take it easy

To you, he was an arrogant, over-inked asshole who treated the apartment complex like his personal, twenty-four-hour playground. He dressed entirely in oversized black streetwear, smelled like a combination of raw tobacco and expensive leather, and also possessed a smirk that made you want to commit violence.

To him, you were a hyper-organized, stuck-up brat. He’d told you as much during your first real interaction three months ago, when you had politely, then not so politely, asked him to turn down his music at 3 AM.

"You need to unclench, Princess," he had drawled, leaning against his doorframe with a silver hoop piercing glinting in his lower lip. "Life is too short to spend it being a stuck-up brat."

Since then, it had been a war. You left precise, passive-aggressive notes on his door about tenant regulations. He responded by using those exact notes as coasters, leaving ring stains on the paper before taping them back to your door. If you glared at him in the hallway, he would just give you a lazy wave in return.

Tonight, however, was pushing you past your limit.

It was a Friday, hitting a miserable 1:45 AM. You had a gruelling performance review at work at nine o'clock that same morning, and your brain was fried. You had tried earplugs. You had tried white noise machines. You had tried burying your head beneath three different pillows.

But the noise from 4B was relentless. It wasn't the tattoo machine tonight. It was music, some R&B track that felt like it was pumping directly into your cerebral cortex, accompanied by the distinct, high-pitched moaning of a girl.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your eyes snapped open in the dark. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. The moaning echoed through the wall again, followed by the low rumble of Jungkook’s laugh.

That was it, that was the final straw before your sanity snapped. Throwing your blankets aside, you slid out of bed. You didn't care that you were wearing an oversized, faded college t-shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder and a pair of grey sleep shorts. You didn't care that your hair was a chaotic, unruly nest. You were driven entirely by sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated fury.

You stormed across your dark living room, yanked your front door open, and stepped out into the chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway. You found out that the music was even louder out here. You marched over to the door and raised your fist, slamming it against the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it.

"Jungkook!" you shouted over the bass. "Open the damn door!"

For a minute or two, nothing happened. Then, the music abruptly cut out, dropping the hallway into a ringing silence. You stood there, breathing heavily, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides.

Then the lock clicked, and the wooden door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, and the sight of him only fuelled your irritation. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung very low on his hip bones. His torso was a breathtaking, intimidating canvas of dark, intricate ink that wrapped around his ribs, a sprawling pattern that climbed his left side, and a sleeve that covered every inch of his right arm down to his knuckles. A few stray strands of damp, dark hair fell over his eyes.

He looked completely unbothered, his dark eyes raking over you, scanning your messy hair, your bare legs, and the angry flush creeping up your neck.

"Well, look who it is," Jungkook murmured, his voice raspy with a sleepiness that didn't match the hour. He leaned his heavy shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "The midnight inspector. Am I using too much oxygen in my apartment, Y/N?"

"Turn it off," you breathed, your voice shaking with the effort to keep from screaming. "Turn the music off, Jungkook. Shut the girl up. Shut yourself up. It is almost two in the morning."

Jungkook let out a mocking chuckle, tilting his head. "It's Friday. Some people actually enjoy their lives. You should try it sometime. Might help with..." He gestured vaguely to your rigid posture. "...whatever it is you have going on."

"I have a career going on!" you snapped, taking a sharp step forward, invading his space. The scent of him, that heavy cologne, hit your senses instantly, making your stomach do a strange flip. "Some of us don't make a living by stabbing people with ink and sleeping until noon. I have an actual life to attend to tomorrow, and your complete lack of basic human decency is ruining it."

Jungkook’s smile vanished. The playful, mocking glint in his eyes hardened into something sharp. He straightened up from the doorframe, instantly towering over you. He took a step out into the hallway, forcing you to back up half a step until the heel of your foot hit the opposite wall.

"A basic lack of human decency?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, completely eclipsing you in his shadow. "You've been looking down your nose at me since the day you moved in, Princess. You think because you wear a blazer and work in an office that you're better than me?"

"I know that I’m better than you," you shot back, refusing to break eye contact even as your heart began to beat frantically against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone, the small scar on his cheek, the absolute intensity in his big eyes.

"You're a brat," he whispered, leaning down just enough that his minty breath fanned across your forehead. "A spoiled little brat who likes to complain because she has nothing better to do. You love this. You love coming out here and picking fights with me."

"I hate you," you hissed, your nails digging into the palms of your hands. "I hate everything about you. I hate your music, I hate your stupid tattoo machine, and I hate the fact that I can hear your revolving door of guests through my wall."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. A tension dropped over the hallway, friction that had nothing to do with noise complaints and everything to do with the fact that you were both hyper-aware of how little clothing the other was wearing.

"Hey, Kook? Everything okay out there?"

A soft, feminine voice called out from inside his apartment. A pretty girl with brunette hair, wearing one of Jungkook's oversized black t-shirts, peeked her head around the corner of his entryway.

The spell broke.

Jungkook didn't look back at her. His eyes remained locked on yours, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The intensity in his gaze was almost bruising, a silent, furious challenge.

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice rough and strained as he finally took a step back, breaking the suffocating bubble of space between you. "Everything's fine. My neighbour was just leaving."

"Turn it down," you said one last time, though the fire in your voice had died down into a shaky whisper.

Jungkook didn't answer, he just gave you one long, unreadable look, one that made your skin prickle with a chill, before backing into his apartment and shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame. A second later, the hallway fell into absolute, dead silence. You stood against the wall for a full minute, your knees trembling slightly. You breathed in the lingering scent of his cologne, your chest was tight and your mind was racing. 

You hated him. You absolutely hated him with every single bone in your body. 

But as you walked back into your dark, silent apartment and crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop as you thought about the girl he was with. With a furious mind, you eventually fall back asleep, hoping to never see anything like that again.

You wondered how much lack of sleep the human body could survive off of without going clinically insane.

Your performance review at nine o'clock had been an exercise in acting. You had smiled, nodded, and talked about your quarterly goals through exhaustion, all while a pounding headache stabbed at your skull. Every time your boss praised your "attention to detail," your mind flashed to a pair of unreadable eyes and a heavy tattoo sleeve illuminated by the flickering hallway light.

By the time you unlocked the main entrance to the apartment complex at 5:45 PM, you were running on pure survival instinct. Your feet ached from your stupid heels, your shoulders were tense, and all you wanted was a hot shower, a bowl of instant ramen, and to watch Love Island.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

When you stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, your path was entirely obstructed. Right in front of your door, not 4B, but your door, 4A, were three massive, heavy-duty cardboard boxes. They were bound in rough packing tape and stamped with a bold logo.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your purse dragging against your thigh. Your eyes dropped to the shipping label.

Recipient: Jeon Jungkook / Ink & Iron Studio

Address: 402 Genevieve Lane, Apt 4B

"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallway.

The delivery driver had carelessly put the packages at the wrong door. You looked over at door 4B. You doubted that Jungkook was even home, assuming he was out doing annoying, reckless things.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your purse. You couldn't just leave them out here; the building management was notoriously strict about hallway obstructions, and if anyone got fined, it would likely be you since they were stacked against your door. Crouching down in your pencil skirt, you gripped the sides of the top box and hoisted it. It was incredibly heavy, filled with what felt like solid metal components, likely tattoo machines, power supplies, or heavy jars of ink.

Groaning under the weight, you unlocked your door, pushed it open with your foot, and began the agonizing process of dragging Jeon Jungkook’s packages into your entryway just to clear the walkway. By the time all three boxes were sitting inside your pristine, minimalist apartment, your hair was falling out of its neat clip and a fine sheen of sweat coated your forehead.

You slammed your door shut with a loud sigh, locked it, and promised yourself you would make him beg for them later.

An hour later, the hot shower had done little to soothe your frayed nerves. You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, ones that made you feel slightly put together, and were just waiting for your water to boil on the stove when a knock rattled your front door.

It was a firm, demanding sequence that echoed through your quiet living room, and you instantly knew who it was. You walked over to the door, pulling the silk lapels of your shirt a little higher, and swung it open.

Jungkook stood under the hallway light, but he didn't look like the chaotic, shirtless disruptor from the night before. He wore a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate details of his forearms, and a pair of reading glasses was pushed up into his messy dark hair. He smelled like rain and the distinct, expensive scent of fresh leather.

He had his phone out, but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. His dark eyes instantly raked over you, taking in the smooth silk of your pyjamas, and the bare skin of your legs. A subtle shift occurred in his expression, the irritation fading into something heavy and focused.

"My tracking email says my shipment has arrived," Jungkook said, "And considering my doorstep is completely empty, I figured my favourite brat took them hostage."

You decided to completely ignore that last part, even if the sound of him calling you his made your stomach swirl with butterflies. Leaning against your doorframe, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your legs. "They were dropped off at the wrong door, Jungkook. But because I actually care about building regulations, I dragged them inside so we wouldn't get flagged by management."

Jungkook’s eyes flicked past your shoulder, spotting the three large cardboard boxes sitting stacked neatly in your entryway. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Look at you," he drawled, stepping closer, completely ignoring the unspoken boundary of your threshold. "A good Samaritan. And here I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you," you shot back quickly, your voice perhaps a bit too breathless. "I dragged them in because I didn't want your garbage associated with my apartment number. Take them and get out."

Jungkook took another step forward, crossing the threshold entirely. He entered your apartment without an invitation, his heavy combat boots clicking against your polished hardwood floors. The sheer size of him suddenly made your entryway feel microscopic. He was too large, too loud, too much for the quiet, curated space you kept.

"Nice place," he murmured, his eyes scanning your neat living room, the perfectly aligned throw pillows, the single candle burning on the coffee table. He looked entirely out of place, like a dark ink stain on a white canvas. He turned back to you, leaning his hip against your entryway table, "A little sterile, don't you think? I’m not surprised though, it matches your personality."

"Get out of my apartment, Jungkook," you scoffed, your hand gripping the edge of your shorts. He was barely six inches away from you. You could see the faint shadow of stubble along his sharp jawline, and just how plump his bottom lip is.

"Make me," he countered softly.

The words weren't a threat; they were a direct challenge. The air between you turned heavy, filled with the unresolved situation from the previous night. The memory of him looming over you in the hallway, his bare chest inches from your face, flared to life in your mind, making your hands twitch.

Jungkook noticed. His gaze dropped to your chest, watching the rapid rise and fall of your breathing beneath the silk, before travelling back up to lock onto your eyes. He tilted his head down, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"You're shaking, Y/N."

"I'm angry that you’re violating my space," you lied, your jaw tightening as you stared back at him, refusing to let him see how much his presence was rattling you. "Just take your boxes and leave."

Jungkook didn't move. He reached out, his large, tattooed hand hovering just inches away from your face. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you thought he was going to touch you, that his fingers were going to slide against your skin, possibly caressing you. Your eyes widened slightly, your body freezing in anticipation, your core pulsing with a spike of heat.

But he didn't touch you. Instead, his fingers brushed against the stray strands of hair that were clinging to your cheek, gently tucking them behind your ear without his skin ever actually making contact with yours. The sheer restraint of the gesture was agonizing, a physical tease that made your pulse skyrocket so much that you thought you were going to have a heart attack.

"You're all talk," he whispered, his eyes staring into yours with a terrifying amount of certainty. "You pretend you can't stand the sight of me, but you're hyper-aware of every single thing I do. You like me, baby. It's the only time you actually let yourself feel something."

"You don't know anything about me," you hissed, your hands curling into tight fists against your sides to keep from reaching out and shoving him, or pulling him closer.

"I know you've been thinking about last night," he murmured, his face coming so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. He smelled so good it was dizzying, an intoxicating pull that was corrupting your common sense by the second. "Just like I have."

Before you could process the confession, before you could fire back a retort or even question him about his words, Jungkook abruptly straightened up. The intensity broke instantly as he stepped away from you, reaching down to grab the heaviest box from the stack.

He lifted it effortlessly, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt, the tattoos shifting dynamically with the movement. You prayed in that moment that he didn’t just catch you ogling his biceps.

"I'll take the rest of these off your hands," he said, his tone shifting back to that lazy, casual tone, though his eyes still held a lingering heat. He walked out into the hallway, setting the first box down by his door before returning for the second.

You stood frozen by your open door, your skin practically vibrating from the near-miss of his touch. You watched him silently as he moved the remaining boxes, his broad back shifting under the crisp black fabric of his shirt.

When the last box was cleared, he stood in his own doorway, looking back at you across the narrow expanse of the hallway. He pushed his reading glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, the frames casting a sharp shadow over his dark eyes.

"Thanks for holding onto my package, Y/N," he said, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his face as he emphasized the last word. "Have a good night. Try to get some sleep."

He stepped into apartment and shut the door, the click of his lock echoing in the quiet hallway.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank wood of his door. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your lower stomach was tight with an unfulfilled ache. You walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it with a trembling hand.

The water on your stove was boiling over, but you didn't even notice. You leaned your back against the door, closing your eyes, completely consumed by the realization that the war between you was no longer about noise, and it was spiralling out of your control.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It didn't slip into your life quietly; it tore through your chest, making a mockery of you.

What made it entirely unbearable was its absurdity. You had no right to feel jealous. Jeon Jungkook was not yours. He was a chaotic, frustrating man who lived on the other side of a paper-thin wall, and was a man you actively claimed to despise to anyone who would listen. Yet, over the last forty-eight hours, the unwanted emotion had taken up permanently in the pit of your stomach, intensifying every time you heard his door click open or caught the distant sound of a feminine laugh.

The tipping point arrived on Saturday evening.

You had given up on trying to relax in your apartment. The silence felt less like peace and more like an interrogation, something that left you entirely too much time to think about the weight of his gaze, the sound of his voice, and the agonizing restraint of his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. Driven by a restless need to escape your own thoughts, you had left the building around 9 PM to walk to the 24-hour market down the street, buying things you didn't need just to kill the time.

When you pushed through the glass doors of the apartment lobby to return, the universe decided to test the last small bits of your sanity.

Jungkook was standing by the mailboxes. He wasn't alone.

She was beautiful, painfully, effortlessly so. She wore a cropped leather jacket that matched his dark denim and possessed a confidence that shouted she belonged in his world. She was laughing, her head tilted back, her hand resting casually against the broad expanse of Jungkook’s chest. Her manicured fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, right over the spot where his heart beat, and Jungkook was looking down at her with an expression that you had never seen before.

Your footsteps halted on the polished tile floor. For a single, irritating second, the breath was completely knocked from your lungs. The surge of jealousy that hit you was so violent it made you dizzy. You wanted to march over there, rip her hand off his chest, and kiss him right in front of her.

Instead, your fingers tightened around the plastic handles of your grocery bag until your knuckles turned white. You forced your chin up, your expression hardening into a mask of pure ice, and began walking toward the elevators.

The sound of your sneakers against the tile cut through the quiet lobby.

Jungkook’s head snapped up instantly. The relaxed, easy smile vanished from his face the moment he looked at you. The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous; his shoulders squaring as his gaze tracked your movement across the room. He didn't look at the woman anymore. He didn't listen to whatever she was saying. His focus was entirely pinned to you.

But, you didn't look back. You stared straight ahead at the metallic doors of the elevator, pressing the button with a sharp jab.

Through the reflection in the polished steel doors, you watched the woman say something to him, pouting slightly as she noticed his detachment. Jungkook didn't even glance at her. He muttered a brief response, his eyes still burning a hole into the back of your head from across the lobby.

When the elevator doors finally opened, you stepped inside and turned around. For a fraction of a second, your eyes clashed with his across the expanse of the lobby. Then, the doors slid shut, leaving you alone in the quiet metal box.

The retaliation came less than twenty-four hours later.

On Sunday evening, a male colleague from your work, Eun-woo, offered to drop you off after a grueling, multi-hour project. Eun-woo was everything Jungkook was not. He was polished, predictable, and exceptionally polite. He parked his sleek sedan directly in front of your apartment building, killing the engine to turn and smile at you.

"You look exhausted, Y/N," Eun-woo said softly, reaching across the console to gently pat your forearm. "You've been working too hard. Let me take you out for dinner tonight. No talk about quarterly projections, I promise."

You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before the words could leave your lips, a sensation washed over you. It was that familiar, prickling heat on your skin, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your eyes naturally drifted past Eun-woo’s shoulder, looking toward the concrete steps of the building entrance.

Jungkook was standing there.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled down, his dark hair messy and windswept. He had an unlit cigarette resting between his lips, and his hands were shoved deep into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He wasn't moving. He looked like a statue carved from stone, his head tilted slightly downward, his eyes completely cold, and fixed entirely on Eun-woo’s hand resting against your forearm.

The look on his face was one you had never seen before. It wasn't the teasing, arrogant smirk of your neighbour. It was the glare of a man watching someone touch something that belonged exclusively to him. The animosity radiating off his frame was so strong it seemed to warp the very air around the car.

Eun-woo, entirely oblivious to the guy staring at him through the glass, smiled warmly. "What do you say?"

"I... I can't tonight, Eun-woo," you stammered, your voice breathless as you kept your eyes locked on Jungkook. "But thank you for the ride. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."

You practically scrambled out of the passenger seat, grabbing your purse and stepping onto the curb. The moment the car door slammed shut and Eun-woo pulled away, the space between you and Jungkook shrunk.

You walked up the concrete steps, your heart in your throat. Jungkook didn't move an inch to let you pass. He stood directly in the center of the double doors, forcing you to stop a mere foot away from him.

The scent of him, wrapped around you instantly, suffocating your anger and replacing it with a dizzying tension.

"Step aside, Jungkook," you said, your voice tight, though you hated the slight tremor that betrayed your composure.

He didn't move. He slowly took the unlit cigarette from his lips, holding it between two ink-stained fingers, his jaw clenching so hard you thought you saw a muscle twitch beneath his perfect skin. 

"Who the hell was that?"

The sheer audacity of the question sparked a defensive fire in your veins. You glared back at him, scoffing loud while your chest rose and fell heavily. "None of your business. Move."

"It becomes my business when I have to watch some boring, predictable suit touch you," he hissed, taking a step forward, his massive frame completely blocking the entrance to the building. "Is that your type, Y/N? Safe? Predictable? Someone who asks permission before they even look at you?"

"At least he has manners," you spat back, your hands curling into fists against your thighs as you fought the overwhelming urge to press your palms against his chest just to feel the thud of his heart. "At least he doesn't treat his apartment like a revolving door for whatever girl that happens to breathe in his direction. Go back inside, Jungkook. I'm sure your friend from last night is waiting for a call back."

Jungkook’s eyes flared, satisfaction flickering through the anger in his gaze. He let out a breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of joy.

"Oh," he whispered, stepping so close his chest brushed against yours, trapping you against the cold metal railing of the steps. "So that's what this is. You’re jealous."

"I’m not jealous!" you lied, your voice rising slightly under the weight of the suffocating proximity.

"You are," he corrected, his voice dropping into a whisper that felt like a physical touch against your skin. He leaned in, his lips close to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your cold skin. "You were practically burning a hole in the back of my head last night, baby. I could feel you from across the room. You hated seeing her hand on me. Admit it."

"You're so delusional," you gasped out, your head tilting back against the railing, your eyes widening as you stared up at his sharp profile. The urge to reach out, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, was so overwhelming your entire body ached with it. Your skin was screaming for the contact he was withholding.

"Tell me I'm lying," Jungkook commanded, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his own breathing heavy and ragged. His hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing as if he were fighting every instinct he possessed to keep from grabbing your waist. "Tell me you don't want to rip my shirt off every time you see me. Tell me you don't think about me when you're lying in your bed alone, touching yourself."

He whispered that last part, like he knew that he caught you red handed. Your face instantly burned, a stupid blush filling your cheeks. "I hate you," you whispered, the words losing all their venom, sounding more like a desperate plea for mercy.

"Good," Jungkook growled, his eyes locking back onto yours with a terrifying amount of intent. "Keep hating me. Because the moment you stop, Y/N, I'm not going to let you walk back into that apartment alone."

Then, he moved away. His chest heaving as he stared down at you for one last, agonizing second. The restraint between you was a thin wire, vibrating so violently it threatened to snap both of you in half.

Without another word, Jungkook turned, shoved the glass doors open, and walked into the building, leaving you standing on the concrete steps in the freezing air, gasping for breath, completely consumed by a fire that you never signed up for.

You had lost the argument the moment your friends showed up at your apartment door carrying a garment bag and a bottle of cheap prosecco. Driven by what they called a "mandatory intervention for a workaholic," they had stripped you of your comfortable sweatpants, forced you into a sleek black dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, and dragged you out into the weekend night.

Now, standing in the middle of Prism, one of the city’s exclusive, packed clubs, you regretted every single life choice that had led you here.

The environment was definitely an assault on the senses. Neon blue and magenta strobe lights cut through a haze of smoke, flashing in sync with an industrial beat that vibrated through the soles of your strapped heels. The bass was a physical force, thumping against your heart.

Spitefully, your brain immediately made the connection. It felt exactly like apartment 4B on a Saturday night.

"Come on, Y/N! Take a sip!" your friend shouted over the roar of the crowd, shoving a vodka cranberry into your hand. "You’ve been a ghost all week. Live a little!"

You managed a smile, taking a swallow of the bittersweet alcohol. The drink burned its way down your throat, doing absolutely nothing to soothe the restlessness that had been clawing at your insides since your conversation with Jungkook on the building steps. You felt entirely out of place among the sea of hot bodies. Your mind was a long loop of dark irises, the smell of cigarettes, and the memory of his broad chest brushing against your own.

Desperate for a moment of peace, you stepped back from the edge of the pulsating dance floor, leaning your shoulder against a cold, mirrored pillar near the VIP lounge. You took another slow sip of your drink, your eyes aimlessly roaming the layout of the club.

And then, your heart completely stopped.

Situated in a semi-private leather booth was a group that looked like they had crawled straight out of a high-fashion editorial. They were effortlessly cool, heavily tatted, and radiating an aura of untouchable arrogance.

Sitting right in the centre of them, a glass of amber whiskey held loosely between his fingers, was Jungkook.

The breath caught in your throat, a violent surge of shock rushing to your face. He was stripped of the oversized streetwear and the studio gear. He was wearing a midnight-black silk button-down shirt, the top three buttons casually undone to expose the sharp lines of his collarbones and the ink that climbed up the side of his shoulder. A silver chain caught the flashing neon lights, glinting against his chest. His dark hair was styled as a mullet, exposing the brutal symmetry of his jawline.

He was surrounded by his friends, likely the other artists he hung out with, but your eyes didn't linger on them. They snapped instantly to the woman sitting on the armrest of his booth. She was a striking beauty in an incredibly short silver dress, leaning down to whisper something into his ear, her hand resting casually on the back of his neck.

Dread bloomed in the pit of your stomach, so intense it made your hand tremble against your glass. The same toxic, nauseating jealousy from the lobby bloomed to life, hotter and more dangerous than before. You watched, your jaw clenching, as Jungkook took a slow sip of his drink, his face expressionless as the woman laughed at something his friend said.

As if he somehow sensed the weight of your gaze, Jungkook’s head turned. His dark eyes cut through the flashing strobe lights, scanning the crowded floor below with a lazy, bored detachment, until they hit the mirrored pillar.

Until they hit you.

The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous. The bored, relaxed slouch vanished as his posture went straight. He didn't blink, only because his gaze locked onto you with the force of a vice grip, his eyes that were almost terrifying under the flashing blue lights. He raked his eyes down your body, tracking the sharp line of your collarbone, the tight fit of the black dress, and the bare skin along your legs.

The woman in the silver dress reached down, trying to draw his attention back to her, her fingers brushing his jaw. But, Jungkook didn't even look at her. With a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, he brushed her hand away, his focus entirely on you.

The silent, cross-room standoff was constricting. The music roared around you, and you were sure that your friends were already on the dance floor, but the space between your pillar and his booth felt completely devoid of air. You raised your chin, giving him a cold, defiant glare, refusing to look away first.

“Hey, beautiful. You look like you’re having a miserable time.”

The unfamiliar voice shattered the connection. A tall, well-dressed man in a fitted grey shirt had materialized in your space, leaning against the pillar beside you with a confident, practiced smile. He held a fresh drink out toward you. "Can I buy you something better than whatever that is?"

You blinked, trying to clear the fog of Jungkook’s gaze from your brain. "No, thank you. I'm okay with this drink" you said, your tone polite but icy.

The man didn't take the hint. He took a step closer, invading your personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the mirror just above your shoulder. "Come on, just one drink. A girl like you shouldn't be standing alone in a dark corner."

Before you could fire back a sharp rejection, a shift occurred in the atmosphere.

"She said no."

The man in the grey shirt froze, looking up slowly. Jungkook was standing there. He had somehow left the VIP section with a terrifying amount of speed, and the look on his face was enough to make the other man visibly pale. Jungkook loomed over you, his chest expanding with an angry breath, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers. 

"You got a problem, man?" the guy stammered, trying to maintain his bravado but failing miserably under Jungkook’s presence.

"Yeah," Jungkook replied, taking a slow step forward that forced the man back a foot. "I have a problem with you breathing my air. Walk away. Right now."

There was no negotiation in his tone. The man in the grey shirt looked between Jungkook’s ink-covered hands and the look in his eyes, swallowed hard, and retreated into the crowd without another word.

The moment he was gone, Jungkook turned on you.

The anger radiating off him was so strong it made your skin prickle with a terrifying sensation. Before you could speak, his large hand shot out, his ink-stained fingers gripping your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was stubborn, completely unmoving as he dragged you away from the pillar, pulling you through the crowded venue toward the corridor that led to the private restrooms and emergency exits.

"Jungkook, let go of me!" you gasped, your heels clicking frantically against the floor as you tried to pull back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.

He didn't answer until he had dragged you into a secluded part of the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the club-goers. He shoved open a door, pulling you into a quiet stairwell where the music was reduced to a muffled heartbeat through the walls.

He released your wrist, turning around to face you, his chest lifting under the black shirt. He slammed his hand against the concrete wall beside your head, leaning down until his face was a mere inch from yours, trapping you entirely within the shadow of his body.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently beneath his skin. "You wear a dress like this out in public? You let random bastards back you into a corner?"

The hypocrisy of his anger made your own frustration explode. You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath the silk, trying to shove him back, but he didn't move an inch.

"I can wear whatever I want, Jungkook!" you shouted back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desire. "I don't belong to you! Why don't you go back to your VIP booth? I'm sure the girl in the silver dress is missing her hand on your neck!"

Jungkook let out a scoff, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, a possessive satisfaction flickering through the fury in his gaze.

"You were watching me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough tone that made your core pulse with heat. He stepped closer, his thighs brushing against the thin fabric of your dress, pinning you against the cold concrete wall. "You hated it. You hated seeing her touch me."

"I don't care about you," you lied, your breathing ragged, your fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. "I don’t care about the girls you’re always with.”

"You're a liar, Y/N," he growled, his hand leaving the wall to cup the side of your jaw, his rough, calloused thumb pressing firmly against your chin, tilting your head up. The contact was electric, a blinding rush that made your knees tremble. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine. "You've been losing your mind over me all these months, just like I've been losing my mind over you. I look at you in this dress, and all I can think about is ripping it off your body."

"Then do it," the words slipped from your lips before your pride could stop them, a challenge born from months of agonizing restraint.

Jungkook froze, his breath hitching against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. He was waiting for consent, something that gave him the permission to touch you however he wanted. In response, you gave him an eyebrow raise, challenging him.

Jungkook didn’t answer with words. The last thread of his restraint snapped with a beautiful finality. Before you could even inhale, his mouth crashed down onto yours.

It was a violent claim, a collision of months of frustration and denial. He tasted like expensive whiskey and cigarettes, his tongue forcing its way past your mouth with a bruising hunger that made your head spin. His hand clamped around your throat, with a firm pressure that anchored your head against the wall, forcing you to take the absolute depth of his mouth.

You groaned into the kiss, your hands flying up to his chest, your fingers clawing desperately at the midnight-black silk of his shirt. You ripped at the other buttons, wanting the barrier gone, wanting the tattooed reality of his skin against yours. A few buttons scattered across the concrete floor with a sharp, clicking echo, exposing the hard, carved lines of his chest.

Jungkook tore his mouth away from yours, his breathing a ragged, broken wheeze. "You asked for this," he growled, whispering against your skin. "I’m not going to hold back now.”

He didn't even touch the zipper of your dress. His fingers hooked into the hem of the sleek black fabric and yanked it upward with a brutal, impatient force, gathering the material around your waist and leaving your bare legs completely exposed to the chilly air of the stairwell. His large hands, rough and searing hot, slid up the inside of your thighs, his palms scraping against your sensitive skin with a friction that made you shiver.

When his hand hit the centre of your lace underwear, he let out a satisfied chuckle. You were already dripping, the thin fabric completely soaked through.

"Look at you," Jungkook muttered, his thumb rubbing heavily over your swollen core through the wet lace, your hips arching off the wall automatically. "Wet for me in a dirty stairwell. Tell me how much you hate me now, Y/N. Say it while you're shaking in my hands."

"Jungkook—fuck, please," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and ripped them down your legs, discarding them carelessly on the concrete steps.

He stepped between your knees, his massive, denim-clad thighs forcing your legs wide apart. He fumbled with the belt of his trousers, the metal buckle clinking loudly in the quiet space. He shoved his pants down just enough to free his length, and the sight of his thick cock already leaking with pre-cum sent adrenaline through your body.

Jungkook didn't ease you into it. He grabbed your right thigh, hoisting it up over his hip, anchoring you against his broad frame. He guided his tip to your dripping entrance, paused for a fraction of a second to lock his eyes onto yours, and pushed himself inside you.

The fullness of him stretched you open so fast that a breathless cry tore from your throat. Your eyes widened in temporary shock, your walls clamping around him, desperately trying to accommodate the size of him. Jungkook froze, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as a shudder wracked his entire body. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his face ticked, a deep, guttural groan vibrating right against your collarbone.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice a strained, broken sound. "You're so tight... Wrap your other leg around me. Now."

You obeyed blindly, your pride entirely incinerated by the blinding rush of pleasure. You hooked your left leg around his waist, lifting yourself completely off the floor. Jungkook caught you effortlessly, his large hands locking onto the undersides of your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising touch that you were sure were going to leave dark marks on your skin.

With your legs wrapped around him, Jungkook began to move.

The pace was frenzied, driven by a rawness that had everything to do with possession. He pulled back until his tip was nearly sliding out, only to pound himself back into you with a slamming force that made the breath hitch in your chest. Every single thrust was deep, hitting your G-spot with brutal precision that made your vision blur into white spots.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the isolated stairwell, competing with the muffled, distant heartbeat of the club’s bass through the heavy service door.

"Jungkook, wait—it's too much," you sobbed out, your head tossing back against the concrete wall as your orgasm began to build. Your core was pulsing, the stretch of his big cock pushing you to the absolute brink of sanity.

"I'm not stopping," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder and more accelerated. He leaned forward, crushing his bare chest against your sensitive nipples through the ruined fabric of your dress. He grabbed your jaw with his one hand, forcing your face up, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. I want to see you come."

You held his gaze, your mind completely shattered. He was consuming you, erasing every single boundary you had spent months building.

The orgasm started deep within your core, a sudden tightening that clamped around his length like a fist.

"Jungkook—I'm coming—I'm going to—"

"Do it," he commanded, his voice breathless, his lips twisting into a smirk, as he delivered more desperate slams, driving his pelvis flush against yours. "Come for me, Y/N. Take all of it."

Your orgasm crashed over you with the violence of a physical blow. You screamed his name into the empty stairwell, your body convulsing, your walls rippling around him in intense waves. The sensation of your release was the exact breaking point Jungkook needed. With a moan, he drove himself into you one last time, pushing his cock as deeply as possible. His cock pulsed within your heat as he filled you, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he gasped for air like a drowning man.

The silence that followed was broken only by the loud, echoing sound of your tangled, ragged breathing.

Jungkook didn't let you down immediately. He remained buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his skin slick with sweat, his heart hammering. His hands slowly relaxed their bruising grip on your thighs, his fingers gently tracing the marks he had left behind on your skin.

Slowly, the haze of lust began to leave, leaving behind a hyper-aware intimacy that felt completely foreign.

He pulled out with a soft, wet sound, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he adjusted his clothing, his movements uncharacteristically quiet. He reached down, picking up your ruined underwear from the steps and sliding them into his pocket before turning back to look at you.

You were leaning against the wall, your dress still bunched around your waist, your chest heaving, your legs trembling so badly you could barely stand.

Jungkook didn't say a word. He reached out, his hands gently grasping the hem of your black dress and pulling it back down, smoothing the fabric over your hips with a tenderness that completely contrasted the violence of the last ten minutes. He reached up, a thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of overstimulation from your cheek, then he kissed your lips softly.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, his voice still raspy, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you toward the exit door. "We're going home. And you're staying in my bed tonight."

The taxi ride back to the apartment was pure agony. His large palm was wedged between your thighs, his fingers damp with your own fluids, pressing hard against your swollen core every time the car hit a bump in the asphalt.

You had to bite the collar of his shirt to keep from crying out in the back seat, while Jungkook stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight the wire of his jawline looked sharp enough to cut.

“Jungkook… I can’t—” you whispered against his collarbone, drool leaking out of your mouth. His fingers kept teasing your clit, ruthlessly edging you. You were convinced he just wanted to see you cry.

But before he could let you finish, the taxi stopped to a halt, right outside your apartment complex. The moment his apartment door slammed shut behind you, his restraint snapped again.

There was no walk to the bedroom. Jungkook grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, shoving you face-first against the matte-black kitchen island. Your palms slapped against the cold stone counter to catch your weight, your breath hitching as he immediately crowded your back, his massive, solid chest flattening against your spine.

"Jungkook—"

"Quiet," he growled, his voice a quiet rasp.

He didn't waste a single second. His hands hooked into the waist of your black dress, pulling the fabric up until it sat bunched around your ribs, leaving your lower body completely bare to his gaze. He reached down, grabbing your hips with a bruising grip, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

You heard the sharp snap of his belt loosening, the zipper of his trousers tearing open. He guided his cock right against your dripping pussy, rubbing his swollen tip against you twice until you were sobbing into the stone countertop, begging for the impact. With a tilt of his hips, Jungkook drove himself into you from behind.

He buried his entire length into your pussy in one deep thrust. The force of the entry rattled you, a loud, broken wail tearing from your throat. Your hips buckled under the weight, but his hands locked onto your waist like iron bands, holding you perfectly in place, forcing your body to take every single inch.

"Fuck, this pussy is so tight for me, my dirty slut," he whispered against the back of your neck, his breath scalding hot.

He began to pound into you with a brutal emphasis. Every stroke was a clapping impact of his pelvis against your ass, the sound echoing loudly in the kitchen. He pulled out until only his tip remained inside your slick walls, then slammed back in, bottoming out against you with a force.

Your hands slid wildly on the smooth kitchen island, unable to find traction as his relentless pace drove you forward with every thrust. Jungkook reached forward, his large hand tangling ruthlessly in your messy hair, pulling your head back so your spine arched painfully, beautifully into him.

"Look at the mirror," he commanded, his voice filled with lust, nodding toward the reflective glass of his studio across the room. "Look at what I'm doing to you."

Through your blurred, tear-filled vision, you saw the silhouette of his body looming over yours, his heavily tattooed right arm flexing as he pinned you down, the contrast of his dark ink against your pale, flushed skin. He thrusted harder, his cock rubbing against your internal sweet spot with every shallow strike until your brain short-circuited.

Before you could reach the precipice of an orgasm, Jungkook pulled out with a wet sound. You gasped at the emptiness, your body shivering from the loss of heat, but he wasn't done.

He grabbed your arm, dragging you off the counter and pulling you backward into his adjoining tattoo studio. The room was illuminated by the glow of his lights. He shoved you back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lined the wall, the cold glass sending a shockwave through your overheating skin.

Jungkook dropped to his knees before you.

Your breath caught as his hands clamped around your thighs, forcing them wide apart. He buried his face straight into your dripping core, lapping up your wetness with an aggression that made your head toss back against the glass. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, his licking at the sensitive nub until you were screaming his name, your fingers clawing at his dark hair to pull him away before you lost your mind.

"Jungkook, please—no more, I can't—"

He ignored your pleas. He rose to his feet, his lips slick with your wetness. He looked completely unhinged, like someone else had taken over him. He grabbed your right leg, hoisting it up and draping your knee over his broad shoulder, opening you up completely.

He aligned himself and drove back inside you, using the wall to pin you completely.

This position allowed him to go even deeper. Every thrust was a severe plunge that filled you to the absolute brim. The cold glass of the mirror rattled behind your back with every slam of his hips. Jungkook’s hand locked around your throat again, his thumb pressing hard against your pulse point, just barely cutting off your air.

"You think you can look down on me?" he panted, his face inches from yours. "You think because you're stuck-up and perfect I wouldn't do this to you? You're mine, Y/N. Every single part of you."

"Yes—fuck, yes—Jungkook—"

The friction was blinding. You began to squeeze around him in uncontrollable spasms. Realizing you were about to come again, Jungkook pulled out at the last second, refusing to let you finish. You let out a frustrated, angry cry, but he grabbed your waist, throwing you onto his low, leather tattoo table.

He crawled over you like a shadow, forcing you onto your back. He grabbed both of your ankles, shoving your knees all the way back to your chest, folding you completely in half. It was a position of vulnerability, leaving you entirely exposed to him. He looked down at you, his chest glistening with sweat, his tattoos shifting dynamically as he braced his weight over you. He lined his tip up with your soaking, convulsing entrance and slammed down with the entire weight of his torso.

The depth was staggering. A loud sob tore from your throat as he filled you, his cock stretching you past your limits.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a raw, broken rasp.

He began to move in devastating strokes. He wasn't pulling out anymore; he was grinding his pelvis against yours, his thumb slipping against your clit with every drive. You locked your fingers into the leather edges of the table, your head rolling side to side as your entire body vibrated with a white-hot, blinding pleasure.

"Jungkook— please. Please, let me come!”

“Apologize first. Apologize for being a brat to me all these months. Tell me how badly you wanted my cock inside you.” he rasped, slapping your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, the pain adding more intensity to your pleasure. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Jungkook! I wanted your cock so badly,” you cried out, tears cascading down your cheeks

"Good girl. Now come for me," he ordered, his pace getting faster, a sprint toward his orgasm. "Take it, baby. Take my cum."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours as your second orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tsunami. Your walls clamped around him, dragging him over the edge with you.

With a moan, Jungkook delivered more thrusts, before his cum flooded your pussy, filling you to the brim as he pulsed inside you over and over again, his forehead dropping against yours as you both collapsed into the ruined, sweat-soaked darkness of the studio.

The thuds of your hearts were the only sound left in the studio, a stark contrast to the music that usually filled the space. The heat radiating between your bodies was prominent as the initial shock of the orgasm began to leave. Jungkook remained above you for several long minutes, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breathing a ragged, trembling rattle that gradually slowed down.

When he finally shifted, pulling out of you with a soft, wet sound, a cold shiver immediately raced across your skin. You let out a small, involuntary whimper at the loss of warmth, your overstimulated muscles twitching.

Jungkook didn't say a word. The intensity that had consumed him moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stillness. He slid off the leather tattoo table, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. Through the dim light, you watched his silhouette move across the room. He looked entirely different now; the sharp edges of his posture had softened.

You heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of running water from the small sink in the corner of his studio. You lay there, completely paralyzed by pleasure and exhaustion, your legs still trembling slightly against the leather surface. The reality of what had just happened began to settle into the marrow of your bones, leaving you feeling entirely exposed.

When Jungkook returned, he was holding a dark towel soaked in warm water. He knelt down beside the low table, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, searching your expression with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was no smirk on his face. The arrogant, untouchable exterior he wore like armour was entirely gone.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, "Let me clean you up."

Before you could even think to protest or hide yourself, he gently caught your ankles, straightening your legs out with a soft touch. He began to wipe away the sweat and the messy aftermath of his cum from your inner thighs. His hands, the same ones that had pinned you down, were now incredibly careful, moving with a light precision as if he were afraid you might break under his touch.

Every stroke of the warm towel sent a completely different kind of shiver through your body. It wasn't the white-hot spike of lust, but a deep, aching warmth that made your chest tighten.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His thumb brushed against the soft skin of your hip, right over the faint red marks where his grip had been bruisingly tight. "I went too hard."

"I'm fine," you breathed out, your voice small and raspy from all the moaning you had done. "I'm not glass, Jungkook."

A small, genuine breath of a laugh escaped his lips, though it looked more like a sigh of relief. He finished cleaning you, tossing the towel aside onto a nearby stool. Instead of stepping away, he reached down, sliding his arms beneath your back and knees, and lifted you effortlessly into his chest.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his collarbone. He smelled like sweat, but you secretly didn't mind. He carried you out of the studio, walking past the cold kitchen island where the war had officially begun, and carried you into his bedroom.

His bedroom was a surprise. Given his chaotic lifestyle, you had expected a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty takeout containers. Instead, it was tidy, dominated by a massive bed covered in charcoal-grey silk sheets. The only light came from a lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

He laid you down onto the mattress with immense care, immediately pulling the duvet over your exposed, shivering skin. You curled into the bed, your eyes tracking him as he walked over to his dresser. He pulled out an oversized, faded black cotton t-shirt and returned to the bedside.

"Here," he murmured, pulling the blanket back just enough to help you slide your arms through the sleeves. The fabric was massive on you, hanging past your thighs and swallowing your frame, completely soaked with his scent.

Jungkook disappeared into his bathroom for a brief moment, returning after a quick second. He was wearing nothing but a loose pair of soft sweatpants, his dark hair damp and messy against his forehead. He didn't look like the menacing guy from apartment 4B anymore; he looked completely human, stripped of the bravado and the spite that had defined your entire relationship.

He slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment, a lingering tension hung in the air. You were both so used to fighting, so used to using words as weapons across the threshold of your doors, that the quiet intimacy of a shared bed felt foreign and dangerous.

You lay on your side, staring at him. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his jaw working as if he were trying to swallow a mountain of unspoken words.

"Y/N," he started, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes wide and completely unmasked under the amber light. "I need to say something."

You didn't interrupt. You just pulled the blanket higher up on your chin, watching him.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out in a rush. He reached out under the covers, his large hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around your smaller ones. "I'm sorry for the things I said, and everything else I've done. I was... I was entirely out of my mind."

He let out a long, ragged breath, his grip on your hand tightening.

"I've been losing my mind since the day I met you," Jungkook confessed, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers before rising back to your eyes. "You thought I was trying to annoy you with the music and the girls, and at first, I was just being a complete asshole. But after that first night you knocked on my door, when you were standing there looking so furious and so completely out of my league, everything changed. I didn't know how to get your attention.”

A soft smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "I just wanted an excuse to see you come back to my door and yell at me again. Because any attention from you was better than you looking right through me."

Your heart did a violent flip in your chest. The honesty of his words was breaking down every defence mechanism you had spent months building.

"You called me a brat," you whispered softly, your voice completely devoid of the old malice. "You told me I was stuck-up."

"Because you’re so perfect, and it terrified me," Jungkook replied instantly, leaning closer until his face was only inches from yours on the pillow. "You have your life together. You have the career, the structure. I convinced myself that you looked down on me because it was easier than admitting that I was completely beneath you."

He reached his free hand out from beneath the covers, his fingertips gently brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your eyes prickle with tears.

"But I don't want to fight with you anymore, Princess," he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register that felt like a direct caress to your soul. "I don't want to hear you through a wall anymore. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the second you told me to shut the hell up months ago."

The confession hung in the quiet space between you, heavy and beautiful. You stared at him, taking in the softness of his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his features, and the slight tremor in his hand as it rested against your face. He was completely exposed, giving you all the power to crush him if you wanted to.

But you didn't want to.

"I'm sorry too," you whispered, a small, tearful laugh escaping your lips as you moved your head to press your cheek firmly into his palm. "I was stuck-up. I looked down on your world because I was jealous of how free you were. I spent so much time hiding behind my schedules and work because admitting that I wanted something would mean admitting that I didn't have everything under control."

You reached up, your fingers tangling into the damp strands of his dark hair, pulling him just a fraction closer.

"I don't hate anything about you,” you confessed softly. "I love you too. I’ve been entirely miserable without you."

The relief that washed over Jungkook’s face was instantaneous and breathtaking. A massive, brilliant smile broke across his face, the boyish, dazzling smile he usually hid behind his arrogant smirks. He let out a joyous sigh , immediately throwing himself at you, covering your body with his.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with happiness as he buried his face into your neck, peppering your skin with soft, fluttering kisses.

"I love you, you idiot," you laughed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he rolled over, pulling you with him until you were lying flush against his chest, your heads resting on the same pillow.

"Good. Because you're stuck with me now," he muttered against your lips, before pulling you into a kiss. It was sweet, and incredibly deep, a gentle sealing of a contract you had both been waiting to sign for months.

When he finally pulled away, he wrapped his massive arms securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, protective cocoon. His long legs tangled with yours under the silk sheets, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.

"The wall has to go," Jungkook murmured sleepily into your hair, his large hand gently stroking your stomach over the cotton of his t-shirt. "First thing Monday morning. I'm calling a contractor to knock the drywall down between 4A and 4B."

"We'll get evicted, Jungkook," you mumbled back, a soft, exhausted smile spreading across your face as your sleep deprivation finally caught up to you.

"Let them evict us," he whispered, his breathing slowing down as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, his heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm against your shoulder blades. "We'll just buy the whole damn building."

The wall didn’t come down on Monday morning, mostly because the building management threatened legal action at the mere mention of a sledgehammer, but the physical barrier between apartment 4A and 4B was entirely gone anyway.

Within a week, the deadbolt on your front door remained permanently unlocked. Within three, your living room began to acquire a few distinct artifacts, such as a stray sketch pad filled with intricate charcoal drawings of you resting on your glass coffee table, a pair of combat boots left neatly by your shoe rack, and a continuous, subtle scent of raw tobacco and expensive leather that no longer felt like an invasion, but more like a safety net.

On a hazy evening in July, the heat outside was horrible, but inside apartment 4A, the air conditioning was humming a quiet tune. You were sitting cross-legged on your sofa, a laptop resting on your thighs as you meticulously reviewed the upcoming budget projections. Your glasses were pushed up onto the bridge of your nose, your focus entirely ironclad.

Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

From the other side of the apartment, the door clicked open. You didn't even look up, your fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard, but your heart rate gave a familiar, stupid little skip.

A moment later, Jungkook stepped into your living room. He had just finished an eight-hour tattooing session, and he looked beautifully, completely wrecked. He had shed his shirt, wearing only a loose, sleeveless white tank top that exposed the sprawling canvas of his right arm and the blackwork wrapping around his ribs.

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He walked straight toward the couch, his heavy footsteps silent on your plush rug, and dropped his massive frame directly behind you.

"Jungkook, I’m working," you murmured in a breathless, soft tone.

"Don't care," he grumbled, his voice a gravelly vibration that resonated right through your spine.

His large, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you backward until your spine was pressed flush against his warm, solid torso. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your pulse point, inhaling deeply. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a delicate flush up your throat.

"You smell like vanilla," he muttered, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke. "It's driving me crazy."

"It's just perfume, you dramatic idiot," you laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, your fingers finally halting over the laptop keys. "And I really need to finish this report. My boss is—"

"Your boss can wait," Jungkook interrupted, his hand moving beneath the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, his palm resting against the bare skin of your stomach. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over your skin, his touch so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. "You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. Let me take care of you."

You let out a long, defeated sigh, closing the laptop and setting it aside on the cushion. The moment the screen went dark, you turned around in his embrace, shifting until you were sitting face-to-face in his lap, your knees framing his hips.

Jungkook’s eyes instantly locked onto yours, the light from your lamp reflecting in his pupils. The lazy, arrogant smirk he used to wear like armor was completely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration that still made you feel entirely exposed. He reached up, his thumb gently pushing your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose before sliding them off entirely, setting them on the sofa arm.

"There you are," he whispered, his rough fingers cupping your jawline, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. "I missed you today."

"I was right next door," you pointed out, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in the soft, damp strands of his hair. "I could literally hear your tattoo machine vibrating through the drywall at 2 PM."

"Yeah, well, hearing you through a wall isn't the same as holding you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I kept thinking about how much I wanted to walk out of the apartment, and drag you into my bed. I’m completely ruined, Y/N. You've completely ruined me."

"Good," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath away from his. "You deserve it for making my life a living hell for months."

Jungkook let out a low, breathless chuckle against your mouth before he closed the distance. The kiss was filled with a domestic warmth that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no desperate battle for dominance, just the steady pull of two people. His hands slid down to your lower back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you, his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm against your chest.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing a little shallow.

"I bought dinner," he murmured, his eyes still closed as his thumbs traced the line of your jaw. "That little noodle place you like down the street. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter."

"You remembered?" you teased, shifting your weight slightly in his lap.

"I remember everything about you," he corrected softly, opening his eyes to look at you with a terrifying amount of certainty. "I know you take your coffee with too much milk, I know you organize your closet by colour, and I know that when you're stressed, you bite the inside of your lip until it bleeds. I'm paying attention, baby. I'm always paying attention."

His words made your throat tight, warmth expanding in your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, shifting under you as he easily hoisted your body into his arms, keeping you tucked securely against his chest as he stood up from the sofa. "Let's go eat. And then I’m dragging you to bed, and you're going to let me sleep for twelve hours straight."

"Only if you promise not to play music at 3 AM," you mumbled into his neck as he carried you across the threshold into his apartment.

Jungkook kicked his front door shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He looked down at you, his bunny teeth showing as he smiled.

"Deal, Princess," he murmured, kissing your temple softly. "From now on, the only noise in this apartment is going to be you."

firstly, welcome!! i'm so happy you're here 🥹

secondly, this fic exists purely for the vibes. it is ridiculously self-indulgent, highly unrealistic, and fuelled almost entirely by my own delulu, so please read with that in mind and enjoy the chaos.

i'm also from the uk, which means british slang, spellings, and the occasional phrase that makes absolutely no sense outside of this tiny island have definitely found their way into the story.

and just to make it crystal clear: every edit, photo, tweet, ig story, text exchange, and social media post included in this smau is fictional and created by me for storytelling purposes. nothing featured here should be considered a real quote, interaction, or factual representation of any person.

lastly, thank you. genuinely. every like, reblog, comment, message, and bit of support means more than i can put into words. what started as a silly little idea somehow turned into a lovely little duck and bunny corner of the internet, and i'm so grateful for everyone who's come along for the ride ♡

(ps. if you enjoy a chapter, don't be shy - likes and comments are always appreciated. i read every single one and they never fail to make me smile ♡)

liquid luck

who is this?

said too much

not duck

next question

ask him

he said no

too hard

horny hell

secured

i know bts

feels different

dead ass

my little duck

big brother

zero chill

swim

alternate reality

use your words

hi duckling

shut down

code red

brave face

going crazy

time will tell

cosmic sign

break a leg

better mood

hi army

can we talk?

wrap it up

enjoy the ride

cursed out

i trust you

i'm your kook

down bad

play it off

te amo, mexico

already yours

[ongoing]