi patted Yoongi on the back again.

“They’re quite loud, aren’t they?”

With a watery smile, Yoongi shook his head.

“I’ve quite missed the noise.”

~

Sat in the corner of the room Everything's reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle And telling myself you're happier, aren't you?

“(Y/n).”

The air was light, something floating around seamlessly over the two of you. Seated on the floor with a low wooden table that held a plate of half-eaten mushroom tartlets and two wine glasses, a bottle of Skinnygirl Moscato stood tall in between both of you.

“Is that really what you thought of me?”

“You really were such a party-pooper, Yoongi.”

“Says the person who locked herself in the bathroom for an hour after singing one song in front of everyone!”

“That was embarrassing! I was basically squeaking like a duck that had a rock stuck in its throat.”

“Nah,” Yoongi chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “You were great.”

“Was not. But you really ruined the party that day, not me.” With a pout, you glared at him playfully.

“How did I do that?”

“What’s the whole point of a party? You spend time with your friends, drink, have fun, eat some good food, get drunk, do shit that you regret, and never speak of it again. But you!” An accusing finger poked Yoongi’s chest.

“You really showed us your true colors that day, grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” Yoongi guffawed with a dramatic slap to his thigh. “What the heck!”

“Yup. You were so calm even though you drank most of the whiskey that Jimin brought, and that poor fellow was falling to the floor because he wanted to show us one dance move, but he was too drunk to stand.”

Yoongi nodded with a laugh, reaching into the plate and picking up a tartlet.

“Argh, Jiminie, that guy is cool.”

“And you were not so cool. You literally began to lecture him for drinking so much and then you made him and Taehyung cry.”

“I did?” he giggled sheepishly.

“Yup. You scolded them for always being the loudest. Poor guys.” You clicked your tongue. “Do you remember what you told them that day?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Enlighten me, ma’am.”

“You put your glass down and got all serious and looked at Jin and Namjoon and went, ‘Argh…I’ve been having these headaches, they come and they go…’ and we all we so focused on what you were about to say next.”

“And then?” Yoongi already began to bite back his laughter.

“And then Jimin and Taehyung walked back into the room and you went, ‘There! It’s back again!’”

Yoongi almost snorted at that, bending forward to hide his head, giggling uncontrollably with shaking shoulders. “No way.”

“Yes way, Grandpa Min,” you chuckled with an enamored shake of your head.

“But why would you call me a grandpa for that?”

“I think that was an impression that stuck with me for a long time. I didn’t know you that well back then. My lord—” you wondered out loud. “Was that really six years ago?”

“Time flies. And it brought us here. You, single and probably not so ready to mingle, sitting here and drinking with me, a grandpa who ruins parties and scolds my friends.”

You sniffed. “Right.”

“Do you like this wine?” Yoongi asked you curiously.

Taking in a sip, you smiled fondly at the white wine swirling around in your glass.

“No.”

Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head at you. “Why did you bring this then?”

“Hmm…” you appeared to be deep in thought. “No reason.”

“Did you maybe…” a light smirk played at the corner of his lips, “want to make this evening a little more romantic?”

“Romantic?” you parroted lamely, caught red-handed. “No?”

“Aye,” he nudged your knee with his toes. “Liar.”

“Am not. The bottle looked pretty so I picked it up.”

“Really?” Yoongi’s head fell back with laughter. “You picked it up just because it looked pretty?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what if I…” Yoongi shuffled around, getting up with a grunt and dusting off his hands.

“What if you what?”

“What if I…” He smirked evilly, swooping down and slipping one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you up and against his chest, “...picked you up too?”

“Yoongi!” you screeched, desperately clutching onto the collar of his shirt. “Put me down!”

“Why? I should get a fair chance too.”

Your eyes widened. “To do what?”

“To pick up what I think looks pretty.”

Oh-

Rendered speechless, you looked into his eyes that sparkled under the yellow lights that lined the ceiling, a hint of mischief and a stroke of honesty shining brightly in those dark brown orbs of his. Yoongi chuckled at your lack of response, clearly amused by the effect he had on you.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

“Your cheeks are pink.”

You gasped, covering them and crying dramatically. “No!”

“They’re probably warm too. That’s what happens when you blush.”

“They’re not-” you paused. “How would you even know they’re warm? Have you blushed before?”

“No. I can see it.”

“You can’t see heat, Yoongi,” you deadpanned. “You have to feel it.”

“My hands are a little busy right now,” he gestured towards your body that he was still holding up. “Maybe I’ll have to work my way around it.”

“How?”

“Look at that window,” his head pointed to the French windows in front of you. The reflection of him carrying you left you feeling even more flustered, but you blinked and willed yourself to focus. Just as you were about to ask him what he wanted you to do next, the words got stuck in your throat.

As if in slow motion, you watched his reflection lean forward towards your face, lips slightly puckered into a pout that was clearly visible against the glass window before they landed against your cheek. You froze completely, eyes still trained on his reflection that didn’t move, his lips soft against the flaming skin on your cheek.

And just like that, he pulled away.

“You are blushing.”

You blinked, too stunned to reply.

“Your ears are red too.”

Breath in, you thought.

“Do you want me to feel them?”

Breath out-

“Is your lipstick maroon or red?”

Don’t pass out.

“I’ve been wondering if your lips dry up when you get flustered. Should I check?”

Almost robotically, your head turned to face him.

“Are they heating up too?”

Maybe it would be okay to pass out.

“You’re blushing again.”

Okay (Y/n), play dead.

And maybe you should have, because the next thing you knew, Yoongi was placing you back down on the floor. A pang of disappointment pulled your eyebrows into a frown.

“Let me get you some ice to cool you down.”

You stood frozen in your place as Yoongi began to make his way into the kitchen, too numb to stop him and ask him; what the hell was that?

Had you made it too obvious that you liked him?

Was he pulling your leg and teasing you for that?

Was he… for real?

“No, no, no…” you shook your head, reassuring yourself that you were probably overthinking. Yoongi could never like you. It had been six years and he had made sure everyone knew that you were just a good friend. A friend that had always been there for him, a friend who cooked with him, a friend who went fishing with him and put up with him whenever he made a fuss, a friend who liked to massage his shoulders and back when he was too stressed, a friend who ate almost every meal with him, a friend who…fell in love with him along the way. You didn’t really have much time to think because Yoongi’s whistle alerted you of his return.

You blinked lamely as Yoongi made his way back to you, lips somehow glistening as if he had washed them. Looking down, he came back to you empty-handed.

“Where’s the ice?” you croaked, clearing your throat soon after.

“Here.” His hands were wet, fingers dripping with water when they pointed up to his mouth.

His hands were…cold. Freezing, if you will.

That was the first observation you made when they came in contact with your cheeks, a little squeak of surprise coming from you at the sensation. Icy hands against your cheeks that were burning up by the second, Yoongi smiled.

The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, meeting your own with a gentle, almost comforting gaze before they fluttered closed.

And that’s when you found out that his lips were really cold too.

Almost as if he had run an ice-cube over them, but that did not last too long. When his lips initially touched yours, it was as if you warmed them up in an instant, soothing the numbing sting that you didn’t know he had experienced briefly in the kitchen to help facilitate his little plan. His palms were still flat against your cheeks but they didn’t stay that way for too long either. One slipped further past your ears and into your hair, went fingers giving him a better grip that held you firmly to him.

The other hand dropped lower, a shiver running down your spine when his icy fingertips danced along the length of your throat, finally flattening it there and resting the base of his wrist against the crook of your neck.

He tugged you in closer, eyes sealed closed and bodies burning with passion, kissing you like that had been his motive all along. Lips that were making its home against yours moved fluidly, almost as if they had a mind of their own, skilfully pulling in your bottom lip before carefully letting his teeth graze them.

Teasing you.

Giving you a taste of what you had been missing and what you no longer needed to miss. Getting a taste of you and reveling in the sensation of it. Loving every tiny sound that he pulled from you and reciprocating with passionate groans of his own. Showing you that there was no other place you needed to be.

Rather, showing you that you were finally home.

A home that he had broken.

A home that he missed.

A home that he couldn’t find a way back to.

Yoongi had almost laughed, pitying himself when the glass slipped from his hands and onto the floor beside his thigh, a clean cut that separated the body of the glass from a small piece that broke off. The ice began to melt, the cotton material of his grey joggers darkening when it absorbed a little bit of the whiskey that splattered onto it. He looked down at it with a watery smile, tears falling perpendicularly and forming tiny circle waves as they dripped straight into the little puddle of alcohol on the floor.

Had he really done that?

The way the glass had broken was the way he pictured how he had hurt you. A clean slash through your heart. A wound that time could stitch back.

Not too many scars to hide.

Not too much effort to heal.

But the pain that tugged at his heart said otherwise. It spoke volumes, screaming at him and showing him his reflection in the mirror saying look! This is what she felt when you shattered her heart.

Yoongi clutched at his chest, the material of his t-shirt bunching up within his grasp, a low gasp escaping his throat before a long line of saliva began to drip past his lower lip. He was too drunk to notice how horrible he looked, but he wasn’t drunk enough to wash away the pain that was killing him from inside.

The three empty bottles of whiskey that lay beside him hadn’t been enough. He thought it would, but it hadn’t been enough.

His ex-girlfriend who killed a part of him that he didn’t even know about hadn’t been enough, either.

The punches that Jimin threw at him and the disappointment that was painted across each of his member’s faces hadn’t been enough.

He deserved to rot in hell.

He deserved to be punished for what he had done to you but somehow the punishment wasn’t enough.

Because only you had been.

Only you had been enough.

You had been more than enough.

For him.

So with a shaky hand and a strangled cry, he opened up the contact list of his phone. A bang resounded through the kitchen when his head fell back against the marbled counter, barely registering the pain and almost dropping the phone before his trembling fingers pushed it against his earlobe.

He had enough.

Yoongi needed someone.

Yoongi didn’t want to be alone anymore.

And the little sound that alerted him that the phone had been picked up lifted the corners of his lips into a faint smile.

“Eomma.”

.

.

.

.

.

Continue Reading 📄

Taglist: Requested by @persefoneniverse

Present day

‘Who,’ breathes Gracie, your new client, ‘the fuck is that?’

You look in the direction she’s facing, and die inside, as the black custom Skyline glides to a smooth stop on the road, in front of you.

‘Uh, so I’ll call when I hear back about the patents,’ you say hurriedly, before….

Too late. 

The passenger door opens, and you hear Gracie gasp audibly as she sees the man in the driver’s seat.

His wavy dark hair almost covers his eyes. He rakes his tattooed hand through his hair casually, his silver piercings gleaming in the light from the streetlamps above you.

You get in before he can say anything, shutting the door firmly behind you. 

‘Just drive,’ you say, through gritted teeth.

‘Seatbelt,’ he reminds you, but he’s already pulling away from the curb.

You buckle up and stare out the window so you don’t have to look at his ridiculously pretty face.

‘Nice skirt,’ he says.

‘Don’t talk to me,’ you snap.

‘Fine,’ he says, just to annoy you.

He flicks the music on, and the interior of the car fills with the pulsing synth of the early 90s house that he’s been into lately.

He’s a good driver, you’ll give him that.

By the time he pulls into the underground car park of your building, your head is pounding from the loud music he’s played the entire journey home.

You know from experience that if you complain he’ll just turn it up louder.

‘Did you get into anything when I was with my client?’ you ask, because you have to.

The lying asshole has the audacity to give you an innocent look. It’s surprisingly effective, he was born with the wide eyes and pouty lips required to pull it off.

You remind yourself again that Jeon Jungkook is not to be trusted.

You raise an eyebrow, and wait.

Finally, he says, ‘Nothing.’

You harden your stare.

‘Nothing,’ he insists. 

He kills the engine and you both exit the car and head for the lifts.

He lives in the apartment next to yours, and the only reason a rich asshole like him is in your building is because his rich parents have paid for him to stay next to you, as his appointed guardian.

It’s an unconventional arrangement which he’d only agreed to because the alternative was jail time. 

You’d only agreed to it because his mother is your boss at the law firm you work at, and it’s not just that you need the job, but you’re also one step away from becoming an associate.

Jungkook holds the lift door open with a booted foot.

‘After you,’ he says.

‘The doors are automatic, you don’t have to hold them open,’ you point out.

You know he knows this.

Anyone who’s ever been in a lift knows it.

Jungkook admires himself in the lift mirrors. You look away, but not before he catches you looking at him.

‘Like what you see?’ he asks, voice velvety.

‘No,’ you say flatly, turning away.

He snickers softly but says nothing else.

You reach your floor and sigh with relief. 

Finally. 

It’s been a long day, and you can’t wait to go home and recharge in the solitude of your apartment.

You can already feel yourself sinking into the plushness of your new sofa after a hot shower. It’s Thursday, too, so there’s a new episode of your favourite drama being released today, and there’s leftovers in the fridge….

Jeon Jungkook’s annoying voice interrupts your daydream.

‘I have to go out again tonight,’ he tells you.

One stipulation his parents made to your unusual arrangement is that you have to accompany him whenever he leaves the apartment after dark.

‘Why?’ you ask, letting your irritation show in your tone.

‘I said I’d meet some guys,’ he says. He holds his hands up as you glare at him. ‘It’s for business.’

You’ve reached your door. You think longingly of your sofa and your drama, and stifle a sigh.

‘I just need a shower and to eat before we go,’ you say, resigned.

‘Fine. I’ll knock in an hour, ok?’ he says.

You don’t bother to respond.

By the time he knocks at your door, you’re out of your work clothes and in sweats and a hoodie.

At his surprised look you raise your eyebrows at him. 

‘Am I underdressed for your business meeting?’ you ask, like you care.

He rolls his eyes. ‘I just thought you only wore business pantsuits,’ he replies, smiling sweetly at you.

Your stomach growls. You’d spent too long in the shower and hadn’t had a chance to eat. It’d been worth it.

You ignore it and lock your apartment door.

‘I’m ready.’

Jungkook whistles the tune from a newish pop song as you head for the lifts.

He’s annoyingly melodic, and now the infectious tune’s in your head.

You focus on not humming along as you follow him to his car and get in the passenger seat.

‘Seatbelt,’ he says, and you roll your eyes.

‘Yes, mum.’ 

‘You look and act like you’re 14,’ Jungkook retorts, navigating out the car park.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, looking out the window, ignoring his comment.

‘Verve,’ he replies, casual.

You sit up. ‘What?’

Verve is the newest, hottest restaurant in town. It opened a month ago, and it’s still impossible to get a table.

‘I can’t go there dressed like this!’

Jungkook shrugs. ‘No one asked you to get into your PJs.’

You’re livid. ‘You should have told me.’

Jungkook shrugs again. ‘You didn’t ask specifically.’

You have to sit on your hands to stop yourself from punching his smug, pretty face. You catch sight of yourself in the rearview mirror and whip the towelling headband you use when you wash your face off your head.

You seethe silently in the passenger seat until Jungkook turns to you. 

‘Stop breathing so angrily.’

‘I’m sorry my essential functions are expressing unacceptable emotions to you,’ you gripe. 

‘That’s not normal breathing,’ Jungkook argues.

There’s a few beats of silence, then Jungkook prods your side. 

‘Don’t hold your breath either.’

You suck in an irritated breath and try to moderate your tone. ‘In the future I’d appreciate some notice if we’re going anywhere with a dress code,’ you tell Jungkook.

‘Fine,’ Jungkook agrees. ‘I like short skirts, if I may express a preference.’

‘You. May. Not.’ You say, clipped.

He just laughs to himself as he reverses effortlessly into a slot on the street outside the restaurant.

‘These guys,’ he starts, then breaks off. ‘Are you wearing a bra?’

You cross your arms across your chest defensively. ‘Shut up.’

‘Your tits look great,’ Jungkook says. 

‘Shut up!’

Jungkook opens the door to Verve, and you wait nervously next to him.

You can feel eyes on you, as soft and snuggly as your hoodie and sweats are, they make you stand out in all the wrong ways in this place full of people in discreet labels.

You shuffle self-consciously as the host arrives and gives you a none-too-subtle once-over.

He opens his mouth, and Jungkook says, ‘We have a reservation at eight, Frederic said he’d block out the terrace for us.’

The whole demeanour of the host changes at Jungkook’s words. 

‘Of course. You must be Mr Jeon.’ 

You find yourself being ushered through the restaurant and up a back staircase to a huge terrace with heat lamps, a glass ceiling and Koi pond in the centre of the terrace. 

‘What the fuck,’ you mutter. 

Jungkook gives you his greasiest smile, and you glower at him in response.

The two men he’s here to meet are dressed like mafia consiglieres, and they, like the host, look at you doubtfully as you approach with Jungkook.

‘My lawyer,’ Jungkook says, not bothering to introduce you by name or with any accuracy.

You’re a lawyer, but not his lawyer, and you’re glad for it because you have no obligation to keep any of his assholery confidential.

The mafia guys eye you with renewed respect, and you keep quiet.

‘Before we start, can we order? My lawyer here skipped dinner,’ Jungkook says.

You’re so surprised at his thoughtful gesture you stare at him. 

He ignores you, already looking through the tablet one of the men has handed him. 

***

The buzzing of your phone is insistent and pervasive, pulling you further and further out of the warm cocoon of the best sleep you’ve had in a while.

You’re floating on clouds, weightless and boneless and warm and in the distance you can see an angel, smiling at you. He’s got dark hair, a physique sculpted by Italian masters, and a tattoo sleeve…

What the fuck!

You bolt upright and your phone falls off your pillow, clattering onto the floor.

You pick it up and accidentally answer, only to be greeted by the grinning ass face of one Jeon Jungkook.

It’s a video call, which means…. 

He can see you!

With a horrified yelp you toss the phone onto your bed.

‘I’ve already seen everything,’ he assures you, muffled on account of your phone being face down in your sheets. ‘Now you’re awake, can I come over?’

‘What do you want, Jeon Jungkook?’ you snap, pulling your covers up to your neck.

‘I want your opinion on something,’ he says.

‘What’s the magic word?’ you ask. 

‘I’ll tell my mum you’re associate material….’

‘Please, don’t act like I don’t deserve that position off my own back,’ you reply, bored. 

‘I’ll let you watch me work out shirtless at the gym,’ he offers.

‘Like you’re going to be able to resist posting a gym selfie later,’ you scoff. 

‘Please,’ he says. 

You sigh. ‘Fine. Give me five minutes to brush my teeth.’

‘Don’t feel you need to put anything on, over that silky pink thing you’re wearing,’ Jungkook tells you.

You hang up without taking the bait.

When he knocks at your door, you give him an assessing look. 

‘Does helping you involve anything illegal?’ you ask.

‘I have a date. You’re a woman,’ Jungkook says, adding ‘almost’ under his breath. 

You scowl at him. ‘Go on, keep insulting me, that’ll make me want to help you more.’

He holds out a mug. ‘I made you coffee.’

You look suspiciously at it. ‘Did you roofie this?’

Jungkook scoffs. ‘Please why wouldn’t I want you to remember the best sexual experience you’ll ever have.’

‘Get out of my apartment.’

‘No, please,’ he pleads, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I need your advice on which set to wear.’

You realise he’s also holding a garment bag.

‘Fine,’ you say, waving a hand.

You sip your coffee. It’s surprisingly good, but you nearly choke on it when Jungkook slips his shirt over his head and starts unbuttoning his jeans.

‘Wait!’ you shriek. ‘What are you doing?’

He looks down at his beautiful naked torso, feigning confusion. You know he’s faking because of the smug smirk on his face.

‘I need to try them on so you know what they look like on me,’ he says, innocent.

‘There are two bedrooms in this apartment,’ you say, stern. ‘Use one of them to change. Do not come out until you are fully dressed.’

Jungkook pouts but still flexes a little as he struts past you. You pretend not to notice how his back muscles taper into his slender waist.

As he gets changed, you consider what you might want for breakfast. It’s Saturday, so the brunch place down the corner opens earlier. 

Shit! Saturday?

Jungkook mistakes the expression on your face as a reaction to his outfit rather than your own internal screaming.

‘Shit. I knew it. Too much?’ he asks, turning around so you can see how the rips running up the backs of his legs in the jeans he’s wearing go all the way up to the edges of his boxer briefs.

‘No, you look like a sexy whore,’ you say absently, scrolling your calendar.

You look up to see him frowning at you.

‘And yet, you’re not looking,’ he complains.

‘I have a date tonight too,’ you tell him.

He looks so surprised you toss a throw cushion at him.

‘Are you lying because you don’t want me to think you’re a sad workaholic who’s been chronically single since university?’ he asks, with such accuracy you throw another throw cushion at him.

You wonder if that’s why they’re called throw cushions.

‘It’s a blind date,’ you say. ‘My friend Hyunjin set it up. Also I don’t give a shit what you think, at least he’s not an ex-con.’

Jungkook looks hurt. ‘I’m not an ex-con either,’ he points out.

Which reminds you of your arrangement.

‘We can’t both go on dates tonight,’ you say. ‘I’ll cancel.’

‘What, so you can blame me for being single forever? No way. I’ll take care of it. Where’s your date?’

Jungkook pulls his phone out of the pocket of his almost jeans.

You tell him the name of the restaurant.

‘I’ll have my date there too,’ Jungkook decides. He flashes you a smarmy grin that makes you throw your last cushion at him.

He’s already heading out the door. ‘Pick you up later and we can go together,’ he says.

Your door closes behind him, then opens again almost immediately. 

‘By the way,’ he says, holding up a pair of your silk panties. ‘I’m borrowing these.’

You fumble for something else to throw at him but he’s already closed the door again.

His infuriating laughter echoes in your ears long after he’s gone.

***

Jungkook’s taunts sound in your head as you get ready for your date.

You gaze in the mirror at your reflection critically.

Is your dress too short? Are your shoulders weird looking? And what the hell is happening with your hair?

You remind yourself that you can’t go another year of being single at your family’s annual get-together. You can already hear your  Auntie Rina’s probing questions, your cousin Binna’s smug comments, your brother Jin’s increasingly acidic barbs to anyone who tries to criticise you.

Besides, it’d be nice to meet someone who’d care if you were sick or who’d come over to chase away a spider if it took up residence in your bathtub. 

You purse your lips for a coat of lip tint and put the wand back just in time before the familiar, side-of-fist banging on your door starts.

At least he’s consistent, you think ruefully to yourself as you yell, ‘Coming, keep all your clothes on!’ 

You pull on your coat and belt it snugly as you slip your shoes on.

You nearly get Jeon Jungkook’s fist in your face as you yank open the door.

You duck at the same time he startles and says ‘Shit, sorry!’

‘It’s fine,’ you say, hoisting your bag on your shoulder.

You turn to go and realise he’s still standing by your door, staring at you.

You’re conscious of your heels and bare legs and that you’re wearing more makeup than usual. 

‘Spare me whatever is about to come out of your mouth,’ you say, spiky.

You’re honestly one rude comment away from going back into your apartment and your cosy couch. You still haven’t caught up on your drama.

You head for the lifts without looking to see if he’s following.

***

Jungkook holds the door open for you at the restaurant your blind date picked.

‘Do you have a reservation?’ asks the hostess. 

You give her your date’s name and she beams at you. ‘Right over here, follow me.’

She leads you to a table where a man is already sitting waiting.

He stands as you approach, and holds his hand out.  ‘Jang Junwoo,’ he says.

You introduce yourself and notice he’s looking awkwardly over your shoulder.

You realise Jungkook’s still standing behind you. 

‘Can I get you something, Jungkook?’ you ask, teeth gritted.

‘Nope,’ he says, cheerfully. ‘I’m just waiting for you to move so I can take my seat.’

You realise with horror that he’s indicating the table right next to yours in this cosy restaurant.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ you say. 

Jungkook winks at you. ‘I hear the steak’s good.’

***

Jang Junwoo is kind of pretentious, you think, but then again a lot of these finance bros are. He spent a minute more than necessary pontificating over the wine’s bouquet, but he’s been polite enough to the waitress, and he has asked you a few questions about yourself.

Looks wise, he’s kind of your type, you think. He’s clean cut, tall and with a lean physique set off by his well-fitted shirt. He’s not got any visible tattoos or piercings, which is fine with you.

You’re not into that at all.

Beside you, Jungkook’s date, a petite bottle blonde in a low-cut dress with the best natural-looking cleavage you’ve seen laughs at one of his jokes.

She’s been laughing a lot, which is funny, because Jungkook’s really not that funny at all.

You realise Junwoo’s asked you a question.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise. ‘I missed what you said.’

‘He asked if you like to work out,’ Jungkook supplies helpfully from beside you, barely two feet away. 

He leans forward, and in a stage whisper, tells Junwoo, ‘I’ve never seen her in our gym.’

‘Stop eavesdropping on my date,’ you hiss. 

Jungkook continues, ‘But she looks good in athleisure.’

He smiles like he’s just helped you, and you turn pointedly away. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise again to Junwoo. ‘I’m his court appointed guardian. It was this arrangement or prison, wasn’t it, Jungkook?’

Instead of looking put off, Jungkook’s date looks even more intrigued.

Junwoo, bemused, says, ‘Don’t worry about it. Should we get dessert?’

You split up with Jungkook after dinner when Junwoo suggests a nightcap at a bar nearby.

Jungkook assures you he’ll go straight home. 

Looking at the way he and his date are draped over each other, you don’t doubt it. Thankfully, your apartment building was built pre-war and the walls are decent quality.

Junwoo ushers you into the bar, and, alone together with him for the first time all night, you feel your self-consciousness return. 

You catch him looking at your thigh where your skirt’s ridden up and when he sees you’ve noticed, he smiles smoothly like it’s no big deal.

He orders another bottle of wine and you let him drink most of it because your tolerance is low.

His tendency towards pretentiousness is more pronounced when he’s tipsy, and it’s when he’s telling you about how you should try to experience genuine Lyonnaise cuisine that you decide you’ve had enough for now.

‘I should go,’ you say, smiling at him. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘I’ll escort you home,’ he says. ‘It’s late.’

He pulls on his coat and offers his arm, and you take it because you’re three blocks away from home and you can walk it in under ten minutes.

When you reach your door, you turn and hold out your hand. 

‘Thanks again, Junwoo, it was really kind of you to walk me home.’

He takes your hand and shakes, but doesn’t let go.

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he asks.

‘Not tonight,’ you say firmly, trying to pull your hand away. 

‘I paid for dinner, and drinks,’ he points out, like that’s going to convince you.

‘You insisted,’ you counter. ‘Anyway, good night.’

He’s about to say something else but you don’t hear it because the lift dings and the doors slide open, and Jungkook steps out. 

His shirt is half undone, and there’s a big-ass hickey on his neck, but you’ve never been so glad to see him. 

‘Ah Jungkook,’ you say. ‘Did you have a good night?’

Jungkook pauses in front of you and Junwoo, eyeing the way your hands are still entwined.

‘Yeah, I did. How about you?’ he asks. 

‘We’re doing great, bro,’ Junwoo says.

‘Yeah?’ Jungkook asks, eyes on you. 

You swallow your pride. ‘Not great, JK.’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook agrees. He makes eye contact with Junwoo. ‘You should get going, bro.’

Junwoo’s hand tightens around yours. ‘Yeah, bro?’

Jungkook shrugs. ‘You know why she’s my court appointed guardian? I’m not going back to Cheonan.’

At the mention of the notorious maximum security prison, Junwoo’s eyebrows rise. 

He squeezes your hand again, hard, then lets you go.

Jungkook stares at him the whole way as he leaves.

As soon as the lift doors close behind Junwoo, you sigh and slump against your door. 

‘Thanks, Jungkook.’

‘No worries,’ Jungkook says. He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘Guess my date went better than yours, huh?’

‘I shouldn’t have let that asshole pay. I knew he’d take it as an invitation,’ you say, ruefully. 

Jungkook looks at you. ‘Is that what he said? What an asshole. Jangmi told me not to expect anything.’

You look pointedly at the hickey on his neck, and he laughs but doesn’t say anything else.

You fish your keys out of your bag. ‘Anyway, thanks. Your timing was pretty good.’

‘Yeah I waited in the car outside for you and saw you guys arrive,’ Jungkook says.

You stare at him. ‘What?’

‘Wanted to make sure you got home ok,’ Jungkook says, yawning.

He’s already heading to his own apartment.

‘Hey,’ you call. ‘I didn’t know you were in Cheonan.’

Jungkook laughs. ‘Youth detention centre, not the prison. Spent four months there when I was 14.’

He’s reached his own door. 

‘Good night, Y/N. You looked really pretty tonight.’

He smiles at you crookedly and goes inside.

***

Six months earlier

You have no idea why you’ve been summoned to Jeon Mido’s office, and waiting outside in her secretary’s workspace isn’t helping your nerves.

You’ve been working for Albion for two years, and in that time you’ve never met her. 

Why would you?

She’s one of the founding partners of Albion, the biggest law firm in the city, and you’re a relative newbie hired straight out of law school two years ago. 

You’ve never had cause to venture beyond the tenth floor of this Albion-owned building, and now you’re in the penthouse.

The doors open, and Jeon Mido steps out.

‘Ms L/N,’ she says. ‘Please, come in.’

You take a seat in front of her sleek modern desk and wait.

‘Park Sejun tells me you worked extremely hard on your last case,’ she says, gazing at you. There’s a shrewdness in her eyes that reminds you that she built this law firm from nothing, despite her soft demeanour.

‘Thank you,’ you say.

‘You did an excellent job.’

You thank her again, wondering where she’s going with this. Is she about to dismiss you? Surely Park Sejun could have done that for her.

You haven’t done anything to warrant a promotion.

‘I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,’ Jeon Mido says. 

She sets her hands on her desk gracefully. 

‘I heard what you said about the defendant on your last case. He has a record, he’s been in and out of trouble since he was a teenager. Our client was the plaintiff and you did enough to ensure the win but you didn’t go for the jugular like some of your colleagues would have.’

You get a sinking feeling. Is this why you’re being fired? Because you didn’t completely annihilate your opponent?

She seems to be waiting for a response, so you compose your thoughts.

‘I knew we had enough to win,’ you say carefully. ‘I didn’t want to waste my efforts completely destroying the defendant’s credibility when his only mistake was that he relied on his staff instead of verifying things for himself.’

‘That’s not what you said, though,’ she prompts.

You think frantically but can’t remember anything you said that would have stood out, particularly. 

You sigh. If you’re going to get fired, you might as well come clean.

‘My brother Jin got in trouble when we were teenagers,’ you say. ‘He got mixed up with a gang and he was too naive to get out before the gang leader got busted.’

You’ll spare her the details. ‘Anyway, he’s got a criminal record now, and because of it he can’t get a ‘respectable’ job. He couldn’t be a lawyer like me and he’d be a hell of a lot better, if I’m being honest.’

You shrug. ‘He made a mistake but he’s still the best person I know. I guess the defendant reminded me of him.’

Jeon Mido’s looking closely at you, but hasn’t said anything. 

‘Thank you for hiring me,’ you say. ‘If you want my resignation —-‘

‘You’re mistaken,’ Jeon Mido says, finally. ‘I don’t want to dismiss you. I wanted to ask for your help.’

Which was how you ended up in a coffee shop with Jeon Mido, waiting nervously to meet her son.

Jeon Jungkook.

She’d filled you in on the details. He was her younger son, and he’d been in and out of trouble with the law since his teenage years for various things. Fighting, stealing cars, and even, hilariously, once for posing as a valet at a high society event and parking all the cars at the foot of Mount Samo for the illegal drag racers to take their pick. 

After his most recent infraction she and her husband had sat down with Jungkook and given him an ultimatum to clean up his act or be cut off from his family’s fortune. 

You were to be an additional factor to tip the scales in his favour. 

Her proposition that you be Jungkook’s unofficial guardian and try to keep him out of trouble had sounded ludicrous at first, you were barely responsible enough to look after yourself. You certainly weren’t responsible enough to become a glorified babysitter to a grown man with a history of getting his own way. 

The only reason you hadn’t disagreed to this insane-sounding plan outright was that Jeon Mido had built the very building you worked in, from the ground up, off her own intelligence, strength and force of will, at a time when successful self-made women in South Korea were virtually unheard of. 

Additionally, Jungkook had agreed to meet you so he must be somewhat willing to comply with his parents’ ultimatum. 

You’d been expecting a degree of charm and good looks in her son, Jeon Mido was an attractive woman, but you still had to stop yourself from staring when Jeon Jungkook arrived.

Tall, broad-shouldered and built like an athlete, he’d smiled at you and offered his hand, and you’d shook it praying your own weren’t clammy with nervousness.

He was so good looking he made you want to throw up.

If this was what a life of crime made Jeon Jungkook look like, it certainly suited him.

He flicked his tongue out over his lip ring, dark eyes on you, and you wondered what that tongue would feel like on your skin.

Fuck. 

Fuck.

You were fucked from the moment you saw him, and it was only much later that you realised how bad the damage was.

It’d started off innocently enough. He’d moved into the apartment next to yours.

You’d hung out together a bit to get to know each other, and that first week had been fine.

Then he’d said, casually, one evening, that he was popping out for a cigarette, and he’d be back in fifteen minutes.

It was three frantic days before you found him, in some seedy pool hall, drunk and blazed with a new tattoo and the keys to a Maserati he didn’t own in his front jeans pocket.

He’d made you fish the keys out yourself, and he’d giggled like a schoolgirl the entire time.

After that, you’d been more insistent about sticking to the stipulations his parents had laid out, and had accompanied him everytime he left the apartment after dark.

You’d realised what a mistake that was when he offered to buy you brunch and paid all in unmarked bills out of a duffel bag filled with stacks of cash. 

Jeon Jungkook didn’t confine his criminal activity to night times.

Fuck that shit.

Then there was that time he’d offered to pick you up from work in a new car you’d assumed was his parents’. The penny had only dropped when the police sirens had sounded behind you and you’d asked, nervously, if he should pull over.

Jungkook had taken one look in the rearview mirror, and said, dismissively, ‘It’s only one patrol car. I can lose them, easily.’

He’d proceeded to do just that in a high-speed car chase in a stolen car that spanned the busiest road in the city.

It’s the first and only time you’ve been on the seven o’clock news. 

On the plus, you’d found out that he really was as good a driver as he’d claimed. 

You’d gone to see Jeon Mido in her office as soon as your legs stopped feeling like jelly, ready to apologise and say you weren’t able to do the job you’d agreed to do.

To your surprise, she’d just encouraged you to carry on.

For his part, Jungkook’s always treated you with an irreverent kind of tolerance. He’s annoying as hell and you’ve learned not to trust most of what he says, but for all his sexual innuendo around you, he’s never once crossed the line you’d drawn in the sand at the beginning. 

He’s danced along it a few times, though.

By the time you’re six months into your year-long arrangement, you’ve reached an uneasy stalemate with Jungkook. 

Sometimes, you almost like the guy. 

Annoyingly, he’s also stayed as hot as the day you met him.

***

Present day

You haven’t seen Jungkook in a few days, so you text him to check on him.

You’re already trying to remember how to get to the strip club you found him in the last time he went missing when he texts back. 

Jungkook: I’m dying

He’s fucked with you enough times that you’re not all that concerned yet.

Y/N: Yeah? How?

Jungkook: The plague

You consider this as you plate your lunch. You lift a forkful of greens to your lips, then hesitate, and sigh.

Five minutes later you’re knocking at his door. 

He answers so quickly you wonder if he was waiting on the other side of it.

He does look like hell, to be fair. 

His nose and eyes are red, and he looks pale under his golden tan. He’s wrapped up in a duvet from chin to feet. 

‘I’m dying,’ he tells you, melodramatic as fuck.

‘Do you have a cold.’

‘It’s way worse than a cold,’ he insists.

You shake your head, but he does look worse than you’ve ever seen him.

You sigh. ‘When did you last eat?’

Jungkook’s already looking at you so hopefully you haven’t the heart to say anything as you turn back around and let him into your apartment.

‘Try not to infect me,’ you tell him, as you lay a place setting in front of him at your kitchen island.

Jungkook replies, ‘I got my regular tests done last week, all negative.’

You look at him in disgust. ‘With your cold, asshole.’

He leers at you, but it lacks his usual panache.

You serve out the food and sit down opposite him to eat.

‘I always use condoms, anyway,’ he says, after a moment. He winks at you, but it’s still half-hearted. 

You pass him a glass of water.

‘Drop the sex pest act for a few minutes,’ you advise him, helpfully. ‘No one’s fucking anyone in the state you’re in, anyway.’ 

He looks at you, and you can almost see him clicking through the repertoire of innuendoes he has in his head.

Finally, he says, ‘Thanks for this. It’s delicious.’

You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. 

‘Did you just say something without sexual connotations, Jeon Jungkook?’

His smile is crooked.

‘Don’t worry, I’m still thinking sexual things about you in my head,’ he assures you.

You laugh. ‘Shut up and eat.’

***

Jungkook starts to look a bit less like death warmed over after he’s eaten, but the clingy asshole’s parked himself on your sofa and shows no sign of moving.

You shrug and put on the TV. At least if he’s with you, there’s less chance of him being in that strip club where there’s no parking outside. What a ballache that had been.

You put on the latest episode of your drama and he perks up. 

‘I haven’t seen this episode yet,’ he tells you. 

His duvet’s slipped lower, and you’ve yet to see anything but his skin.

‘Please tell me you’re dressed under there,’ you say, warningly. 

‘Yeah but I can take it all off,’ Jungkook offers.

You don’t dignify that with a response, just pass him some flu meds and a bottle of kombucha and settle in to watch the show.

After the episode ends he still shows no sign of moving, so you put on a movie and pass him some snacks.

By the time the movie ends it’s dark, and when he asks you what you want for dinner you let him order takeout for both of you.

You eat sitting alongside each other on the couch as the next movie plays.

After a while you realise he’s fallen asleep, and that this is the most male company you’ve had in a while, and that you don’t hate it.

You don’t hate him.

In fact, in the dim light from the TV and with his mouth closed and his hair rumpled over his relaxed sleeping face, he looks….. 

Tempting.

Like the boyfriend you could have if you could ever get over yourself enough to date someone seriously.

For some reason that makes you feel a little sad.

That you’re so starved for male company you’re longing after your neighbour who’s only hanging out with you because you’ve made an arrangement with his parents. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, he’d probably have never shown an interest in you otherwise.

You pull the duvet over his shoulder, switch off the TV and top up his water and meds before heading to bed.

***

The banging on your door startles you and your elbow jostles the glass on the edge of your kitchen counter. It drops to the floor and shatters, and you think dryly that it’s a metaphor for how close you are to the edge of killing Jeon fucking Jungkook.

You yank open the door with a scowl.

‘Yes, Jeon Jungkook?’ 

He looks a little edgy himself. ‘I want to show you something.’

‘Is it your dick?’ you ask, tiredly, letting him in.

‘Always, but it’s something different today.’

You glance at the clock. It’s six in the evening. 

‘Watch out,’ you say, as he passes the kitchen. ‘I dropped a glass.’

He doesn’t even blink. 

There’s a nervous energy about him today, he looks like he’s buzzing out of his skin.

You follow him warily to the window that overlooks the street behind your building.

‘Are we looking out for the police?’ you ask, in a dramatic whisper.

He gives you a half-smile. ‘There were two plainclothes cops staking out the place all of last week. I think they’re dealing out of apartment 4B.’

You stare at him. ‘Are you serious?’

He scoffs. ‘How do you not notice these things?’

‘I never really have to worry about the police coming for me,’ you say, straightfaced.

‘Sucks to be you,’ he says, without his usual conviction.

He reaches down towards his jeans and your scowl returns. ‘Jungkook, I really don’t want to see your dick.’

‘Stop lying,’ he says, but what he takes out is a small black rectangular plastic object.

It’s about the size of half of his outstretched palm. 

You wonder where he’s going with this. 

He says, ‘Look.’

You both watch as a man in a business suit pulls up to a parking spot on the street, gets out and locks his car. The headlights flash, twice.

He heads into the apartment building opposite yours.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Jungkook hands you the tiny black rectangle. 

‘Press the button.’

You press the small grey button, and to your surprise, the car headlights flash again.

The car’s unlocked.

‘What the—-‘ 

‘It’s a car key cloning device,’ Jungkook says. 

He takes it back from you.

‘All I have to do is press it at the same time as the person locking the car presses their own key, and it clones the signal.’

He says, with more than a hint of wistfulness, ‘I could steal any car on this street.’

You’re shaking your head. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I made it,’ he tells you. ‘I didn’t invent the tech, my friend did, but I made this.’

His eyes meet yours. 

‘Can you keep it?’

His words hang in the air between you. 

He mistakes your silence for hesitance. 

‘I just — ‘

He clears his throat and starts again. There’s pleading in his voice, a wild kind of spark in his eyes.

‘Can you keep it? I don’t want it to be this easy to steal a car tonight.’

You swallow past the lump in your throat. He’s never asked for your help like this before.

He usually goes ahead with whatever impulse he has and you’re stuck playing catch up.

Today, he’s given you a head start.

You take the device from him and stick it in your bra.

‘Don’t try to seduce me to get it back,’ you warn.

He’s already eyeing up your tits. 

He clears his throat again. 

‘Actually, I’m surprised you managed to fit it in there. Are you on your period? Your tits look huge.’

As usual, you don’t deign to respond.

‘I was going to make dinner,’ you say. ‘Do you want some?’

‘You can cook me dinner,’ he agrees, like he’s doing you a favour. 

‘But wait. Let me clean up that glass first,’ he says.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. 

He stops you. ‘Nah. Look at your hands.’

You hold a hand out, palm up, and he traces a callused finger along your life line.

Warmth unfurls along your skin, following the path of his finger.

You look up to see him looking at you, heat in his eyes. 

Your heart pounds, slow, and his tongue flicks along his lower lip.

When he speaks, his voice has dropped, low.

‘You’ve probably never even changed the oil in your car,’ he says, but he sounds affectionate, almost.

‘I wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.’

He smiles, and lets go of your hand. 

Your skin feels like it’s crackling with electricity from his touch, and god help you, you want more.

You don’t trust yourself to speak.

Jungkook says, very quietly, ‘You’re doing something for me, let me do this for you.’

Your eyes meet again, and you find your voice. 

‘The oven needs a clean, too, if you’re offering.’

He laughs, and just like that, whatever that moment was, ends.

‘I’ll clean your oven,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  ‘Put a bun in it too.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ you complain, trying to punch him, but he’s already too far away.

***

You’re balancing on the back of the couch on your tip toes, trying to reach the lamp shade so you can change the blown lightbulb in your hanging lights, when the now familiar banging starts on your door.

You turn too quickly, lose your balance and fall headlong onto the floor. 

The resulting crash against the parquet flooring is all the louder because Jungkook’s stopped banging on your door.

You roll onto your back, groaning a little as the wrist you held out to protect your face flares with pain.

Jungkook’s started banging again, and your phone, out of reach on the coffee table, starts ringing.

You can just about make out his name on the screen, and the ridiculous selfie he took of himself shirtless that he put in as his profile on your phone.

All the racket is enough to make you sit up and hobble to the door.

‘Shit, are you ok? I heard a crash,’ says Jungkook, wide-eyed.

‘I’m not good with blood,’ he warns, but he’s checking you over gently anyway.

‘What was so urgent you needed to bang on my door?’ you ask, grumpy.

He presses your sore wrist, gently, and you wince.

‘I got pizza and wanted to know if you wanted some,’ he says. He ushers you to your couch. 

‘I’m getting ice,’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘You could have texted to ask if I wanted pizza,’ you call after him.

He emerges with a bag of frozen peas you didn’t know you had.

‘But then I wouldn’t get to see your face,’ he protests. ‘Also, you never answer my video calls, not since I saw you in your underwear that time.’

You don’t bother correcting him. 

He wraps the peas in a towel and passes the bundle to you. 

‘Your wrist looks bad, you should get it checked out,’ he advises. 

You grimace. ‘I have a case coming up,’ you tell him.

‘Just tell them it was a sex injury,’ Jungkook suggests, helpfully. He offers you a hand to get up. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out.’

‘Fine,’ you say. ‘Grab the pizza.’

***

You’re waiting to see the doctor with Jungkook and trying to ignore the fact that he’s pulled a burner phone out of his back pocket.

He glances around furtively and you’re craning your neck to look at the screen when your name is called.

The doctor who’s said your name looks at Jungkook. 

‘Mr Jeon,’ she says. ‘What is it this time? Another broken metacarpal from fighting?’

Jungkook’s face creases into a smile and you can almost hear the adoring sighing of men and women around the room.

‘Dr Lim,’ he says. ‘You know I don’t break my hand anymore since I started winning all the time.’

You gag at his corniness, but Dr Lim just smiles back. 

‘Well, you’re always welcome to get checked out for any injuries,’ she says. ‘You have my number.’

‘Did you save it on your burner?’ you ask loudly, but they both ignore you.

By the time you’ve had an X-ray and been told your wrist is just sprained, not broken, you’ve heard enough of Jungkook’s smarmy flirting that your ears are burning.

‘Yeah, I’m still going to the gym every day,’ you mimic, flexing your bicep as you get into Jungkook’s car. ‘Want to feel?’

Jungkook rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t talk like that.’

You give him your sleaziest grin. ‘Wow you have your name embroidered on your white coat? Amazing!’

Jungkook starts the car. ‘Still don’t talk like that,’ he mutters.

‘Yeah, let me take you for a spin in my Skyline sometime,’ you say, puffing out your chest and deepening your voice.

‘Seatbelt,’ Jungkook says. 

When you reach for the seatbelt and wince because you forgot about your wrist, he sighs.

You press back into the seat, startled, as he leans over you to fasten your seatbelt for you.

He pauses with his face directly in front of yours. 

He’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek.

He leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s a peck, and over before you know it, but it’s enough to shut you up.

‘Stop being cute,’ he says. ‘Or I’ll kiss you again.’

He throws the car into gear.

‘Besides,’ he adds. ‘The only woman I’ve tried to impress with this car is you.’

You’re staring at him, still trying to process, when he adds, thoughtfully, ‘then again, I haven’t had this car very long….’

***

You’re trying to get your suitcase down from on top of your wardrobe when there’s a blur of movement in the periphery of your vision. 

You scream and hightail it off the ladder you’re on.

The spider you saw stops right above the corner of the ceiling where your suitcase is.

You’ve already dialled Jungkook without even thinking about it.

He answers with a lazy, drawled, ‘yo’, but his tone sharpens quickly when he hears your voice and panicked breathing.

‘Jungkook. There’s a spider holding my suitcase hostage,’ you whisper, dread in your voice.

‘Why are you whispering?’ Jungkook asks. You can hear the amusement in his voice, and for once you don’t care that he’s laughing at you.

You fight to regulate your volume. ‘It might hear me and attack,’ you say. 

It seems completely reasonable to you.

Jungkook laughs so loudly you have to hold the phone away from your ear. 

‘What does he want with your suitcase?’ Jungkook asks, when he’s re-composed himself enough to speak. 

He’s definitely laughing at you rather than with you, but you’ll take any amount of taunting if he deals with the spider for you. 

‘Please,’ you plead, ‘can you get rid of it.’

Jungkook yawns. ‘Ok. But don’t expect me to put on a shirt.’

A moment later he’s in your apartment, looking up at the ceiling at the spider.

‘Just grab the suitcase please,’ you say. ‘The spider can have this room from now on.’

Jungkook snorts. 

He grabs the suitcase and places it next to you, then, before you can work out what he’s going to do, he taps on the wall next to the spider and it runs down to the floor.

You scream and jump into his arms.

He really did come over bare-chested, the asshole, and the sweatpants he’s barely wearing are low on his hips, so it’s a little more indecent than you’d like, but there’s no fucking way you’re sharing the floor with a spider that can run faster than you.

Automatically, like he’s done this a lot, Jungkook’s big hand reaches down to support your ass. 

He’s still laughing. ‘Is this like, do you want to see my cat, but it’s a spider instead?’ 

You ignore his taunts and bury your face in his shoulder.

His laughter fades. 

‘Shit. Are you crying? Listen, don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it, ok?’

You’re too scared to look at the floor. 

‘You don’t even know where it is now,’ you sob.

‘I know exactly where that fucker is,’ Jungkook assures you. 

He’s probably lying but you don’t want to check for yourself.

He deposits you onto the bed and tries to peel your legs off his waist. 

‘As much as I want to fuck you, let me deal with this spider first, ok?’

At his words, you loosen your legs from around him and he pats your thigh. 

‘Stop crying. Stay here and I’ll get rid of it,’ he promises.

It’s several long minutes and muttered curses later before he returns, a little sweaty but with a glass of water for you.

He hands it to you and brushes your hair back from your face as you drink.

‘I didn’t know you were that scared of spiders,’ he says. His tone is gentler than you’ve ever heard it.

‘They bite,’ you say. 

‘They bite—-‘ Jungkook trails off, shaking his head.

Jungkook sits next to you on the bed. ‘I’m sorry I laughed at you.’

‘It’s ok,’ you say. You swipe at your tearstained face. ‘Did you get it?’

‘Promise I did,’ Jungkook says. ‘Cross my heart. That fucker isn’t bothering you again.’

‘Where did you put him?’ you ask. ‘In the bin?’

‘Nah. Chucked him out the window,’ Jungkook says. ‘Fuck Spiderman.’

‘Fuck Spiderman,’ you echo.

‘Listen, if you have a spider problem again just call me, ok? Or you can text if you’re worried the spider’s going to hear you. I’ll take care of it.’

Jungkook grins. ‘I won’t put a shirt on either.’

He leans back onto his forearms, and the way his abs stand out make you feel pretty tingly, you’re not going to lie.

‘I don’t mind you staring,’ he tells you. ‘I know I look good.’

You roll your eyes, but he’s been so decent about helping you that you’ll let him have that.

‘What’s the suitcase for, anyway?’ he asks.

You sigh. ‘It’s my annual family get together this Saturday,’ you tell him. ‘My entire extended family go to this beach house and we have dinner together and hang out. It’s been a thing since I was a kid.’

‘Sounds nice,’ he says, but his tone is incredulous.

‘It is nice,’ you say. You smile a little. ‘My grandma cooks and my brother Jin goes fishing and I have so many little cousins now.’

You get up. ‘Of course, there’s the usual round of relatives asking ‘why aren’t you settled down and having babies?’ And my cousin Binna’s a pain, but it’s only once a year.’

‘It’s too bad Junwoo was such an ass,’ you say. ‘I was hoping if I came with a date this year that it’d take some of the pressure off.’

‘I can help,’ Jungkook says.

‘For the last time, Jungkook,’ you say, ‘we are not having a baby together.’

‘Firstly,’ Jungkook says, ‘our baby would be so good looking. But that’s not what I meant.’

He looks tentative for the first time since you met him.

‘I can go with you, if you want.’

***

Your suitcase is by the door, ready to go.

You’re waiting for Jungkook to come by so you can leave together for your family retreat.

You’re not sure what to expect, if you’re being honest. It had felt like a good idea having Jungkook come with you at the time. After all, with the amount of time you’ve spent together over the last few months, he knows recent you as well as anyone.

He’d promised on pain of death and dismemberment that he would refrain from excessive sexual innuendo in front of your elders, but that was all you’d managed to get out of him.

You’re almost afraid to look at him when he knocks on your door.

You start from his feet, in the boots he’s favoured lately, to jeans with no visible rips that you can see in the front, to his fly which is done completely up, to his belt and then a white wife-beater over which he’s layered a black shirt.

When you get to his face he’s smirking at you. 

‘Spent a long time checking out my dick,’ he comments.

‘Just checking your fly was done up,’ you say, semi-truthfully.

He lifts your suitcase for you.

At your expression he says, ‘Don’t worry, you can pay me back by giving me a blow job whilst I’m driving us to the coast.’

‘Sounds dangerous,’ you reply.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, smarmy, ‘Danger is my middle name.’

‘Don’t ever call me that again,’ you threaten.

‘Princess?’ he wonders.

‘Shut up and drive, Jeon Jungkook.’

***

Jungkook’s driving is so steady that you fall asleep and wake only when he stops for petrol.

You look around, disoriented, and see him looking at you through the glass of the rear passenger window.

He opens the door. ‘Want anything from the shop?’

You yawn. ‘No thanks.’

When he gets back in the car, you say, ‘Hey, let me know what I owe you for gas.’

He snorts as he drives out of the petrol station. ‘You know my family owns the biggest manufacturing company in Busan, right?’

You shrug. ‘Money ain’t everything.’

He nods. ‘Yeah, money ain’t everything, if you’re just normal rich. I’m fuck you and all your ancestors rich.’

You say, lightly, ‘I’m never paying my share of takeout again.’

He laughs. ‘That’s what I like about you. You don’t give a shit.’

‘That’s not true,’ you protest. ‘How many people would have chased you across town to track you down when you stole that French ambassador’s diplomatic car?’

He’s quiet. 

The road stretches out in front of you.

‘I’m seeing someone, you know,’ he says.

‘What?’ you scoff. ‘Who’s dating you?’

‘Not like that,’ he tells you. He glances at you in the rearview. 

‘I don’t want you to have to be a crutch for me forever.’

Now it’s your turn to be quiet. 

Since that time when Jungkook came over to hand over his key fob cloning device, he’s dropped various things over at your apartment for various periods of time.

A pen drive.

The keys to his Skyline.

His burner phone.

Once, a black jewelled thong, but you think he was just fucking with you that time.

You cleared a drawer in your hall table for him, and things appear and disappear.

He doesn’t always talk about it, not like that first time. 

‘I’m glad you’re working on it,’ you say, sincerely.

You lean back in your seat. ‘You know you can always drop stuff off in the drawer if you need to.’

‘Oh in the drawer?’ he says, feigning surprise. ‘What about your spare room wardrobe? I left weed and maybe a couple of stacks in there.’

‘Fucking hell,’ you grumble, ‘No wonder all my linens smell like a college dorm.’

You’re both smiling.

‘Thanks for helping me out with this,’ you say. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘How come you couldn’t get one of those Yonsei dipshits to take you?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Firstly, you asshole, I went to SNU.’

Jungkook snickers.

‘Secondly, sad as it is, you’re the only man I’ve spent any time with lately.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ he says. ‘You’re hot, you put up with a lot of shit and you have an ass that won’t quit. How come you’re not dating anyone?’

You look out the window. ‘You’re right, I’m such a catch, why am I single?’

Jungkook asks, ‘Are you really bad in bed?’

You’d laugh if the turn of conversation wasn’t so depressing.

‘Yeah. I’m really bad.’

‘I wouldn’t mind if you were a pillow princess with me,’ Jungkook says. You think he means it as a compliment.

You say, just to move the conversation on, ‘Did you bring any snacks?’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook says. He reaches into the center console and tosses you a pack of corn chips. ‘Please feed me too.’

You spend the rest of the drive placing corn chips into Jeon Jungkook’s filthy but admittedly beautiful mouth.

***

You and Jungkook are one of the first to arrive at the beach house. Your parents and Jin are already there. 

You’re worried Jungkook might be nervous about meeting your parents, but he surprises you again.

Once introduced, he chats easily with your dad about cars, and you can tell from your dad’s reactions that he likes Jungkook.

Jin nudges you as you follow your parents and Jungkook into the house.

‘Binna’s going to be all over him,’ he says.

Your cousin is beautiful, sexy and could flirt with a rock.

You shrug. ‘Don’t worry, Jinnie. You’re still the prettiest around.’

Jin says, crossly, ‘I wasn’t worried about that.’

You’re both distracted by the arrival of your cousin and her children.

The minivan pulls up almost to the entrance of the beach house, and your cousin Daeun jumps out.

‘Dasom superglued her hand to Jinah’s face,’ she announces grimly. 

She hands you baby Taehyun. ‘Can you watch the baby? I’m taking them to the drugstore to see if they can give us anything to get this shit off.’

‘Mama said a bad word,’ chants Dasom. 

‘I’ll drive you,’ volunteers Jin.

He ushers Daeun and the girls into his car. 

You look for someone to help.

‘Need a hand?’ Jungkook asks, popping up from behind you.

You huff. ‘Can you sort this car out?’

Jungkook appraises the minivan in silence for a moment.

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook replies, serious. ‘It probably won’t sell for much as it is. I’ll have to take it apart to sell it for parts.’

You glare at him. ‘I meant park it, Jungkook, not sell it on the stolen cars black market.’

Jungkook laughs incredulously. ‘Stolen cars black market? What even is that? Have you learnt nothing from the last year?’

Taehyun, in your arms, giggles along with Jungkook. 

You can’t believe you’re being ridiculed simultaneously by both a baby and the grown-ass man you’re babysitting.

Jungkook’s still chuckling to himself as he maneuvres the minivan expertly into the space beside his car.

You can see him through the window, the asshole.

***

Jin hadn’t been wrong about Binna being interested in Jungkook. To be fair, even happily married Daeun had given him a second look.

Even your conservative grandmother had looked past all his visible tattoos and piercings and declared him a good boy.

You’re pretending not to notice as Binna, sitting on the other side of Jungkook at the dinner table, leans into Jungkook’s arm as she reaches for the green beans.

Your Auntie Rina fixes you with a look. 

‘I’m so glad you finally found a man,’ she says. ‘We were so worried you’d be single forever.’

Beside you, Jungkook stiffens. 

‘I wasn’t worried,’ says your mother from opposite Jungkook. ‘Better no man than the wrong man.’

‘It’s true,’ sniffs Auntie Rina. ‘Who was that awful boyfriend of yours who kept asking if you really wanted more helpings? As though there’s anything wrong with your weight…’

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. She isn’t saying anything she hasn’t said before, to be fair.

Jungkook, beside you, nudges his full glass of soju towards you. 

‘Is your car the 2019 model outside?’ he asks your aunt. ‘I know a man who can fix it for you.’

‘Fix it?’ Auntie Rina asks.

‘Yeah. Looks like it has a flat tire,’ Jungkook says, wide-eyed, all innocence. 

Your eyes meet his, and you choke back a laugh. 

As soon as the conversation moves on you turn to Jungkook. ‘Does it really have a flat tire?’ you ask, under your breath.

Jungkook leans so close his lips brush your ear, making your skin prickle. 

‘I’ll make sure it does,’ he promises. 

After dinner, you excuse yourself to get some air and find Jungkook sitting on the steps leading down to the sand, behind the house smoking a cigarette.

You sit next to him. 

‘Thank you,’ you tell him. ‘I hope this isn’t too awful.’

He just smiles, exhales. 

‘I’m enjoying it,’ he says simply.

There’s a breeze blowing in from the sea, ruffling his hair. 

He’s so pretty like this you’d take a picture if you weren’t worried he’d never let you hear the end of it.

Jungkook reaches out, curls a finger in a lock of your hair.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t get a chance to.

You lean forward, close your eyes and kiss him.

It’s short and it’s lovely. 

You start to pull away, but he cups the side of your face and kisses you back.

His lips are soft, and he kisses you slow, like he wants to learn the shape of your lips with his own.

He hums, deep in his chest, as his lips meet yours. 

For all the crass sexual comments he’s made to you over the last year, Jeon Jungkook’s kisses are undemanding, sweet.

When he pulls away, you’re both breathless.

His cigarette glows on the step next to him, forgotten.

‘I knew I’d like kissing you,’ he tells you. 

You look down at his hand, somehow entwined with yours.

‘Are you holding my hand?’ you ask.

‘Yeah. You’re a little sweaty but I don’t mind,’ he tells you.

He laughs when you try to pull away. 

‘Do you want to come to my room?’ you ask.

He hesitates. 

‘I’d like to, but you know, I’m really good at fucking, are you going to be able to keep your voice down?’

‘Shut up, I’ve changed my mind,’ you say, getting up.

He tugs you back down. ‘Hey.’

He waits until you’re looking at him.

‘If you really want me there, I’d love to go to your room,’ he tells you.

For once, he sounds completely serious.

‘Yeah. Come.’

***

You’d been a bit worried it might be awkward, but true to form, Jungkook jumps into your bed and pats the covers like he’s the one inviting you into your own bed.

‘It’s my bed,’ you grumble, but he just laughs. 

He kisses you again, his mouth warm over yours. He tastes like the soju he’d been drinking, and he hums when you part your lips to taste more of him.

His tongue licks into your mouth, and when you run your hands over his shoulders he slips his shirt over his head. 

He stops you when your hands go to the hem of your top to do the same.

‘Can I?’ he asks.

You nod, and raise your arms to help.

‘Fuck,’ he murmurs. He’s staring at your breasts. ‘I’m going to need to cum on your tits as my last dying wish.’

‘Jeon Jungkook, shut the fuck up.’

‘Screaming my name already,’ he teases, but he starts kissing down the curve of your neck and the whine that falls from your lips is involuntary.

He hums approvingly as your arms tighten around his shoulders.

He dips his head between your breasts and then nips over the curve of your left breast.

He reaches around your back to unhook your bra, waits until you nod to undo it. 

‘Pretty,’ he says, then he’s sucking a hickey into your skin, laving with his tongue when you whine in protest.

He’s hard. You can feel him even through the layers of clothing as he grinds his hips on yours.

You tuck the tips of your fingers into the waistband of his jeans and tug. He kisses you again, then pushes up onto his knees on your bed.

He unbuttons, slips his jeans down, and holy fuck, it’s not like you haven’t seen him in his boxer briefs before, but it’s a whole different ball game when he’s looking down at you, heat in his eyes and his dick so hard your mouth waters at the sight of it.

No pun intended.

Jungkook pushes your hands away when they go to your own waistband.

 ‘Let me do it,’ he says. 

He tugs your jeans down over your ass and thighs.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes. ‘These silky panties look even better on you.’

You press a hand over his open mouth.

‘Shut up and fuck me,’ you say. 

You trail your hand over the length of him in his briefs, and then he’s moving fast, fumbling with his jeans.

He pulls out a strip of condoms and catches your eye.

You giggle at how ridiculous he looks, and a moment later, he’s laughing too.

‘How many times —‘

You’re cut off by his mouth on yours.

‘Many. I’ll fuck you as many times as you want,’ he tells you, breath hot on your cheek.

He nudges your thigh with his. ‘Spread.’

He fits himself between your legs and kisses you again. 

The blunt head of him nudges you, and you don’t realise you’re holding your breath until he’s in you all the way and you’re dizzy with pleasure.

He buries his head in your neck. 

‘Fuck. You feel so fucking good,’ he groans.

He moves, a slow stroke that makes you arch into him.

You moan his name, and he moves again, rocking his hips against yours, deep, hard.

You close your eyes but realise what a mistake that was when you open them again and see how beautiful Jeon Jungkook looks when he’s fucking you.

He hooks a forearm around your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed so he can stand and fuck you.

Fuck, how have you never realised how strong he is?

He smirks at you, and you’d want to slap it off his face except he’s doing something with his hips now that’s making the pleasure spiral and you’re two short steps from —-

He lowers his mouth to yours again and then you’re coming, legs wrapped around his hips, his chest flattening yours, his sweat all over you. 

He murmurs what sounds like approval as he fucks you through it.

You gasp his name and he groans, fucking you harder, speeding up and then slowing until he comes, buried deep inside you.

He pulls out, yanks off the condom with a whine and ties it off, dropping it on the floor carelessly. He collapses down next to you, panting. 

For a moment you’re both quiet.

Then he says, ‘Shit. That was way better than jerking off with those panties I stole.’

You slap him on the chest. ‘Shut up, asshole.’

‘Stop flirting with me. I need a minute before we can go again.’

Jungkook grins at you but he’s still got an arm around your hips and his thigh slotted between yours so you can’t be too mad.

***

You wake up to bright sunshine right in your face even though you drew the drapes last night before you went to bed because Jeon Jungkook is halfway in your open window.

You sit up, confused as hell. 

‘What the fuck—‘

You can’t work out if he’s coming or going.

You get your answer then he drops into your room with a thud.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Forgot to slash those tires last night.’

‘You didn’t?!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he advises. ‘We don’t want her to know it was me.’

You’re speechless.

‘Did you seriously just —‘

‘Don’t finish your question so I don’t have to answer it,’ Jungkook tells you.

He’s getting undressed again, kicking off his shoes, staring hard at your bare chest half covered by the duvet.

He jumps back into bed with you and you greet him with another kiss.

His hand trails over the curve of your breasts.

‘Let’s not talk about it again,’ you say.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees.

‘Do you want to come on my tits?’

Jungkook groans. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

You’re back at home in your apartment unpacking when the familiar banging on your door starts.

You yank the door open. ‘You literally just left, Jeon Jungkook,’ you complain, before you realise he’s not alone.

Jeon Mido, Jungkook’s mother and your boss, is standing outside your door and you’ve still got sand in your hair from fucking Jungkook on the beach before you left the beach house. 

Jungkook adjusts the collar of his shirt in a vain attempt to hide the hickey you gave him.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Jeon Mido smiles graciously at you. 

‘Jungkook tells me he met your parents over the weekend,’ she says.

‘They liked him a lot,’ you tell her, wondering where she’s going with this.

She nods. ‘Good. I thought maybe you’d like to come to dinner with us tomorrow night. My husband would love to meet you.’

You’re so surprised you can’t do anything but accept.

Jeon Mido smiles at you and takes her leave.

You turn to Jungkook. ‘What was that?’

Jungkook shrugs, shaking sand out of his jeans pockets. 

‘She’s always said she wants to meet my girlfriends.’

He’s not looking at you directly, and the tips of his ears are red.

‘What?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says, finally.  ‘I’ve never had a girl I’m dating meet my parents before.’

‘We’re not dating!’ 

He’s looking at you now. ‘Aren’t we?’

The way he’s looking at you gives you pause.

‘We see each other every day. We hang out at each others’ places. You help me with my problems and I help you with yours. I’ve met your family.’

He smiles. ‘And you’re the most fucking amazing girl I’ve ever met.’

You stare at him.

‘Unless,’ he continues, ‘you just want to be fuck buddies. I’m down with that too.’

He looks like he’s about to turn away so you grab his arm and tug him towards you. 

‘Ok, Jeon Jungkook, I’ll date you,’ you say.

He nods. ‘I thought so.’

He leans down so you can kiss the smug smirk off his face.

©hamsterclaw 2024

the fact he was intensely jealous was something that fucked with your head, something that had him ploughing into you on your bed practically nightly. something that you secretly enjoyed, but you realised now, at what cost? he couldn’t stomach the sight of you even conversing friendly talk with another man, always said it would drive him insane to see the way they’d lean into you as if they had a chance, as though they could get you. all that, and still nothing?

seeing him now, small smile on his face, shaking his head at something taehyung animatedly shouted at him, had you seething.

1 month and he was already happy? had you really meant nothing to him? you felt sick to your stomach even thinking about coming out tonight, but your closest friends jimin and yejin had practically forced you, one dolling your makeup up and the other forcing a tight little dress on your body. you had been moping around after ending things, cringing at the memory of tears and ice cream for the past 31 days.

you had ended it by showing up at his place unannounced as you both tended to do, to which he had immediately gone to grab you, planting kisses all over your face only for you to push him away. that small action had his heart falling into his stomach, eyes narrowing, observing you.

you had blurted everything, nothing really making sense as you stuttered over your words, something about how you couldn’t do it anymore, and a bunch of excuses before practically running out of the place, leaving jungkook in his sweatpants, chest heaving against his t-shirt. you had made no sense, and quite frankly, the poor guy had no idea what you were talking about whatsoever before you had left.

it didn’t help that you immediately had blocked him on every single platform - even going so far as to remove him as a friend on spotify.

the problem, now? jungkook had no idea what the fuck was happening.

you were barely coherent when you came round, jumping from sentence to sentence without fully finishing anything, clearly disturbed by whatever you were thinking, a classic case of overthinking, causing him to tilt his head as he watched you escape. by the tine he realised you had completely removed him from your life, he spent hours banging at your door to get your attention, only to be ignored. that continued for a whole two weeks until his friend, namjoon, gently asked him to stop out of respect for you.

he had no idea what he had done. had he upset you? he was loyal to you, to a fault at times, and he knew that there was something on your mind but he figured you’d let him know with time, he never liked to push you, especially given you struggled with expressing yourself. had you met someone? were they better, more attractive, had more money? did they treat you good? fuck. it made him feel sick to even think about.

it didn’t help how obsessive he felt over you. your cheeks, your eyes, the curve of your back and the plumpness to your lips. you were his dream woman, and he thought you knew that, knew that he would do anything for you. for over a year, he had kept his nature away from you, letting it slip whenever you’d even mention another man with the way his shoulders would spike, jaw tightening and scoff building in his throat.

so when taehyung had asked him to come out, he had initially denied the offer, only to scroll through his instagram and find jimin’s story, watching you all pregame for the exact same club. he had never shot up out of his daze so fast, showering within the speed of light.

getting ready and accepting the invitation was easy, but pretending that he hadn’t noticed you here yet? now that was difficult.

he could see the steam blowing out of your ears every time you looked away, and it was driving him insane. good, he thought. he wanted you just as obsessive, wanted you bothered to the point he had no option but to coax himself back into your head to ease you out of this bullshit.

it didn’t take long.

you were at the bar, unable to enjoy yourself whatsoever, completely ignoring jungkook’s presence but it was so much easier said than done when he looked so good. you loved him in anything baggy, especially given he was so tall and broad, it sat on him so nicely. you were watching other women ogle at him and it was making you feel sick. this was so unfair.

the irony sat heavy in the air considering jungkook had already threatened a good 5 guys for merely staring at you, promising them a fight they wouldn’t be able to win. his blood was boiling by the point you ordered your drink, shoulders straining as he tried to keep a healthy distance, eyes watching you.

you downed your shot, wincing as your other drink sat in front of you, your friends dancing. you were being ridiculous, but it was hard. it was hard knowing the only thing you had ever wanted hadn’t chosen you despite giving all of yourself - you had given your body, your soul, your mind. you had given him your heart and yet it wasn’t enough.

you chased the pain away as you drank, eyes shutting tight for a moment as you tried to push the emotion out of your chest. with a deep sigh, you began to inch away from the bar, about to turn around but the feel of a heavy chest suddenly pressed itself to your back.

before you could even gasp, your body pressed against the bar counter whilst also standing completely flush to a rock hard body you knew all too well. you wanted nothing more than to ease into it, let the warmth overcome you as you had done for so long, but the rational of your brain forced you to wake up.

“drink.” jungkook’s voice was almost mean in your ear as he grabbed his glass of water, pushing your drink away with his other hand.

you huffed, slapping one of his arms before turning around in his death grip, your bodies now flushed in an even more intense way.

“what do you want?”

his jaw ticked, his head dropping down at you before grabbing his drink once more, pushing it against your lip. “drink.”

you rolled your eyes, childishly mumbling under your breath as you pathetically let the water touch your lip, feigning your action just to piss him off more. it did, and the way he was openly grunting at you with a look of anger only made the emotion in your stomach dissipate.

“now, if you don’t mind me, i’m here to have fun with my friends.” you grumbled, pushing at his chest as you began shuffling out of his arms only for him to grab at your arms, pushing your hands onto his chest just the way you both liked it.

“ghosted me for a whole month, and you think you can just walk away?” he scoffed at you openly, a look of genuine disbelief on his face. “why the fuck did you block me?”

your eyes narrowed even further at his words, it being your turn to scoff in his face. “are you serious?”

jungkook had little patience, but it ran even thinner at your display of pure brattiness. you managed to push his chest back enough to slip out of his grip, grumbling under your breath as you walked in the direction of the bathroom, hands shaking on either side of you.

how was this real? how was he so unaware despite the fact you had explained yourself? okay, you weren’t the most coherent but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what you were telling him - the dynamic was over, done and dusted. you weren’t waiting around for him anymore, and you deserved a whole lot better than a man who couldn’t even properly commit to you.

before you could utter another curse word in your head directed right at him, your body was all but pressed into the wall beside you, knocking the air out of your lungs as large arms began to cage you in, hiding you away from everyone.

big eyes shared a look.

yours, wondering up in confusion, in a betrayed sense of comfort that you had become accustomed to over the past year and a lingering anger that was ready to boil over.

his? utter, dismissal. he was annoyed beyond belief, and whatever you had just sprouted at him was already binned in his head, not enough explanation for your behaviour over the past few days.

“listen to me.” his voice sat heavy, despite it echoing only for you to hear. “you’re going to explain to me what is going on, and why you suddenly deleted me out of your life. no more bullshit, y/n.”

you wiggled in his grip. “i already told you, jungkook! i showed up at your place, i..i explained myself!”

“you call that explaining yourself?” he scoffed loudly. “you show up, say about three words that don’t make sense, run away, and then i’m suddenly blocked everywhere?”

his face was suddenly closer to yours, watching the way you gulped lightly, his presence still making you nervous despite all this time.

“is there someone else?” he finally asked, a sense of dread in his tone masked by his current annoyance but you knew him better than anyone. “what? no.” you huffed, shaking your head at the prosperous idea.

“then what, y/n?” he poked once more, causing you to shut your eyes. “you don’t want me no more? then just fucking say it. this shit isn’t normal.”

“you don’t want me anymore.” you blurted out in a shout, anger finally bubbling over. “you don’t want me. you’ve never wanted me, not in a way that makes sense, i’m just some girl you fuck whenever you need it because i’m readily accessible.”

your chest was heaving.

“this isn’t normal, jungkook. over a year and all i am to you is someone you can cum inside, and then you go about doing whatever the fuck you want to whilst i sit back thinking you’ll care for me properly one day. do you know shitty it feels when you come over, and we cuddle and you kiss me and tell me all these nice things but in the end it means nothing because you won’t even fucking claim me?”

your lip had began to quiver, your eyes filling up embarrassingly fast. jungkook always called you a cry baby with the way you were so prone to letting a tear or two drop, but in this very moment he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than let out a very large, “huh?”

you met his gaze, wiping your eyes angrily at his reaction. “you’re such a dick.”

your body wiggled, your hands pushing against his chest harshly as you monopolised on the utter shock on his face, managing to slip free for almost a second before his hands clamped down on your waist, pushing you straight back against the wall.

“get off!” you hissed causing him to narrow his eyes at you, grabbing your hands with one of his own, harshly placing them above your head. the position was degrading considering you were in public, especially considering he knew how badly it ruined you from the inside out.

“listen to me, y/n.” he had a crazed sort of look in his eye. “i need you to make sense to me, because none of what you just said does. the fuck you mean claim?”

“are you trying to humiliate me? you know what i mean.” you wiggled, tears already beginning to stream.

“explain it to me. i’m being serious.”

his other hand that sat on your waist quickly wiped your eyes, removing any remnant of salty tears despite renewal freely leaking from your eyes. you felt embarassed, your lip quivering as you avoided his gaze, look dropping to your heeled feet.

“been waiting to be your girlfriend for a year and i realised that was never gonna happen so i’m moving on. i want someone who wants me in the same way.” you admitted in a broken tone. “not someone who’s gonna reap all the benefits and then throw me aside one day.”

jungkook’s face then was beyond any emotion you had ever, ever seen on him. pure bewilderment, as though what you had just said was a combination of words never even thought to be said. it made you self conscious, as though you were preparing for him to laugh at you or look at you completely different, something you couldn’t bring yourself to endure.

and so, you wiggled once more, just as your chest began to heave deeper, desperately trying to get away, which seemed to be a common theme between you whenever you were uncomfortable. his grip didn’t lessen, only tightened as he forced you to look at him by grabbing your face harsher than you’d ever felt it.

your eyes fluttered up, slightly confused as you bit down a sob, sniffing through salted beads.

“we are not on the same page.” he whispered quietly down at you, as though his words felt disgusting to even say. “the fuck you mean you’ve been waiting to be my girlfriend? you already are.”

it was your turn to let out a loud “huh” in response, eyes narrowing. was he trying to embarrass you again?

“jungkook, this isn’t funny to me, okay? so just leave me alone.”

“listen to me before i go fucking crazy. you are my girlfriend. you’ve been my girlfriend for the past year so what the fuck are you talking about?”

he sounded utterly exasperated, as though this being the reason for your forced silence for over a month was enough to have him pulling at his own hair.

he let you go for a moment as you stood completely still, eyes wide, still crying but body no longer fighting his as shock filtered through every one of your veins. you weee simply stood as he ran his hands harshly through his hair, his eyes shut for a moment or two before turning to you.

“i genuinely can’t tell if you’re being serious right now, y/n.” he admitted, voice strained.

“i’m..your girlfriend?”

“yes. yes you are. you have been for a whole year. we quite literally went out to celebrate our anniversary before you blocked me everywhere.” he grunted, annoyance at an all time high as he watched your lip quiver into a sob. “but..i thought..you never even call me that and you never asked and i had no idea that was for our anniversary, i thought..thought you were being mean and celebrating our situationship..”

“what the actual fuck is happening right now?” jungkook muttered to himself eyes wide as shook his head openly at you. “baby, i’d call you mine every two seconds. i tell you i love you every chance i get.”

“but..you’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend so i just..”

“you think i’ve been fucking you for a year without putting my name on you, y/n, are you serious?”

you felt humiliated beyond words, a level of shame creeping up your spine that had you wanting to throw up then and there. he would call you his girl constantly, but it would only ever ache your soul considering you thought you weren’t in a relationship, it only breaking your heart further when he would tell you he loved you. it was like stopping a race just before the finishing line, leaving you in a state of confusion and heartbreak. only to now find out you were wrong?

you had broken your heart over something that wasn’t even real.

“you are the smartest girl i know but fuck, you’re such an idiot. this is why you haven’t been speaking to me, y/n?” he asked exasperatedly, tucking a strand behind your ear. “i’ve been going out of my mind, thought you met someone new or something, guys had to drag me out tonight or i wouldn’t have even come.”

you sniffled, hiding your face in your hands as you nodded, letting out a quiet sound that resembled a sob. he melted, cursing under his breath as he kept his pure annoyance at bay.

you were stupid, his stupid baby and he hated how badly he wanted to do nothing more than wrap you up in his arms, ruin you, kiss you, cherish you - the thought of his girl not realising she was his girl was enough to put a man like him into cardiac arrest. he now had every intention of showing you his true emotions, especially the ones he had kept in and locked away in fears of scaring you due to their intensity.

no longer. you had to be reminded.

and so, he took a hold of your hands, pulling them away from your face before pressing his forehead to yours, breathing in your scent after being forced away from you for so long over nothing more than a stupid discrepancy between you.

“listen to me.” he whispered then, lips grazing your cheek. “i’m gonna take you to my place. gonna wash you up, get you fed, and then we’re gonna sit down and actually talk. you hear me?”

you nodded, hands on his chest, finally allowing yourself to relax in his hold despite the sniffles and hiccups.

“and then, we make up for the past fucking month.” his tone was harsh once more, as though referencing the past 31 days being away from you was enough to send the man to an early grave.

to that, you nodded once more, allowing jungkook to take a hold of you, lead you out of the club and into the night air, where within minutes, you sat in his arms, kissing and sniffling, in an uber to his home. he was nothing but efficient, taking care of you just as you had learned to crave, making quick work of your makeup, your outfit, stealing your underwear for his own pleasure, before submerging you to his wandering hands as he finally got you into his bed.

his girl. all his. he’d never let you doubt it again.

—

a little drabble for you guys, this came to me in a 15 minute nap break at work lol so please enjoy

“No. No. This is not true. This is not true.” Your murmur under your breath. Clenching your phone hard, you try to keep your breathing stable. 

“Calvin Kline Ambassador Jeon Jungkook is rumored to be dating actress Han Jiwon.” you read the headline again and then dive into the article. It explains how your boyfriend had been seen leaving his hotel with one of the most popular actresses of the industry. 

There is no mistake, it is Jungkook indeed. You would recognize his bunny features even in your deep sleep, no matter how many hats and masks he uses to conceal his identity. In the picture, he is tightly grasping the hands of the actress as both of them are caught by the camera. 

The picture was probably taken last month during Jungkook’s overseas schedule. He didn’t mention having a “friend” over there. He never mentioned anything about meeting Jiwon there. But again, he hardly ever mentions anything anymore. 

You put your phone upside down. Inhaling a deep breath, you shut your eyes. 

Your body feels heavy, your heart twists in a fear of uncovering a truth that will leave you broken, will leave you stranded on a lonely island all by yourself. 

You knew he was changing, you knew he was drifting apart, you know he doesn’t look at you with the same glint in his eyes. You know it all and yet you kept your fingers crossed. 

A tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp the lump that formed in your throat overtime. 

The door lock chimes in signaling someone has just punched the key-code. You know who it is but you stay in your place, eyes closed. 

Soft thud of foot-steps echo in your otherwise silent apartment. You still don’t budge. 

He slowly walks closer to your body, stands right beside you, and places a hand on your shoulder. 

“It is not what you think it is, Y/N” Jungkook speaks with a barely audible voice. 

“I know.” you reply while standing up from your seat. 

“I didn’t cheat.” he explains again. 

You come face to face with him. His face bears no sign of discomfort, pain or guilt. It’s just… blank. His eyes are so blank that you think he is actually sorry for not cheating on you. 

“I know.” you offer again. Walking forward towards your boyfriend, you wrap him in your embrace but… he doesn’t hug you back immediately. 

When he places his hands flat on your back, not totally wrapping you up the way he used to, you know it. You know it’s gone. 

The familiarity of his warmth, his scent, the feeling of being home, is gone. Even if your body is touching his, you know he is actually miles and miles away from you. And you have doubts if he is ever going to return or not.

--

Taglist:-

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” Valentine spits at you with bloodied gums while he lays on the floor with all the will to live beaten out of him.

You’re much better off. Of course you were. You wouldn’t let someone as vile or unimportant as Valentine ruin your pantsuit because while you thought the establishment was exorbitant, it was still costly and made you look like a bad bitch.

“Says the one who planted chips into people’s head only to blow them up.” You roll your eyes, tossing your blazer over your shoulder as Merlin sighs at the scene behind you when you cock your head towards the pitiful soon-to-be prisoner.

“I thought we said no damage.”

You shrug.

“This is no damage. Couldn’t help that my hand slipped.” You return.

Merlin is about to retort but your teammate stomps out of the abandoned church with his eyes narrowed to your figure that retreats to the comfort of your car.

You almost forget that you weren’t on this mission alone until the presence of your partner appears by your side and you’ve worked with him long enough to know that he’s shooting daggers on the side of your forehead.

“We agreed to bring him back in one piece.” Jungkook snarls at you.

You see that he’s way worse off compared to you. But it could have alluded to the fact that he warded off the rest of the guards that ambushed the two of you when you first arrived. The priority was finding Valentine and making sure that he was captured and under your scrutiny, so you agreed to head off first while Jungkook did the dirty work.

“His limbs are still attached to his body, I don’t see how I didn’t uphold to the end of our agreement?” You stop in your tracks, causing Jungkook to skid in his steps as his chest makes contact with your back.

When you turn around, he’s absolutely furious but that only spurs on the wide grin that appears on your face.

“Valentine looks like he’s been through six wars and a botched plastic surgery attempt!” He hisses.

You roll your eyes, folding your arms across your chest as you take in Jungkook’s growing rage. He’s never been the level-headed one between the two of you but you were also the more infuriating one. You were fully aware of that and you were going to use it to your advantage. You didn’t beckon your way through the misogynistic Kingsman system to be bossed around by some stereotypical posh man who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

“And that’s what he deserved. I did what I had to do, Jeon.” You retort as venomously as he had.

Jungkook literally growls and you know you’ve annoyed him further because he was the typical Kingsman agent that attempted to uphold all the core values and paraded around the base with the manners maketh man phrase that he loved to milk. You, on the other hand, didn’t believe in that shit at all because you were not mannered and neither were you a man. Jungkook walked the ground like he had a stick up his ass half the time and you had no time to deal with his uptightness.

“We are on a mission, Lancelot. I go by Galahad.” He reminds you but you wave him off, turning around to head towards your car.

Jungkook grits his teeth as he sees Merlin drag a detained Valentine—who leaves a trail of blood in his path—to the van where he’d be brought back to the cells. He couldn’t believe that you had the audacity to go against direct orders from your superior like that! But at the same time, you’ve pulled things like this more than once and rubbed Jungkook the wrong way every time you’d brush off any lament that came from him.

He doesn’t think you were incapable of being a Kingsman agent, although it hasn’t always been that way. But he did believe that you should at least uphold the fundamental values that made Kingsman the reputable secret service it was.

“You act like Jeon is the worst of the names I call you.” You snort.

Jungkook wants to remind you that it’s not and he’s aware but he’s highly exhausted after fending off numerous men on his own while you got to catch the largest bait of the day, your pantsuit hardly creasing in the process.

“Would it kill you to follow orders?” Jungkook snaps.

The two of you reach the car and he snatches the keys from your palm before you can step into the driver’s seat. You raise an eyebrow at his gesture and look him up and down before your bored eyes rest upon his still pinched expression.

“If we get pulled over the police are going to think you’re a runaway.”

Jungkook scowls but enters the car anyway. You follow him shortly into the passenger seat as you immediately tug off the band that kept your hair in a ponytail as you ruffle your hair, slipping off the heels off your feet. You found it absurd that the agency demanded you wear heels onto a field mission purely because it was the Kingsman brand. It wasn’t like you couldn’t fight in them but obviously, it made you slightly slower than you’d like.

“You’re going to shut up and not say a single word during the ride back because I’ve had enough of that smart ass mouth of yours.” Jungkook snaps.

“It’s cute that you think I’m going to listen to you, Jeon.” You pat his thigh in consolation and he just curses under his breath.

Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to argue back because, for every remark he makes, he’s sure you have at least ten responses phrased in different ways to respond with.

“If you called me in for a staring contest then I’m afraid we have to reschedule. I’ve got a bottle of wine and some fried chicken waiting for me in my quarters.” You deadpan.

The man who sits in front of you is unnerved and you expect no less from the current Director of Kingsman. It also wasn’t the first time you’ve sat before him with the very same look marring his face. You know what the conversation is going to be about and he knows that you know.

“Agent Lancelot—”

You scoff when you lean forward, narrowing your eyes at your superior before he purses his lips at your gesture.

“How many times did I tell you to ditch the alias? It’s unnecessary especially since we’re in your office which is debatably the most vaulted place in all of the Kingsman quarters. It isn’t like Valentine is going to come crawling through the vents and demand for my birth certificate.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose because when he hired you after you—impressively—passed the most gruesome and intense interview process with a blink of your eye, he didn’t know what to expect when he took the risk of recruiting the first-ever woman Kingsman.

But now that it’s been years since you’ve made a name for yourself and all other keen women who were looking for the opportunity to train as an agent, he realised that you were not just a skilled agent but a sharp and impenetrable fortress that would never let anyone tell her what to do.

Which was frankly—inconvenient—given the nature of Kingsman work that often relied on partnership and collaboration. But those words weren’t in your dictionary and Namjoon can see the way you look bored before the conversation started as you sit in front of him with a blank expression on your face.

“It’s nice to see you, ______,” Namjoon says dryly, clasping his fists together before leaning forward on his elbows that your faces are closer.

“Are you going to call me out for disobeying orders and bringing back Valentine like butchered meat? If you want an apology then you know you’re not going to get it,” You say blankly before turning in the swivel chair; already halfway off before Namjoon stops you.

“Jungkook has been telling me that you’ve been harder to work with recently.” Namjoon points out.

You scoff.

“Of course he’ll say that. I’m the better agent in the partnership and it bruises his puny masculine ego. Tell him to shove it and deal with it because it’s going to get harder.”

Namjoon shoots you an unimpressed glare before he wills himself to maintain a decent amount of level-headedness as he reasons with you.

“The both of you are talented agents—” Namjoon says slowly and you know he’s only saying that to appease you and not break his neutrality when it came to agents so you roll your eyes at his attempt, “—and because the two of you are always going on the most important missions it’s imperative that you work together.”

“Namjoon.” You blink, “Jeon is the most infuriating individual I have been condemned to meet and I literally have no idea why you won’t just switch me out with—I don’t know—Jin or something. He isn’t as mouthy or pretentious as Jeon.”

Namjoon sighs.

“Firstly, why can’t you ever call him by his first name? And secondly—you know why I can’t do that. Jin is in-charge of international operations and we need you here on domestic land. You and Jungkook are the most qualified agents of the region and it is in my best interest, as well as the nations to have you two work together.”

You wave him off before you push yourself off the chair completely, offering a sloppy salute out to his direction and you see Namjoon’s shoulder deflate at your stubbornness. But before you’re even able to make your way out of the door, you see a face that makes you scowl.

“Talking shit about me behind my back, babe?” Jungkook narrows his eyes at you.

You snort.

“If I wanted to talk shit about you, I’d do it to your face so I can watch your fragile ego shatter in front of my eyes. And—if you don’t want your balls detached from your body and served to you as a door gift then I suggest you never call me babe ever again.”

You’re about to push past him but his hand reaches for your shoulder and stops you with a tight grip as you snap your head to glare at him. You’re about to throw him off you, literally, but Jungkook is also skilled and he sees the telltale signs of your anger for him to defend himself against your attack.

When you pull his arm to lug his body over yours, he manages to lock your grip and bring you into a headlock—chest pressed to your back as he breathes down your hair while you feel the cocky smirk of his spread across his face.

“Let go of me you fucking shithead.” You snarl.

Jungkook snorts and only tightens his grip on you, twisting your chin between his thumb and index finger so you’re glaring directly at his face that is only a mere inches away from yours to give you a taunting grin that you want to slap off his face.

“You’ll never outdo the doer—” He whispers so low that it almost seems like it’s just the two of you, “—baby.”

You take that as a chance to knee him in the stomach and shove him away before you dust your hands on your pants, only to remember that you were still in Namjoon’s office and he likely saw the show that the two of you put on.

“I … I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Namjoon clears his throat before gesturing to the two of you to take a seat as if you weren’t seconds away from walking out that door.

“Look, Namjoon—we—I—don’t need this group therapy session with him, okay? The two of us can work together but that doesn’t mean I’ll listen to what he says. His judgement is clouded by the systemic oppression that Kingsman entrenches to their agents and I won't stand for that.”

Jungkook’s fists tighten at your blatant disrespect to the organisation that employed you, and he remembers every reason why he hates you so much.

“_____,” Namjoon sighs, “I don’t understand why you walked into that interview years ago if you hate everything that Kingsman stands for.”

You clench your fists by your side because of course, he didn’t understand. And of course, Jungkook, Jimin, Jin and even Merlin didn’t understand. They didn’t need the luxury of understanding a system that favoured people like them.

“Then let me spell it out for you both,” You say emphasise each word with a spit.

Jungkook clenches his jaw but remains silent.

“I walked into that interview knowing I was going to ace that shit because I owed that first step to all the women that were used and abused by your Kingsmen. The women that were offered comfort for sex to only be shunned and disposed of by the esteemed agents you call Kingsmen. I am not a Kingsman and I am not Lancelot. I am ______ ______ and I’m a woman who fucking owned every single one of those male agents that day who decided to snicker and laugh at me when they wouldn’t be able to ever walk a mile in my shoes. I’m here because I have a point to prove.”

Namjoon is stunned to silence and you don’t know what triggers your outburst but you suppose its years of repression and having to work alongside a male peer that only sees you as impressive because of your gender and not because of your skills. The comments rubbed you the wrong way and you never looked back since.

“_______ …” Namjoon begins but you glare at him and that’s enough to send him silent.

But you see the way Jungkook’s jaw twitches and you know that sign well enough to know he’s about to say something you won’t like.

“That’s it? All the anger, bitchiness and attitude for you to prove a point?” Jungkook scoffs, “You’re that pathetic?”

“Jungkook—” Namjoon warns.

“You walked into this life and you need to deal with the consequences. I don’t give two shits your intention in Kingsman but you’re here and you’re working for the Kingsman so you better suck all that bitterness up or leave. Don’t you dare disrespect the foundation of what a Kingsman is.” Jungkook hisses.

The expression on your face is thunderous and Jungkook has never seen you like that, ever. Not even when the two of you were arguing head to head and everyone else thought someone was going to end up hurt. No, this is much more … threatening. A look that’s so unfamiliar but familiar enough because it’s the first time he’s seen it directed to him.

“I wonder why you’re so overprotective about the Kingsman name, hm?” You say blankly, “Is it because that your entire identity revolves around it? That you’ve never seen a world with eyes when you weren’t a Kingsman? You’re pathetic, Jeon. You’re nothing without the title but at least I know what I want. You don’t. You’re just hiding behind the suit and weapons to make you feel like a man but you’re just a sorry excuse of a human being that only sees the world through a bigoted lens.”

Jungkook is about to retort but you’re faster, and the action alarms both Namjoon and Jungkook when you—

“I quit.” You smile.

The badge and your key weapon with nothing but a slam to the table.

“______—“ Namjoon stands up but you don’t spare him another glance before you’re out the door.

“Jungkook, are you going to eat or not?” The irritation is audible in your voice and you want him to hear it loud and clear. 

“I told you I am coming.” Jungkook stretches, sitting at his place. 

“Yes, twice. Thirty and fifty minutes ago. Are you going to come or should I go and eat on my own?” Your patience gets thinner with every single word that you let out of your mouth. 

Your fiance swivels his chair to face you, “why? Are you that hungry?” he laughs. 

You are a big admirer of his beautiful bunny smile but right now it’s bothering you beyond imagination.  

“Yes, I am that hungry. Because I thought we would go out to eat so I starved myself, but you became so busy gaming that I had to cook to entertain myself and now I am hungry and tired. So please if you are not in the mood for eating then tell me already.” letting all the frustration out is tiring in its own way. 

The smile from Jungkook’s face disappears as your words register in his mind. He sighs, rolling his eyes, “don’t need to be so whiny, Y/N. If you were hungry, you could have just told me so.” 

Standing up from his chair he passes you without sparing you another glance. You follow him wordlessly. 

This has been going on for some time. Your four year old relationship has very recently turned into something more - a commitment. And for the same amount of time, you have been noticing certain changes. 

Jungkook has been busy… not with work but with gaming. 

Both of you are professionally busy people. You being an attorney and Jungkook being a drone designer, you hardly get any time to spend with each other. And these days whatever time you are getting - he has been spending it by playing games. 

After months you have gotten this one long weekend - you both have taken Fridays off, so you could spend the three sacred days together. But jokes on you. You woke up to find yourself alone in bed. Jungkook was already awake, bathed and in his gaming room playing games since morning. 

You still thought it was fine, because you two had plans of eating out at night. But things definitely didn’t go as planned. 

You waited all day for him to come out of that damn room and offer you his tiniest bit of attention. But to no avail. 

You wait now. You wait for him to say something, anything. But Jungkook eats in silence, he hardly even looks at you. 

Not being able to take it anymore, you start the process of breaking the ice. “What are we going to do after dinner?” 

Jungkook being immersed in his phone doesn't hear you at first but then you knock on the table and repeat your question. He looks up like a deer caught in headlights, “I'm going to finish my game, why?” 

Your irritation reaches its peak upon hearing his nighttime plans. 

“You're going to the game again? Then what about me? What am I going to do?” you ask him calmly, even though your insides are squeezing in a painful twist. 

“Do whatever you usually do. Read a book, watch a movie.” He shrugs as if he has nothing to do with it. 

“Jungkook, I came here to spend the weekend with you. We decided to spend some time together because both of us have been super busy lately. But you have been gaming since the morning. You can at least stop now and spend the night with me? Is it really that hard?” You are still keeping your anger in check. You know Jungkook can be really dumb at times, so all that you need to do is to put a few words though his skull and he will be able to understand you. 

“I didn't ask you to come and spend time with me, Y/N. Neither did I take today off to spend time with you. My original plan was to play games and I will be gaming for the entire weekend. If you don't like it, I don't know what I can do for you. I'm sorry.” your fiance breaks your heart very casually. You sit and process each and every word he just spoke. 

“So you're trying to say that you don't even miss me? That playing games is more important than your fiance?” Even saying these words are incredibly painful. Every cell of your body is going through a revolt that tells you it's not true, that what you heard is wrong, that Jungkook can not compare your importance with his games. 

“Again!” He stands up from his chair, “again that same old comparison! That same me or the ps5 thing! Oh god Y/N, grow up please!” Carding a hand through his hair, he continues, “Gaming helps relieve my stress. Can you do that? No! Just because you're my fiance doesn't mean you get some kind of superpower! Hell! If I knew this engagement would bring these kinds of obstacles in my way of freedom, I would have thought twice.” 

The last sentence that Jungkook utters arrows through your sanity. 

“Are you saying you regret getting engaged to me?” You ask to confirm, already having a very bad feeling about it all. 

“Yes.” He replies hastily and then walks away towards his gaming room. 

You watch him retreating back as your vision starts clouding with tears. 

Jungkook is not the best boyfriend in the world. Neither you are the best girlfriend ever, but together you two try to be good. 

You two have fought before, you two have made up as well. But never once in the expanse of your four years of relationship has he ever said that he regrets getting together with you, he has never once wished to leave you behind. 

But you guess, everything has a first time. 

Today, Jungkook telling you that he regrets getting engaged to you might be the result of his long suppressed frustration. 

You have no idea for how long Jungkook has been regretting this engagement, you have no idea for how long he can take it all without breaking. 

But if the problem is you, shouldn't you be the one to end it all? Shouldn't you be the one to walk out and set him free? 

If he really regrets putting this ring on you then what's the point of carrying this on you? 

Several questions surround you from all the four directions. You sit still, not ready to cry just yet. 

The answer comes in like a chilling cold wind - “leave him before he leaves you.” And that's it. That is what you are going to do. 

You run to the bedroom. There's a notepad kept in the drawer of the nightstand. You bring it and a pen out to the living room with you. 

The pen glides smoothly on the paper as you start writing, 

“Since you regret getting engaged to me, I'm calling it off. I guess that's it for us then. Stay well.” 

Your eyes start stinging with tears again, but you blink those away. The hardest part is still remaining and you need to stay strong through it all. 

Tearing the page away from the notepad, you slide the ring off of your finger and put those down together on the table. 

The next steps are easy - gathering your things and walking out of the door. 

As soon as the door closes behind your back, tears start streaming down your face. By the time you get inside the elevator, your will to stay strong has cracked severely. It's just one poke away from crumbling down. 

But you still hold yourself together, unwilling to break down and gain unwanted attention. 

Once you leave the building, you start wondering where to go. Going home straight means you will replay the events and cry till you pass out, you don't want that. 

You don't want to feel miserable and alone and left behind by the person you have truly loved. Clutching your overnight bag tightly you walk in the opposite direction and take the path towards the nearest Han River Park. You trun your phone off on the way. 

Something about the Han River calms you down, so maybe spending some time alone there would help in neutralizing the beast that's currently ruling your head and heart. 

In Jungkook's opinion gaming is one of the best kinds of stress-killer. 

His job being demanding, he looks forward to having his own time during the weekends when he could play games without having anyone to disturb him. 

His other stress-reliever is you. Spending some time with you and talking about everything and nothing at the same time helps him out by great means. 

However, this week has been a little different. The unexpected crossover had made him choose one of his two preferences. 

He knows he agreed to you when you asked if you wanted to spend the weekend with you. He thought he would be able to differentiate time between you and his games but he failed. 

His initial plan was to game all morning and spend the evening with you. But even before he realized morning turned into noon, then afternoon and then eventually into night. Try as he might (he didn't try at all) but he couldn't leave gaming. 

He kept telling himself, “one more level, one more level.” But that last level came a little too late. 

His fight with you was unceremonious. He was in a bad mood already and he took it out on you by saying some mean stuff. And he can't even recall what he said now. 

His back sends SOS signals to him in the form of a sharp stinging pain. He straightens his back, rapidly clicking his mouse for one last kill. And that's it. The KO sign paints across the screen, satisfying him. 

“That's it for today” Jungkook tells himself, stretching his arms and detaching the headphones from his ears. 

Standing up he slowly walks out of his gaming room and enters the living room. The clock says it's one in the morning. So, you are most probably sleeping. 

If he goes in and cuddles you to sleep, will you push him away? You won't, right? 

He will apologize right away. He knows he deserves your animosity. If you give him silent treatment, he will gladly accept that too, but he needs to make peace with you. 

He enters the bedroom and stops right at the door. You are not here. Are you in the bathroom? But the bed looks untouched. He slowly approaches the bathroom. Twisting the lock, he finds it open. 

Jungkook frowns on his own. His feet take him back to the living room. 

He looks for a sign of you. Your clothes, your phone, anything related to you. But no.. nothing. Wait. There's something on the table. 

Jungkook rushes to retrieve it. It's a paper and… your ring. 

“Since you regret getting engaged with me, I'm calling it off. I guess that's it for us then. Stay well.” 

Jungkook’s world collapses in one go. The walls of his empire come down like a house made of cards. He recalls the events of earlier - he really said that. He really said he regrets getting engaged with you. It was not what he meant at all. He was in a bad mood, and he didn't feel like arguing any further with you, so he just.. he just chose to be a fucker and hurt you beyond imagination. 

And now you have left him. 

You have left him. 

You have taken off the ring he put on you with dreams in his eyes, with hopes of the future, with a chest full of love. 

And it's all his fault. All of this is his and his fault alone! 

He needs to fix it. He needs to fix you right now. 

Jungkook fishes out his phone from his pocket and unlocks it to find your contact right away. A drop of tear falls on the screen and only then he realizes he has been crying. 

“The number you are trying to call is currently switched off. Please try again after some time.” 

The same automated message goes again and again as Jungkook tries to call you numerous times. You never turn off your phone. Are you out of charge? Or have you turned it off so that he can't contact you? Whatever it is, it's not time to sit still looking pretty. 

Jungkook rushes inside to change into his biking gear. His bike is the best option if he wants to reach you as fast as he can.

Within ten minutes he is out and starting his bike. Your place is not too far from his, so he will be there within 15 minutes or so. He will get down on his knees and ask for forgiveness, he will make things right. He has to. He has to. 

Everything is going according to plan - he reaches your apartment within the expected time frame. He is ready to couch down on his knees to… except you are not at home. He repeatedly presses the doorbell but you are not opening the door. He had no other option than to punch the door code and go in. But when he finds your apartment pitch dark in every corner, he realises you are not here. 

Jungkook rushes out of your apartment and rakes his head for possible locations. Can you be at your parents house? But they live in Gwangju and all the last buses and trains have already stopped running for the day, so you are most likely not there. 

Jungkook takes out his phone and calls Yena, your best friend. She doesn't receive the call the first time, so he calls her again. She receives the call this time and greets him with a very sleepy voice. 

“Sorry for bothering you so late, Yena, but has Y/N gone to your house?” Jungkook asks, he is nervous beyond imagination. 

“Y/N? No? I haven't even heard from her since yesterday. Is everything okay?” Your best friend replies, shattering every hope he had. 

“Oh. Okay. I… yes everything is fine. She is probably at her parents' house. I'll let you know once I find her.” he cuts the call. His eyes are full of tears again. If he can't find you now, he will never be able to forgive himself. And then something strikes him. 

Han river parks. Yes! You might have gone to one. 

You have always loved sitting down by the river whenever you have too much in your mind. He should start searching for the nearest one from his apartment. 

Jungkook boards his bike and takes an U turn and drives towards his home again. 

It doesn’t take him much time to spot you and he will always be thankful to the almighty for letting him find you easily. 

Jungkook takes slow and steady steps towards you. 

You are sitting as still and straight as a ramrod, staring ahead into nothing particular. He closes the distance between him and you with a few steps and kneels down before you, making sure he is at your eye level. 

You don’t startle, don’t even move - there’s no change in your posture in your overall calmness. 

This is bad news. Jungkook has known you for more than five years now and within this time he has learnt a lot about you. One of the pieces of knowledge that he gathered about is that you fight until you care. The moment you stop fighting and calm down, you are detached, you stop caring. 

And right now, the way you are calm and almost unmoving despite Jungkook’s sudden appearance - tells him of that tough truth. 

You are going to forgive him, right? 

“Y/N…” he places one of his hands on your thigh. You don’t respond. 

“Y/N, I am sorry. I made a mistake. Please talk to me?” he puts a little pressure on the hold he has on you. 

You only move your eyes and look down at him. With a very stoic face you reply, “there’s nothing to talk about. It’s late. Go back.” 

“I will not move an inch until you come with me.” Tears stream down Jungkook’s face, he wipes those with his sleeve and continues, “I know I made a mistake, you can punish me all you want but please don’t do this. Please! Please don’t leave me.” 

“I don’t want you to keep regretting, Jungkook. And breaking this engagement is the best decision you can take to stop with your regrets.” your voice doesn't waver when you utter those words, it’s as if you are done making your decision and you are just delivering the verdict right now.   

“It was a mistake. I was not in the right mind when I said that. I swear, Y/N. it wasn’t the truth. I never regretted choosing you. I never regretted getting engaged to you. I never-” Jungkook fails to continue as a large sob chokes him out of words. 

He shakes violently while crying, his head lulls and falls on your lap. Jungkook cries, hiding his face on your lap. You don’t move your hand to caress his hair like you usually do. You sigh instead. 

“You are making me look like the bad guy now, Jungkook. Please go home. I have no intention of returning with you.” Your voice is low but firm. 

“Please give me another chance, Y/N.” he hoists his head and looks at you. You are already looking at him. “Please. I beg you. Please.” 

“I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t know anything anymore.” you look away again, the resignation in your voice pierces through his heart, puncturing it and making all the blood ooze out slowly and painfully. 

“Okay. Okay. You don’t have to forgive me now. But at least come home with me? This is not safe. It’s late, Y/N. This is not safe at all.” Jungkook is now desperate. 

You only sigh again. 

He clasps your hands, “please. Please!” 

He watches as you close your eyes probably in annoyance or to resist yourself from crying or to contemplate what he just proposed. 

“Okay. But I will leave early in the morning.” again you say those words as if delivering a verdict. 

Jungkook knows better than to argue with you, so he nods, “I won’t stop you if you really want to. I promise.” 

You stand up, start walking, Jungkook starts following you closely.  

The ride back home was awkward and tense. 

Not that there was a lot of opportunity for a conversation during a bike ride but your body was straight and stiff the entire ride. You didn’t even hold him, didn’t lean on him the way you usually do. Jungkook knows he should have not expected normal behavior from you after what he did but it did hurt him anyway. 

The moment you two reached his apartment, you climbed off and walked away. Jungkook hastily parked his bike and followed you as closely as possible. 

You wait for him to punch the door-code, although you know it as well as he does. For a moment he doesn’t understand what is happening, why are you standing before the door without taking action? 

Slowly he understands that you have taken a backseat, you are not going to utilize any of your rights anymore. With a heavy heart, he puts the door code, the door opens and you walk in. 

The first few minutes inside the same place where everything took place is certainly very tense. Jungkook tries to draw a mind map of how to approach you, how to ask for forgiveness - but his head is blank. If there’s anything then it’s a fear of losing you forever. 

You start walking towards the guest room but before you can, Jungkook grabs you by your wrist. You slowly, very slowly, turn around and face him with tired eyes and an indifferent expression. 

“Y/N, please don’t leave me.” he intended to say more, probably an entire speech asking for forgiveness but he managed to utter only one sentence - the most important one. 

“I am nothing… nothing without you. Please.. Please forgive me just this once. I promise you, I will never repeat this mistake.” Jungkook’s tears rain down his face and drop down on the back of your hands. 

For the first time tonight Jungkook hears you sucking in a deep breath. With a trembling voice you answer, “I thought we were done talking about this.” 

With hope he looks up. His heart hurts and feels relieved at the same time with what he sees. Your face contorts with efforts of keeping your tears at bay. The faraway look of your eyes is gone. Jungkook can see tears there now. He clutches your hand tighter. 

“You can scream at me all you want. You can slap me and beat me, do whatever you like but please.. Please don’t give up on me, baby. Please!” a sob leaves his throat. 

“But this is what you wanted, Jungkook. You wanted me gone and I went away. I broke the engagement that was bothering you so much. So why… why are you crying now?” a lone tear slips past your right eye. 

“I don’t know why I said that, trust me, I don’t know. But it was not true. I never regretted this engagement, I never regretted choosing you, Y/N. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” Jungkook states truthfully. 

“Really? Was it that easy? Am I that easy to throw away? You said all those words without even thinking of what impact those would have on me? How much would I get hurt? Or have you taken me for granted, Jungkook? Did you expect me to stay despite you saying that you regret getting engaged to me?” you force your hand out of his grasps. 

“No. No! I never took you for granted. I never… I love you. I love you so much. Please forgive me just this once, please.” Jungkook trips over his words. The fear of losing you has gripped his heart so tightly now that it's impossible to think straight. 

He is losing his mind, his will to keep breathing.   

“What is the guarantee that you won’t do this again to me, Jungkook? If a game is more important than me then I don’t know what will happen if you find someone more entertaining than I can ever be.” your words pierce through his heart. 

“You really think I will leave you for someone else?” he asks with a voice choking with another loud sob. 

“You said you regret getting engaged to me because of a game, what else can I expect from you?” your voice trembles when you say those words. Jungkook knows you are hurting even more than him. 

“One chance, Y/N. Give me one chance and I will prove I never meant it.” he is trying to keep his thoughts straight, “we have dreamt so many dreams together. This can’t be the end of all of those. Please, baby. I am begging you. One first and last chance. Please. For the sake of us.” This time his words seem to do something to you. 

You gulp audiably.  

“You can’t touch me for a week.” You mumble under your breath, “that’s your punishment.” 

Jungkook’s eyes light up, you are forgiving him finally! You are really forgiving him! 

“Whatever you say, whatever you say, Y/N.” he nods excitedly. You turn your heels and walk into the guest room. 

Jungkook thought you forgiving him would be the end of his misery but the next week proves to be nothing short of hell to him. 

Short phone calls, keeping his texts on read and talking to him as little as possible becomes normal for the following week. And now he is desperate for you. 

He is desperate to have you close. But this distance teaches him how helpless he is without you. He will think for a thousand times before committing the same mistake again. 

You have asked yourself more than once - if however you are punishing Jungkook is right or justified. 

Each time, the answer came marred and wrapped up in a thick blanket of logic, rationality and also pride. Hence, the answer is definitely compromised but you keep your head high and ignore him with every single drop of blood your body owns. 

Jungkook has been repenting - sincerely - you can see it in his eyes each time you find him lounging outside your workplace but you are not ready to make it easy for him just yet. 

He had hurt you beyond imagination that day and you will make sure to hurt him just as much (if not more) - if he thinks you are being petty, then be it. 

It’s a Sunday. It’s been a week and two days since the fight and you are still going strong. Jungkook asked you for a date night today, you declined, saying that you would love to spend some time alone in your apartment. And you are doing just that - wearing your favorite pajamas, with a bowl of pringles, watching a drama. 

Almost nothing in the world can disturb your peace right now. 

The doorbell rings. 

Your annoyance comes out of your mouth in the form of a frustrated sigh. Hoisting yourself up from your couch, you drag your feet towards the door. 

For a moment you don’t believe what you see. But your peephole is not broken and you are not a delusional person. Hence, the person on the other side of the door is definitely Jungkook. 

Inhaling a long strip of oxygen you open the door. 

Jungkook’s face lights up with a smile as soon as you open the door. “Hey” he greets. 

“Hi. What brings you here?” you ask, without moving from your position or letting him in. 

“I bought food.” he hikes his hand and you see containers dangling from his hands. 

“I have food at home.” you try to keep your poker face but the sheer hopefulness in Jungkook’s eyes makes you want to give in. 

And honestly, you have started missing him too. 

Your reply dulls his face instantly. 

“It’s been more than a week, Y/N. I can’t take it anymore.” he hangs his head low, looks down on his shoes. 

“Come in.” Moving away from the door, you make way from him. 

Jungkook looks up, but his expressions don’t improve. He walks into your house with droopy shoulders and eyes full of misery. 

“Give those to me.” extending your hands you ask for the containers from him. He hands you the same without any question. 

Trudging towards the kitchen, you start taking the food out. You expected Jungkook to go and sit on the couch but he comes straight to the kitchen after setting his bag down. 

“Let me help you.” he prompts, starting to uncover the untouched container. 

“It’s okay, you can rest, I will-” before you can complete your words you find yourself caged between the kitchen counter and Jungkook’s body. 

“Fuck it!” he groans, “I don’t want to force myself on you but your pajamas shorts are so tiny… I can’t-” he presses his body on you but doesn’t do anything else. 

With his hard, toned, muscular body pressed in each inch of yours - you lose your breath and mind. 

It’s been more than a month since you have had sex. Having a good time in bed was one of your biggest reasons to have a long weekend together last week - but things went downhill. 

And now, as it’s clear, none of you and Jungkook can take it anymore. 

Someone from your brain says to be strong, not to give in so easily. At the same time, another voice from somewhere in your chest says it’s enough, to listen to your body, which is heating up rapidly. 

You say fuck it, mute the voice of your brain and pull Jungkook by the collar of his tshirt to kiss him. 

Your sudden choice of actions certainly takes Jungkook by surprise but he recovers fast enough. Grabbing your waist, he pulls you closer to himself and starts kissing you with even more intensity. 

The kiss was urgent from the beginning but it turns even messier and rougher as seconds fly by. 

“Bedroom” you mumble in between the kiss, saliva shimmering all over your jaw. Jungkook doesn’t waste his energy in talking, he simply hoists you up in his arms and walks towards the bedroom with practiced steps. 

The next events are following: - 

Clothes come off at the speed of light.

Jungkook throws you on the bed. 

He climbs over you kissing all over your face, jaw, throats and collarbones. 

Within a minute the skin of your throat is littered with bluish bruises. 

He sucks your tits as if his tongue is itching. 

He enters you in one go, sucking all the air out of your lungs. 

He fucks you in a pace that makes your eye roll backwards. 

You cum within a few minutes, Jungkook follows closely. 

The post orgasm haze hasn’t cleared properly. You are still trying to catch your breath, that is when you feel Jungkook grabbing your left hand and slipping something in it. 

It’s your ring. 

He slips the ring on your finger for a second time, this time with a bigger fear of losing you. 

“I am sorry. I will never ever repeat what I did that day.” he mutters, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“You sure?” you tease him. 

“A thousand percent.” pulling you closer to his naked body he hugs you. 

Your chest presses on his, uniting a pair of hearts and creating a rhythm out of the shared heartbeat. 

Maybe he chose his game for one night, but he is choosing you for the rest of his life - and that is what’s important to you.   

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You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.”

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire. 

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell. 

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face. 

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious. 

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this. 

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down. 

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone. 

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets. 

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin. 

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure. 

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours. 

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you. 

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs. 

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement. 

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.” 

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down. 

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him. 

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce. 

Killing smile. 

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight. 

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious. 

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe. 

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could. 

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.” 

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock. 

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned. 

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly. 

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself. 

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response. 

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper. 

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat. 

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.” 

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed. 

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment. 

Jeon Jungkook felt so good. 

God, he felt amazing on top of you. 

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.  

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped. 

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command. 

God, you were spiriling. 

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway. 

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling. 

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said. 

You already were. 

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased. 

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over. 

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side. 

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth. 

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again. 

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him. 

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction. 

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it. 

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?” 

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more. 

God, you were fucked. 

-—ᯓ✶ part two !

The second you push open the glass door of the daycare, the smell of crayons, spilled juice and some weird scent of baby powder mixed with sweat hits you.

Your feet are hurting in your stupid work shoes, your back is aching and your hair's a mess. If one more client asks you "Can you squeeze me in really quick?" you might actually lose your mind completely...

"MAMA!"

Luna's voice cuts through your thoughts. She's already halfway across the room, her chubby legs pumping and hair bouncing wildly around her cute face. Miss Ji-eun is chasing behind her with that exhausted, but fond smile teachers perfect after six months.