tay

Jungkook doesn’t know why you ran off as quickly as you had, but you did. You remembered the way your mouth salivated, your stomach churned and you sprinted to the nearest exit. The girls restroom was empty when you arrived, and you hadn’t even bothered to lock the stall door before you dropped to your knees and vomited right into the toilet.

Graduation day was when you found out you were pregnant. The small letters that held the eight letter words appeared as though it was laughing at you. You couldn’t find a single picture of you at said graduation where you appeared content. Your mother, at the time, just told you it was woe of you growing older and off into the real world. Only you knew the true reasoning at the time.

Your mind travels to that day often. From finding out you were pregnant, to receiving Jungkook’s letter. He hadn’t delivered it to you personally, and instead had been given to you by someone walking by. You opened the card, your brows knitted together as you read it.

You recall the way your heart jolts at the way he writes your name. Jungkook apologized for making you uncomfortable. He pleads for forgiveness, stating that he’d do whatever for you to forgive him, even if it meant that you and him wouldn’t go back to the way things were before.

You found Jungkook in the crowd of excited teenagers. His eyes lit up, you noted. With anticipation. Even then, he was pleading with you for forgiveness that he had no fault in. In just a quick moment, your mind flashes with the amount of times you and he have been together, to then at the graduation.

How would Jungkook react to the news of your pregnancy, you asked yourself. How would your friends? Your parents?

Unlike Jungkook, you hadn’t thought about universities and where’d you go. You promised your mother that after a year break, you’d start classes again. Now, however, you were certain you couldn’t do what you planned.

You placed the card back into the envelope, ripping your eyes away from Jungkook and turning to walk away. You don’t see the way his face falls or his shoulders falter. With your back turn, he doesn’t see the way your eyes tear up a bit before you force them away.

That was 13 years ago and your mind always wanders back to that same night. You ignored Jungkook’s calls, but each time his name flashed onto your screen, you thought about answering. You thought about telling him about the pregnancy - about your own confused feelings you felt for him.

You hadn’t. 

You always found Jeon Jungkook to be cute. His nervous doe-like eyes, always shy and low whenever you were around. He often kept them hidden behind his hair, possibly hoping it’d assist him in camouflaging entirely.

Jeon Jungkook was quiet. The only time he spoke was when he had to, the teacher choosing him at random. 

You always found Jeon Jungkook to be cute - and that was something you couldn’t reveal to your friends. While you listened to them gush about who they hooked up with, who was hot or not, Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t make the cut.

“He probably humps his pillow.” your friend, Lia, cackles, turning her head away from Jungkook and back to the group; to you. It was one of the many times Jungkook had been caught staring. His cheeks are a bright red. He leans low in his chair, hunching a bit to avoid further eye contact.

“I think he’s got a crush on you.” Ava cackled, covering her mouth with her manicured hand - the same color and design that matches all of your hands perfectly. 

You always found Jeon Jungkook to be cute, but you were young. You were popular. You had a reputation - even if you realized after the fact that it was dumb. “I bet I could get him to do my homework…he’s such a loser.”

You didn’t mean anything you said to your friends about Jungkook, yet you never defended him aloud. You continued to use Jungkook to your advantage - allowing him to do your homework and copy off of him when needed. You teased him while your friends all watched.

You always found Jeon Jungkook to be cute. It’s the reason you found yourself having fun with the boy. It was probably wrong to use him for your own personal gain, but the rose tint on his cheeks followed by his shy eyes were just too hard to resist.

It’s why you kept it on - forcing him to smell your panties. Told him to touch himself in front of you, calling him pathetic with how excited he was; it was all to feed your ego. It wasn’t right, but it felt like it.

Your favorite memory was during study hall when you asked Jungkook to help you with a project - something he always did himself while you sat pretty beside him. He looked cuter this time, round glasses on his nose as he focused on the laptop in front of him for information. It was quiet in the library, only a few students scattered around. 

Jungkook had stiffened when your hand placed itself on his thigh. You begin to tap your fingers upwards, reaching closer and closer until it’s at the twitching dent. “You aren’t going to stop me?” you recall asking him. “I bet you want people to catch us like this. That’ll boost your popularity, won't it?”

Jungkook’s lips part as you force your hand into his pants. His head whips around to the quiet library. A few tables away is a girl with her head against the desk, most likely asleep. Rows of bookshelves hide the librarian in the front.

“I still can’t believe a nerd like you has such a big cock.” you murmur, leaning closer. “You’re happy, aren’t you? You like the way my hand feels around your cock.”

Jungkook’s body shuddered at the feel of your squeezing hand right on his covered cock,  his underwear appearing tighter and tighter against him.

“Say it.”

“I like it.” Jungkook squeaked out, low and pathetic just as you said. 

You knew he did. Dare you say he liked it just as much as you. You continued to grind your palm against his cock, watching him closely as his eyelids began to flutter. His breathing quickens, attempting to hide it to now draw too much attention to the two of you..

“Say you’re lucky to have me.” you lean closer. “Say you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic.” Jungkook’s hand curls into a tight first, his heart pumping so radically outside his chest. “I am lucky…to have you, Y/N.”

You told yourself the giddy feeling you felt in your heart was just a stroke of your own ego. You had giggled low when he came in his underwear, the warm substance sticking against him sickly. You kissed his cheek, just inches away from his lips and told him, “I know.”

You thought back to the time Jungkook had told you that he loved you for the first - and only - time. How you proceeded to ignore him - his calls, letters, all of it. You told yourself that it had gone too far and you weren’t doing anything but further toying with Jungkook who had admitted to you that he loved you. 

Then, you found out you were pregnant.

In a way, you created a monster, you think. You were the reason Jungkook had grown older, harboring these feelings towards women all because you were too much of a coward to face him. To face your friends if they ever found out what you were doing with him.

Now, Jeon Jungkook is back in your life. He’s taller, even more handsome and successful - everything you aren’t.

Jeon Jungkook was correct about a lot of things.

Your car has been repossessed. 

You’ve taken out more loans than you should’ve.

You were behind on bills.

You watched your reflection in the glass door of the bank, your eyes staring right back at you. It was 10 minutes before close. You wouldn’t say you didn’t recognize yourself, it’s just the you that you hadn’t seen in years.

You deposited the money into your account far too quickly, only a bit ashamed of yourself in the way you’ve gotten in. However, the expenses you had didn’t wait for you to gain money morally. 

“Miss Y/L,”

You offered a strained smile as you entered the building. Your eyes scanned the open gym, several children - of all ages - littering the vicinity. Your eyes immediately went towards where the older ones were, pre-teens and teenagers alike. You spotted him almost instantly and your heart jolted.

“Hello,” you glanced away and towards the voice that greets you. “I have to, uh,” you opened your purse to take out the check you’ve gotten from the bank. “make a payment, of course.”

Your cheeks were warm once you handed over the check. You’ve known Lisa for years now. She’s a kind middle aged woman who always has her cat-framed glasses on her nose. She takes the check you hold out gently and inspects it. She tries to hide her surprise.

“It’s what I’ve owed and also to cover the next few months.” you responded meekly. Your palms began to sweat a bit. 

Lisa has never judged you or any parent. It was her who gave you the extension on your payments as she understood what it was like. “I was a single mother at one point in my life, too.” she told you one evening almost three months ago. Your eyes were watering when you told her you couldn’t pay to be a part of these gymnastics classes anymore.

Your eyes glanced back at him, your son. He’s tall and lean, his time doing gymnastics since he was young had added only a couple years to his age. He was only 13, but could pass as 15. His hair was dark and wavy, and his eyes resembled the same ones you witnessed for the first time in a decade.

 13 years.

“Did you take out a loan?” Lisa questioned, her voice low. She looked concerned and you can tell by her voice alone. “Miss Y/L, I didn’t want you to do-”

“No loan.” you shook your head, your heart jolted once your son met your eyes. Training was over, but he never stopped until he saw you enter the building to come get him. He was on the parallel dip bars, pushing himself up, his legs straight and his shoulders tight. “Um…his father…helped.”

You tore your eyes away from your son to look back at Lisa. She’s met you as a single mother to a 4 year old, your son hyper and bouncing everywhere happily. You never mentioned a father before and even now, you appear uncomfortable.

“Ma!”

Your eyes blink once, then twice. You had spaced out yet again, this time your mind going down a lane full of memories that you couldn’t help. You probably looked insane right now, you think, staring at your son as the two of you eat - or at least him.

“You spaced out.” Ji-tae states matter-of-factly. He takes a bite of his pizza, an abundance of toppings nearly falling off of it. “You’ve been acting weird for a few weeks now. Is everything okay?”

You offer your son a low grin. “You forgot who’s the parent and who’s the child?” you tease. You grasp the bottle to take a sip of your drink. “I’m fine,” you say once you’re done sipping. “just trying to get back situated with work, you know?”

Ji-tae nods his head a bit. He isn’t fully convinced, but you almost never shared your own issues with him. As far as Ji-tae needed to know, you were working a new job that allowed you to drive a nicer car. You had more money to splurge on him, buying him whatever items he asked for without a blink of an eye.

Your son doesn’t need to know the brand new car is from Jungkook, your boss who happens to share the same dark eyes as him. 

“What do you do?”

Your eyes twitch a bit, but nonetheless you remain calm. “Assistant.” you reply. “Why do you ask?”

Ji-tae shrugs his shoulders. “Curious.” is all he says, taking another bite of his pizza. 

You know your son. He’s scrunching his nose in a way that tells you he wants to say something, but is holding back.

“Ji-tae,” 

Your son looks up at you. His eyes meet yours and for a moment, your heart jolts once more. 

Ji-tae knows you only call him by his name if you are being serious.

“What's wrong?” you ask him, assuring to keep eye contact.

“I think I want to quit gymnastics.”

Your eyebrows knit. “What?”

If it's one thing your son loves, it was the competitiveness that was gymnastics. He often overworked until he was able to get a certain move close to perfect. Several awards lined the shelves in his bedroom.

“Grandmother,” 

Immediately you groan - because of course it had something to do with your mother.

“said you didn’t have the money-”

“What did I tell you, Ji-tae?” you don’t mean to sound harsh. You aren’t upset with your son in the slightest. Your mother, however, always found it hard to not discuss whatever issues you were having with your child. “It’s my responsibility to worry about you.”

“Not the other way around…” Ji-tae trails off. He swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing. “...but if it’s too expensive-”

“It’s not.” you stand, the chair scrapping behind you. 

You move faster than you should right now. Your phone is on the kitchen island and you snatch it and Ji-tae is fully aware of what you’re doing. 

Your mother answers on the third ring, sounds cherrier than she should right now. You walk out of the room to assure Ji-tae wouldn’t hear the conversation. 

“Why are you telling my son things that don’t concern him?” you ask as soon as your mother answers the phone. “He should never know about what the fuck-”

“Y/N, do calm down.” your mother tells you. Her tone is sickenly sweet, but you’ve been raised on it your entire life. It was her ‘mother knows best’ act, something she pulled constantly. 

“Tae said he wants to quit gymnastics because you told him I couldn’t afford it.” you spat out, but not too loud for your son to hear. 

“Well can you?”

Jungkook was correct about a lot of things that evening. He knew about your car being repossessed, so oftentimes you borrowed your mothers or found your own way. He knew about the small, yet several loans; though he didn’t know that it was for Ji-tae and his hobbies - gymnastics, that led to tournaments at the end of the week, being the most expensive. He knew you were behind on several bills, but that was to assure that Ji-tae had whatever he needed.

What Jeon Jungkook didn’t know was the very existence of your son. That was something you intended to keep a secret as much as you could.

It was your mother’s idea to keep your pregnancy a secret. No pictures. No being seen when you didn’t need to. The plans you’ve made with your friends - the travelling, the late night fun and partying - were gone. 

“Please tell me what I’ve deserved to become a grandmother at this age?” your mother asked during dinner one evening. You were five months, bump forming underneath the oversize shirt you wore. “How many times have I warned you about this, Y/N? I wanted you to be more than a pretty face, you know? But look at you now.”

It was also your mother’s idea to sign custody over to her. It made appearances easier, she told you. On paper, sure, she was the mother. But it was you doing the late night feedings and caring for J-itae. 

“Do you even know who the father is?” your mother questions lowly on Ji-tae’s first birthday. It’s a question she hadn’t asked you prior. She’s holding him in her arms, a bright smile on her lips as she poses for pictures. 

“Well?” your mother's voice brings you back to reality. You’ve spaced out far too many times lately. “Tae told me you started a new job, honey.”

“I did, mother.” you clench the phone to your ear. You inhale slowly, closing your eyes. “I am capable of taking care of my son, mother. If you can’t respect my wishes, then maybe you shouldn’t come around anymore.”

“Excuse me?” your mother laughs. “You’re being dramatic, Y/N. I was just trying to help-”

You hang up. Your heart is racing. You rarely stand up to your mother. For years, you attempted to see things from her point of view. How embarrassed she must’ve been when people soon realized the child she claimed as her own, would slip up and call you mommy. The facade had fallen when Ji-tae was 5, but luckily most of your friends were long gone and those who remained hadn’t believed the facade for a second.

Jungkook, you’ve learned, has changed over the last decade.

And Jeon Jungkook has a daughter.

Jeon Jinah is five. She looked so much like Jungkook, so much so that you pondered how her mother looked. The Jeon genes were strong, you thought, as when it came to Ji-tae and Jinah, it appeared Jungkook gave birth to them himself.

Meeting Jinah for the first time had sent a shiver up your spine, the resemblance to your own son was uncanny. Her eyes are dark like Jungkook’s and Ji-Tae’s. Her stare appeared cold when her father introduced you to her. She peered up at you as if alarmed by your presence.

Then, she smiled a smile that had your heart tugging. You knew that smile all too well.

 Maybe it was because she reminded you of the Jungkook you’ve known in high school. The boy whose eyes sparkled with innocence. The boy who was so caring and shy; nice and genuine. 

Maybe it was because the smile resembled that of your own son.

Jungkook watches the way Jinah takes your hand in both of her smaller ones, tugging you into her bedroom. He notices the way your eyes roam around the large room, marvelling at how high the ceilings were and how large the bed was for a small child like her. The closet had to be as big as your own bedroom, and she even had a bigger bed than you did. 

Jungkook lingers in the doorway as his daughter speaks to you. She rambles, speaking without taking a break. She shows you everything in her room  - the expensive tea cups that Jungkook bought that surely weren’t kid friendly as they were decorative glass from Europe. Behind one door, is a second closet, only she tells you it’s for her dolls. You’re almost jealous of the toys when she shows you the clothing, all designer brands you couldn’t pronounce.

After a month, you realized that you appeared to be working for her instead of her father. How you managed to juggle between Ji-tae, who had training every day after school, to Ji-nah was something you yourself couldn’t comprehend.

Jungkook had given you one of his many cars to drive where you picked her up from the home - the same home you also had a key and security codes to. 

Jeon Jinah has a strict schedule, you noticed, and you began to realize that Ji-tae inherited more from Jungkook than you. 

Each day, you’d come an hour before Ji-nah was set to wake up to prepare her school lunch and breakfast.The first day, Jinah insisted that you eat with her and Jungkook, who only began work after his daughter was in school. Everyday since then, it’s become a routine - only because your son soon insisted on his own strict schedule; morning run, protein shake with breakfast, then to school where he often took the bus to.

After breakfast, you would get Jinah ready for school. That consisted of helping her with her school uniform and doing her hair in whatever style she preferred - on Wednesdays she wore pigtails. 

As Jinah was in school, you accompanied Jungkook to the office. The first day, he had given you everything you needed that concerned the girl. Her doctors numbers and emergency contacts outside of his own. Her preferred fruits and vegetables and snacks - he was as organized as you remembered him.

After school, you were surprised to learn that Jinah also did gymnastics. Obviously, it was also a gene she and your son had to inherit from Jungkook. Three days out of the week, she trained in a luxury studio you could never afford yourself. The following two days were ballet and on Saturdays, recitals.

You couldn’t stop the feeling that everything, especially after another month, has become…domestic. You told yourself it was because of Jungkook. In the mornings, he would brew coffee as you made breakfast. He finds watching you shape the pancakes for Jinah in little hearts - simply because she enjoyed it - fascinating. He wouldn’t tell you, but he was expecting you to be bad at this. However, you adapted to the role naturally.

Jungkook was touchier, holding your hips as he passed you or even kissing you at times; actions you never questioned him about.

Maybe it was when Jinah had her last recital at the end of the month when you felt the domestication at its highest. Jungkook had insisted you sit with him instead of being backstage as you always had. His arm circles around your waist and he’d whisper in your ear ever so often about nothing in particular that it had the hair on your neck rising.

Or, possibly now. Jinah is in bed and she asks you if you could stay with her for the night. Sure, she wakes up with you there, but it isn’t the same. In the short amount of time, you understood what Jungkook meant on the first day of him feeling as though she needed a woman. You only agreed because Ji-tae himself wasn’t home and instead was with his friend for the night.

Jungkook doesn’t tell you about the cameras he has in his home. The one he watches you through frequently. Even now as he sits at his desk, the night sky and city lights surrounding him, he hears the way his daughter pleads for you to stay the night with her. He watches the way you get into the large bed and hold her close.

Jungkook continues to watch until he finds that he’s watched for hours. His ears perk when your phone rings and you struggle to get it without waking Ji-nah. He hears you murmuring on the phone; “Tae, what’s wrong?”

Jungkook didn’t know who Tae was.

“I’m working now.” you say, voice low but he can hear you perfectly fine. “Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, too.”

You’re asleep when Jungkook gets home late that night. Usually, you’d be up waiting for him to return so you could go. He doesn’t bother you. Instead, he allows you to sleep as he closes the door and makes his way down the hallway to his own bedroom. His mind ponders on who’s Tae - a boyfriend? Would you have fucked him if you had one? Surely he wouldn’t know - there isn’t anything hinting that you were in a relationship. 

Yet, you tell this person that you loved him. That you’ll see him tomorrow.

Jungkook finds that he doesn’t care - not deeply at least. After all, in a way, he owns you now more than ever.

The domestication doesn’t end there. As a month turns to several months, you begin to ponder on your relationship with Jungkook. It wasn’t professional in the slightest - the sex was the main indicator. Sleeping with your boss wasn’t ideal, but you never denied him when he made advances, partly because you understood your place. He was correct when he said you’d let him.

You understood that you had to keep Jungkook happy. Keeping Jungkook happy meant that Ji-tae could have whatever he needed and more. It meant that you could save the hefty amount of funds Jungkook gave you for your son, a college fund you always told yourself you would start. It meant that you could make on time payments for his gymnastics and pay the fees needed when championships arrived.

But the more you worked under Jungkook, the more you began to question what it was that he had you doing. You, Jinah and him attending an amusement park wasn’t something you should be doing. It felt too personal, but you did simply because Jinah wanted you to. Her small hands in yours and Jungkook's. 

A part of you even wished your son could join.

“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes now.”

It’s Jungkook’s voice that gets you out of your thoughts.

You blink a few times before shaking your head. Your eyes glances at Jungkook. He was cooking, chopping up various vegetables, more than he usually would, but he wanted Jinah to try more. “What’s on your mind?”

You straighten your shoulders, turning your eyes away from him. It’s one of those rare occasions that Jungkook wasn’t at the office. Though you saw the man in various suits that served him well, or even naked as unprofessional as that was, you find that his relaxed attire was your favorite. His shirt is dark and loose and he’s wearing sweats that hang only a bit low on his waist.

“...I…”

Jinah is in her room and had been coloring when you walked down the hall to get her a snack. It was when you smelled the food and witnessed Jungkook in the kitchen that your mind wandered. 

“...you?” Jungkook raises a brow, giving you a glance before returning to cutting the vegetables. 

“Is that all the work you have for me?” you ask. In hindsight, this job was perfect. The pay, the benefits - it all was. But you couldn’t help but feel like this was just the calm before the storm.

“Do you want more work?” Jungkook asks cooly, not bothering to look up at you. “I thought Jinah and her energy would’ve drained you by now.”

You shake your head, even if his eyes weren't on you. You’ve dealt with Ji-tae for years and knew just how to deal with an energetic child.

“I love being around Jinah.” you admit. “It’s just…it doesn’t seem like work. I feel like a mom.”

Your lips curl shut.

Jungkook hums, the knife slicing against the cutting board. This time, he glances up at you just as the last piece of onion is diced. He places the knife down and offers a raised brow. 

“Is that a bad thing?”

You catch Jungkook’s eyes. They’re hard and unblinking, waiting for you to answer. 

“Is it a bad thing?” Jungkook repeats, a bit louder. “I could have you at the office doing boring paperwork, but instead you’re here.” Jungkook raises a hand to motion around his home. “I trust you enough to care for my daughter. You’re debt free…what more do you want?”

“I never said I wanted more.” you turn away from him. You didn’t even know what you were asking for. “Forget it.”

You make your way to the cupboard to find Jinah a snack. In a way, Jungkook is correct, there isn’t any more you could ask for. Your job was entirely too easy that it has you questioning what Jungkook’s plan was continuing further. 

Before you could turn around with the cookies you got for Jinah, Jungkook is behind you. You hadn’t seen him gather the vegetables into the boiling pot and set it to low. His hands are on your waist, lips against your neck.

“What if I told you I don’t have any intentions in letting you go?” Jungkook murmurs against your neck. 

You swallow, a shudder running up your spine. “And why is that?”

“Why would I?” Jungkook snorts. “I just got you back.”

Jungkook is kissing your neck now. Your lips part a bit. “13 years is a long time…” you trail off, a slight tremble in your voice. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook says against your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. His hands roam upward slowly, going underneath your shirt. At the feel of his hands along the bare skin of your stomach, you let out a short breath. “A long time to still be hung up on one girl, right?”

Jungkook presses himself against you, his crotch grazing your ass. 

“You talk as if you’ve been waiting for me.” 

You lean back far enough for your back to touch Jungkook’s chest. You were a weakling, you think, fully submitting to Jungkook so easily with little fight. 

“Maybe I have.” responds Jungkook. His tongue glides against your neck.  “Maybe I am as pathetic as you once used to say.”

Jungkook’s fingers reach your bra. He slides them up until both of his hands are engulfing your breasts. Gently, he squeezes them, the sensation has your eyelids fluttering a bit.

“I think back to how you treated me back then - when it was just you and me.” Jungkook strokes his tongue upwards. “How much of a bitch you were to me and how much I liked it.” he murmurs, his voice lowering in just a way that has your thighs clenching. “When you called me pathetic…when you’d say I was lucky to have you do that to me.”

You lick your lips. Your right hand gently clenches the cookies in your palm. Jungkook begins to rut his hips into you.

“You were pathetic.” you respond without thinking. For a moment, you stop. Your eyes snap open and your heart jolts - you didn’t want to upset Jungkook. He was the one that held all the power between the two of you. You couldn’t risk your mother's words being right or your son worrying about you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t appear to be upset. If anything, your statement seems to excite him further. He whimpers in your ear, his hold on you growing tighter.

“And that’s why I kept on.” you continue. “I wanted to see how far you’d let me go.”

“You knew I liked you.”

It isn’t a question. Jungkook wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was in his youth.

“I knew you liked me.” you nod. “That’s what made it more fun. I liked the flush look on your cheeks when I’d bend over.”

Jungkook squeezes your breast, his breath hitching - he remembers those days too. The first time you were wearing bright yellow panties that he thought about the rest of the day. So much so that the first thing he did when he got home was cum right into his hands at the thought of them; an action that left him feeling utterly disgusting afterwards.

“I liked when you’d stutter when I spoke to you. How you’d do whatever I wanted you to.”

Jungkook’s right hand lets go of your breast and slides them down - lower and lower - until they’re forcing its way into your pants.

“You were such a pervert, too.” you gasp when Jungkook’s fingers fingers your clothed clit. This was happening entirely too fast, but the both of you were enthralled, forgetting where you’re at. “Doing anything I told you to.”

“You knew I would.” Jungkook breaths as he twirls his fingers over the fabric. 

“I was only teasing when I told you to smell my panties.” you giggle - which is soon followed by a moan with how much pressure Jungkook is putting in rubbing. “But you did it like the perverted little boy you were.”

“Stop acting like you didn’t like it.” Jungkook jerks his hips once more, his bulge hardened. “You liked how perverted I was. Isn’t that what made you jump on my cock?”

You gasp, Jungkook’s fingers finding their way between the moist fabric of your panties and planting themselves right on your clit. 

“Maybe…” you swallow, your head falling back. He twirls his fingers roughly. “...I felt sorry for you.”

It’s a lie and you know it. You did like how perverted Jungkook was for you and you alone. 

“Is that so?” Jungkook hisses. Another squeeze to your breast. “Is that why you told me I felt so good inside of you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut. Jungkook didn’t forget a second of that day - and it was only one time. Sometimes he thinks how many other times he could’ve had you if he hadn’t slipped up and admitted he loved you. It’s the reason why he doesn’t intend on letting you go anywhere now - making up for lost times, he tells himself.

Jungkook doesn’t know those feelings he felt for you all those years ago were reciprocated.

“Daaad!”

Instantly, Jungkook removes himself from you at the sound of Jinah’s voice. Her feet sound immediately after, paddling down the hall. You stumble, but catch yourself before you could fall. 

Jinah enters the kitchen seconds later, eyes bright and wide and a smile on her lips. 

“Jiji…” Jungkook trails off, looking at the small girl. “...remember what I said about coming in here while I’m cooking?”

Jinah nods her head. She’s holding a paper in her hands. “Accidents.” she murmurs. “Look!”

You turn, cookies in hand as Jinah shows what she has colored to Jungkook.

Jungkook is already rounding the corner, a tint to his cheeks. He washes his hands, eyes flickering to you for a mere moment before turning back to Jinah.

“That’s amazing.” Jungkook says, smiling down at his daughter. You watch him, unsure why you find him to be cute whenever he speaks to Jinah. He isn’t cocky, he isn’t demanding. He’s just Jungkook. 

“It’s me and you and,” Jinah turns to you, pointing at her with her left hand. “Y/N!”

“I see.” Jungkook takes the paper from Jinah’s small hands. “And a dog…” he chuckles, his eyes flickering to the small blob at the corner of the page. “Want to see?” 

Jungkook is speaking to you now. He furrows his brows.

“Y-Yeah.” you stutter. Your feet work for you, paddling towards Jungkook and Jinah. “Wow,” you say, your voice raising like it always did whenever you talk to her - or to small children in general. “It’s so nice.”

Jinah beams up at you and Jungkook in a way that has your heart jolting.

“Let’s go hang this up.” you speak to Jinah. “Right along with the other ones.”

Jungkook allows you to take the crayon drawing from his hands, avoiding his eyes. Then, Jinah takes your hand in her smaller ones and drags you down the hall, far more excited than he’s ever seen her before.

In Jungkook’s eyes, as a young teenager going through far too many hormones and emotions, you could do no wrong. It didn’t matter that he did almost all of your work and expected nothing in return - because your attention was enough. 

Jungkook realized that you were becoming a bad habit - one that had him skipping classes whenever you asked. You and he would sit right behind the school, an area secluded by tall trees and shade that left the two of you completely hidden. He recalls that this was one of his favorite memories of you. Before you had mounted him, wrapping your bare pussy around his cock and he uttered those words, you’d tease him right here.

Still, your friends didn’t know and Jungkook was positive they never would. You were his secret, one he would take to the grave with him if it meant that he could remain as such. 

“You are such a cutie without your glasses.” you’d tell him, removing the frames from him and offering a low grin, your lips glistening with gloss. You begin to chew calmly, as if savoring the minty gum in your mouth. Your lips sparkle with the right amount of shine underneath the shade.

You always thought that even with said glasses, Jungkook was handsome. “I bet all the girls tell you that.”

You’re teasing him, you always do. “I don’t talk to other girls.” he’d say, repeating it over and over again, a part of you (that you’d never admit) secretly enjoying that Jungkook was yours and yours only. 

“How come?” you asked, feigning ignorance. “Don’t tell me you actually like me?” you giggled, this time instead of hovering above him, you take a seat right in his lap. Your skirt is short, as is every girl in your friend group, and it rides up when you sit. “You’re like a little dog, you know? Following me around and humping my leg.”

Jungkook swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. His pants are just as thin as your panties and he feels it all. He stiffens, his cock growing embarrassingly hard as the seconds roll by, and he knows you feel it, too. 

“I was right.” you giggled, tilting your head to look at him. His tinted cheeks are as cute as him, as was the humiliated expression on his face. “You can be so pathetic at times, you know?”

Softly, Jungkook nods. “I know.” he agrees silently.

You watch Jungkook closely, your eyes trailing across his face. To his rosy lips, soft eyes, to the sharpness of his jawline. Jungkook doesn’t know what you’re thinking, and you like to keep it that way. You didn’t want him to become like the other boys in school.

You lean closer to Jungkook, your crotch rubbing against him. He lets out a soft whimper at the friction. His lips part, his eyes widening as he watches you. You’re chewing the gum, this time flattening said gum along your teeth, pushing your tongue through and blowing. It pops in his face, a breeze of mint tickling his nose.

“That’s okay, Kookie,” you tell him, both of your hands settling onto his face. He could die right here, he remembered thinking, and he would be fine with that - right underneath you and in your full control “I always wanted a dog.”

Your lips fall onto his and instantly, he tastes the coconut gloss. Your tongue forces his lips apart without a fight, your tongue sliding across his possessively until he feels soft, sticky texture against his own lips. Your hips jut so softly, teasing his hardened cock against you that he’s positive you’re toying with him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

When you pull away, Jungkook inhales and nearly chokes when the gum threatens to go down his throat.

“Excuse me -Y/N!”

You stop in your tracks at the sound of your name. You turn around with knitted brows. You’re holding a box that’s full to the brim with different envelopes and paper, all assigned for you to organize - only because Jungkook had nothing else for you to do while Jinah was at school. Currently, he’s in a work meeting just down the hall and in view, the windows showcasing the amount of people and possible investors inside. 

“Oh,” you offer a smile at the man. Ren is his name. He sports a soft smile your way, pushing a black cart in front of him. “hello Ren. How are you?”

“Great!” Ren exclaims. “I noticed the box you’re holding is full. Need a hand?”

Ren is one of the many assistants here that do whatever they’re told. Coffee runs to answering phones to scheduling meetings. He is indeed pushing a cart that appears to have different arrays of office supplies. “Stocking up?”

Ren nods, going around the cart to take the box from your hands. He places it on top of his cart, pushing aside a stack of papers. “Sasha likes fresh inked pens every other day.” he states. “Kaede goes through paper like crazy, so he needs his printer to be stocked daily; insane right?”

You walk besides Ren as he makes his way down the hall. With each step, the conference room comes into view. Behind it, Jungkook is speaking, using his hands to motion as he does so. You ponder what he’s talking about, but you and Jungkook rarely speak of work.

“How is it working for the big boss?” Ren questions. “He scares me.”

You glance Ren’s way, snorting. “Jungkook scares you?” you ask, tone a bit teasing. However, as your mind thinks further into it, it was obvious why Ren would find Jungkook intimidating, especially when he was a small fish compared to the shark that was Jeon Jungkook.

“You…” Ren trails off, brown eyes widening a bit. “...call him by his name? He allows that?”

Your cheeks warm at the realization, now remembering that you were the only one that didn’t speak to Jungkook professionally. You didn’t want what you were doing behind the scenes to be outed and have everyone suspecting you fucked your way into a job - even if that’s exactly what you did.

“Mr. Jeon and I go way back!” you say quickly just as you were about to pass the conference room. For a moment, behind the glass, Jungkook looks your way. His eyes glance between you, then Ren, then back to you. “We went to the same high school.”

You take your eyes away from Jungkook to focus back on Ren.

“Oh.” Ren sighs out in what you swore was relief. “I see. You two must be good friends then.”

You and Ren stop at the elevator, your destination, the top floor where Ren’s never stepped foot in. He wonders if he was even allowed without Mr. Jeon present, but you step inside just as the doors open and motion for him to follow you. Once inside, he straightens his shoulders.

“Working with Mr. Jeon isn’t all that bad. He’s very punctual, but I suppose I understand why others might find him scary.”

The elevator moves, going higher and higher.

“Yeah.” Ren murmurs. “We don’t really cross paths often, but when we do it’s…” Ren hums. “...he seems very powerful, in a way.”

You snicker. “Really? You speak of him as if he’s some type of super villain.”

Ren himself chuckles, a tint growing on his cheeks. “I mean, he is powerful. Super wealthy and still so young. We all work directly under him in this company that he’s built. I suppose I would say I find him admirable.”

The elevator dings just as Ren finishes talking. As the door opens, Ren’s eyes widen at the luxurious sight; the same way you had when you first entered the same office months prior.

 Your heels click as you step inside. “You can just put the box on my desk over there.” you tell Ren. “And, I know what you mean. Mr. Jeon is admirable…”

Ren pushes the cart into the office, the sudden feeling of being under dressed overcomes him. Suddenly, his shoes weren’t shiny enough, his shirt not the correct quiet luxury brand that he knows Mr. Jeon wears. 

“What was he like in Highschool?” Ren questions. He grasps the box and does what you tell him to. 

Ren is young, you note, and if you had to guess, possibly fresh out of college. You ponder if this was his first “real” job where he wishes to climb the corporate ladder. He still has a bit of a baby face, his eyes containing the twinkling sense of hope that died for you years ago.

You blink a few times, your mind drifting back to the quiet kid in the back of the class that was Jeon Jungkook. Shy, timid and though not a loner, only contained a small group of friends around him. 

“Smart.” you respond. “Always the top of our classes. He’s helped me a lot with my own work.” you admit, that warm feeling coming back to your cheeks. “It isn’t surprising that he has all of this.” you wave your hand around, gesturing to not only the office, but to the entire company. 

“You and him were good friends?”

Ren himself thinks maybe he’s asking too many personal questions, but you hadn’t glared at him yet like others had. During his time working for this company there was only a selected few who actually treated him kindly, you being one of them.

“We…lost touch after high school.” you avoid answering the question on whether you and Jungkook were friends. Could you call it that? You used Jungkook like a tool and he allowed it, hiding whatever “relationship” you and he had from your friends.

What would you tell Ren? ‘Yes, Mr. Jeon and I go way back that I even had a secret child with him who to this day he has no idea about!’ It wasn’t idealistic.

The elevator dings again. Ren turns his head to the sound, his eyes widening when Mr. Jeon steps through. 

“Sir,” Ren bows his head a bit, his hands gripping the metal cart.

Jungkook blinks towards Ren. His eyes then trail towards you. “How’s the filing coming along?” he questions. 

“Just about to get started.” you murmur, glancing back towards Ren behind Jungkook. “Ren was helping me bring it up here.”

Ren blinks, panic flowing through him when Jungkook turns back to him. “Oh.” is all the older man says. 

“I’ll be taking my leave, Sir. Y/N.” Ren murmurs. He can feel his palms growing sweaty at being far too close to Mr. Jeon. 

“You do that.” Jungkook says as he steps deeper into his office. He rounds his desk to sit down.

You glance at Ren as he enters the elevator. The door shuts before you could say your own farewells. You couldn’t shake off the sudden uneasy feeling that clouds the office, but you otherwise don’t say anything about it.

The next hour is met in silence as you do your job - filing paperwork, making copies and even scheduling in your work laptop. Jungkook himself is silent, typing away at his computer. He hadn’t said a word the entire time and you weren’t sure if that was good or not.

“What were you and Ren talking about?”

Another hour had passed when Jungkook had spoken. You look up from your laptop to offer him a glance. 

“You.” you answer.

“What about me?” Jungkook scoffs. 

“He finds you admirable.” you squint your eyes his way. “Asked what it was like working alongside you.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything further, so you do.

“He reminds me of you.” you say truthfully, glancing back to your screen. You continue to type. “Back in Highschool. He still has that sparkle in his eyes.”

“Ah,” Jungkook hums. “you like that, don’t you?”

You stop typing. Slowly,  your eyes trail up to Jungkook from  your own desk. Your eyes connect with his.

“What does that mean?” you question.

Jungkook shrugs one shoulder. “You like that sparkle in his eyes.” he states coolly. “It’s like you have a radar for pathetic beings to take advantage of.”

“Excuse me?” you hiss, eyes widening at his words. 

“What, Y/N, are you going to fuck him next?” Jungkook snickers. “Are you going to ruin that sparkle he has in his eyes, too?”

You bite the inside of your cheek until it throbs. Your hands clench slowly. “What is this about?” you murmur dangerously low. “Are you jealous…of Ren?”

Jungkook scoffs before laughing entirely. “Please, Y/N.”

You close your laptop, glaring eyes piercing right through Jungkook. “I think you are.” you shrug. “Maybe through Ren you see what you once were.”

Jungkook doesn’t find anything funny anymore. He watches you push back your chair and stand.

“After all these years, you’re still upset about what happened in high school.” 

Jungkook’s eyes dance down your figure. “Where are you going?” he questions as he witnesses you gathering your items. 

“For lunch.” you state. “Maybe I’ll ask Ren if he wants to go anywhere-”

“You’re going to get that boy fired.” Jungkook spats. He stands, rounds his desk and stalks towards you. “Sit-”

You push yourself away from Jungkook as he grasps your arm. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“And you’re the bitch who lives a good life because of me.” Jungkook hisses right back. “You don’t get paid to flirt in front of my face. Is that the reason you asked for ‘more work’.”

“Flirting…flirting in your face?” you snap, now genuinely appalled by his words.

At least you were right, you think, Jungkook was jealous. To think someone like him with the amount of endless money and resources would be jealous of someone that found him admirable.

“Even with all this money and power you have, Kook, you’re still the same pathetic loser who I fucked and left all those years ago and nothing is going to change that.”

You stiffen at your own words. You didn’t mean to say it aloud - or at all -  you were just upset. Only your mother knew how to pinch a nerve in you like that, and now Jungkook was jabbing that same nerve repeatedly.

Immediately, you squeeze your eyes shut and mentally curse at yourself. It was a sensitive topic  for not only Jungkook, but for you, as well. When you were triggered, you’d resort back to the person you once was -  a total bitch. Those words had your mind flashing rapidly - to the look on Jungkook’s face when you opened his letter, to those words your mother spoke to you; “I wanted you to be more than just a pretty face. Look at you now.”

 “I didn’t mean-”

“Yes you did, Y/N. That’s okay.” Jungkook interrupts. At first, upon hearing the lack of malice in his voice, you thought maybe he was telling the truth.  “You think you can do better without me?”

Jungkook’s voice is dangerously low. When your eyes flutter open, he’s directly in front of you. Those dark round eyes of his are hard, piercing right through you.

“You think…”

You yelp when Jungkook’s hand slams into your head, yanking a fist full of your hair. 

“...you could do any better than what I give you? I may be the same pathetic loser, but you’re still the whore that needs my help.”

Jungkook presses himself against your body. Maybe it’s the way your eyes glared at him after you called him pathetic, or maybe it was just the words - whatever it was, it caused his cock to harden. Your words rang true to the core. Deep down inside, even with all the money and notoriety he’s gained remains the same boy who was shy and reserved. The boy who followed your every word - the boy who was still stuck on you for years to come.

You inhale through your nose, taking a deep breath. You and Jungkook lock eyes, neither of you speaking but the both of you seething - and entirely a bit too aroused by the other. What you and Jungkook had going on wasn’t ethical, but it was good. Even if you weren’t sure where it was going to lead to. 

“The whore you fell in love with.” you murmur, your own eyes hardening. “What does that say about you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook’s throats make a noise. He’s less angered now, finding the way you’re looking at him far too appealing. His grip in your hair softens. 

“Do you still love me?” you ask rather boldly. It’s fast, but your eyes flicker to his lips, the beauty mark underneath said lips was something you always found cute, as weird as it sounded. “After all these years, Mr. Jeon?” your voice softens, teasing him further. “I bet after I broke your pathetic little heart, you tried to find me in every woman you’ve been with since then, huh?”

Jungkook licks his lips. Maybe your words were harsh - true, however - and it was weird, but he finds that his cock is twitching in his pants right now. Your eyes are glaring daggers into him with such anger and annoyance, but yet you’re still so beautiful. So alluring that he bucks his hips into you further.

“And none of them satisfied that itch that you obviously still have for me.”

Your hand reaches up to touch his hand that’s still in your hair. Jungkook’s throat makes another noise, a whimper that notifies not only him, but you, that you were far too correct. 

“Admit you’re jealous.”

Jungkook furrows a brow, asking a silent question.

“Of Ren.” you murmur, slowly removing Jungkook’s tattooed hand from your head. Your thumb caresses the top of said hand, eyes watching Jungkook. 

“I can never be jealous of someone who couldn’t take you from me.” Jungkook speaks coolly. “I’m pathetic but not incompetent. You’re right where you want to be. Where I want you to be.”

It’s weird that Jungkook has a switch to him. How he could freely admit that he was so pathetically down bad for you while also being so confident that whatever he felt you also reciprocated. 

“How can you be so certain this is where I want to be?” you raise an eyebrow. “I could just be using you until I get bored.”

You aren’t expecting a low smirk to form onto Jungkook’s rosy lips. Sure, you aren’t too serious - it was just playful banter. But still, you wanted the man to gravel at your feet, not match your pettiness.

“You’re good for that, aren’t you?” Jungkook murmurs. “You want to hear me say that I’m jealous of another man to stroke your own ego, huh?”

Jungkook removes his hand from your own to place it onto your cheek. His thumb places itself on your lips, tracing it slowly. The closeness of the both of you causes heat to radiate off of one another. You can feel his bulge against you, the heartbeat between your legs only growing with each passing second.

“You aren’t leaving me.” 

Unblinking are Jungkook’s eyes as he speaks; straight to the point. He doesn’t budge an inch, his closeness radiating even more heat that flows throughout your entire body underneath his gaze.

Jungkook is serious, but the way you hear it is not the way he intends. Your mind hears Jungkook’s “you aren’t leaving me” as if it's something you couldn’t afford to do. No, it wasn’t that at all. What Jungkook truly means is he wasn’t going to allow you to leave him again like you had all those years ago; shut him out and go your separate ways. Not again - not ever.

“You can’t stop me.”

And of course you spoke. You couldn’t help yourself. The smug look on Jungkook’s (handsome) face was enough for you to want to prove him wrong.

“If I wanted to leave, I could.” you continue. “Just be happy I haven’t yet.”

“But you aren’t going to.” Jungkook says, dropping his hand from your cheek to your neck. 

Your lips part, a soft breath passing through as Jungkook’s palm cups your neck, fingers digging ever so gently into it.

“Did you think I was joking with you when I said that you’ll do as I say?”

With a free hand, Jungkook grasps your waist to bring you closer to him. His grip on your neck tightens. 

“Before, I gave you a bit of a choice.” Jungkook murmurs, bringing himself closer to you. His nose grazes yours softly. “Now, however, I’m not.”

Jungkook’s lips are the softest pair of lips you ever tasted. You learned that though he was a man, he had a thorough routine that left his skin soft, his hair silky and smooth and his lips soft.

Even if your body craved for Jungkook that left an aching heartbeat between your legs, it’s your own will that pushes the man away - even if he didn’t go far. A slap sounds throughout the office so loud and sudden that it stuns even you.

Jungkook’s stinging cheek doesn’t upset him - no, the opposite. He’s even more excited by your action that he almost asks you to do it again.

“You talk as if I belong to you.” your eyes squint at the man.

“You do.” Jungkook responds without a second passing. “I’ll be damned if someone else gets to fuck this sweet pussy of yours.”

Jungkook’s hand finding their way into your skirt in a manner of seconds has you yelping. He cups your pussy, the heartbeat only growing more rapid. Your thighs clench around his hand for a moment, your reaction giving yourself away.

“You’re just a stubborn bitch is all, Y/N. You always have been.” Jungkook chuckles, licking his lips. “But I’m not a little boy who’s afraid of a challenge. You like to be chased,” he shrugs his shoulders, so nonchalant and cool. “so I’ll let you run.”

You hate how Jeon Jungkook makes your body feel - so warm and weak that your thighs tremble with anticipation. He has a hold on you that he’s never truly had before and that thought both frightens and excites you.

“I’ve had a long day so far.”

Jungkook’s fingers rub against your clothed pussy until the fabric grows damp with arousal.

“Meetings after meetings,” Jungkook licks his lips before continuing. “and at the end of it all, I come to you for relaxation. But all you’ve given me was attitude.”

“We aren’t going to rewrite history.” you murmur, because it’s the only way you could say it without your voice cracking. “You started with me.”

“I did.” Jungkook’s lip twitches upwards, attempting to avoid the smirk that would surely send you into a rage. “What do you want me to say, Y/N? That I was jealous?” he questions, adding more pressure to his rubs, his gaze hardening on your face for any ounce of expression. “You talking to Ren, no matter how much of a downgrade he is from me-”

You roll your eyes. Not completely out of pure annoyance from Jungkook’s audacity, but also because your pussy was growing wetter with each passing moment. 

“-reminds me of when you’d do the same all those years ago. Toy with me just to go back to living your life.”

“You want me to apologize, Kookie?” your voice is so breathy; so full of need. Your eyes flutter a bit. “That you’re so insecure that even someone you deemed lesser than you has the possibility of stealing me away.”

Jungkook chuckles. He knows that you’re trying to get a rise out of him. Your degrading words are so sweet to his ears - they always have been. Instead of responding, his fingers dig into your panties and push them aside. He slides said fingers right on through and gathers more than enough of your juices all over him.

“You have the sweetest pussy, you know?” Jungkook continues to slide his invasive fingers until he finds your entrance. “She always gets nice and wet for me, too.”

You’re hoisted right against your desk, Jungkook pushing himself right between your thighs so you don’t have the chance to close them. He begins to pump inside of you as your gummy walls squeeze around him so sweetly.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jungkook leans closer. “Where did all that mouth go, baby? You know I like when you talk shit to me.”

Jungkook’s palm rubs against your clit as his fingers drill inside of you. You can feel your own hips buckling into him, a tiny part of your mind telling you to fight back, but your body wouldn’t listen.

“Oh, I forgot.” Jungkook snorts. “You know when to shut the fuck up when I’m inside you, right?”

Your pussy squelches so loud, as if responding for him before you had the chance to. It’s what he truly loves about you, amongst other things.

You cum hard around Jungkook’s fingers that you’re a trembling mess, but even then he replaces them with something bigger. He doesn’t hold back, either, as he plunges his cock deep inside of you. He does it so needily, as if proving an unspoken point. 

The desk creaks beneath you, but it’s just added noise along with the grunts, moans, whimpers and slapping skin. 

Your legs wrap around Jungkook, your hands snatching his expensive shirt to pull him closer to you. Your foreheads touch right as you capture his lips, an action he adores whenever he’s deep inside your pussy.

The kiss is just as lewd as the fucking is, saliva pooling from the corner of your mouth as your tongue fights against his, your squeezing cunt caging him in. Jungkook feels like he’s sinking deeper and deeper into you entirely, the world around him blurring until all he could focus on is you.

“-don’t stop~” you whimper against Jungkook’s lips.

“I’m not.” Jungkook grunts. “I waited all day to cum inside of you.”

You fall back against your desk and that allows Jungkook enough time to rip your own buttoned shirt open. He shoves your bra down just enough for him to grasp a fist full of your bouncing breast.

“You take me so well, baby.” groans Jungkook, your hardened nipple right against his palm. “If only you could see the way you look right now.”

You whine - because the way Jungkook looks now right above you is just as amazing. A bit of sweat lined his forehead, dark eyes clouded with lustful purpose. His perfectly trimmed eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

“You’re so handsome, Kookie~” you moan, the pits of your stomach churning. “To think you’ve gone from the pathetic little boy who’d hump my leg if I asked, to a man.”

Jungkook’s breathing hitches, his palms tightening on your breast. Your words get a rise out of him, one that has his hand wrapping around your neck firmly. “Yeah?” he snorts. “I’m not that same boy.”

“You are.” your body squirms, his cock drilling deeper and deeper that you’re surprised you can even form words still. “Still so pathetic.”

Jungkook’s tip hits right at your cervix, so hot and merciless. Your squelching pussy enjoys every assaulting second of it. 

“And yet here you are,” Jungkook barks back. “allowing me to use your pussy to my liking. You’re just as pathetic as me, baby.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” you spat back, followed by a string of curses that has your stomach sinking in. Then, your bratty tone changes entirely and you mewl out a  “I’m cumming!”

“I know you are, baby. Let it go.” Jungkook chuckles, ramming his cock in you; deep, filthy and sloppy. 

Your cunt is sopping, a creamy white ring decorates his cock. He grumbles to himself at the sight of you - then at the audacity to think that he’d ever let you leave him again. The past several months he had grown accustomed to your presence in his office and his home - and his bedroom. He enjoyed the lingering aroma of your perfume that stuck to him that got him through until he saw you next.

Jungkook liked to think he was a territorial man, not a jealous one. He knew how you were with those you deemed lesser than you - and Ren was exactly that. A weakling with sparkling eyes and full of hopefulness; eager to please anyone around him. It didn’t disgust Jungkook entirely until he saw the man and you made your way up the elevator.

Again, Jungkook was territorial, and he’d be damned if he allowed you to demean and walk all over a man that wasn’t him. 

Your body shudders entirely, twitching underneath Jungkook’s pumping cock. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your body twitching due to overstimulation. His hand is wrapped firmly around your neck, not letting you go until he’s had enough of you.

And after all you’ve said to him, you’re sure he was claiming dominance over you.

“You look so pretty like this, baby. Fucked out, whimpering…”

Your gummy walls continue to consume him entirely, bringing him in deeper and deeper. The desk scraps aggressively underneath you. The slapping of his skin against yours is an added base, one he couldn’t get enough of. 

“I still have another meeting to get to,” Jungkook groans, his eyes hardening. He could take you another 3 times if he could just to show you how serious he is about claiming you as his.  “but tonight I want you in my bed.”

Jungkook lets go of your neck to trail his hand down your body and right between your legs. His thumb presses at your clit and he circles the bud, licking his lips at how your thighs clench.

“Slow d-down!” you stutter, but the way your pussy squeezes him tells Jungkook that you love the way he’s touching you. “It’s too much.”

“You can handle it.” Jungkook chuckles. “It feels better when we cum together, baby, and you’ve already came twice.”

Your lower back arches as your hands reach out to grasp onto anything for support. Your rolling eyes has Jungkook far too smug because it was him who was doing this to you. It was him who had you completely fucked out and creaming all over his cock like the slut you’ve always been. 

Him, Jungkook thinks. He finds that he often dwells in the past and thinks of the “what if’s”. What if he hadn’t ruined things between the two of you - would you have continued to see him? Even if it was just as an outlet for you to demean and taunt him. Would you have grown to like him as something more?

Now, Jungkook finds that living in the past and constantly thinking of the “what if’s” would do nothing for him. Instead, he had to see what you and he could be in the present - and right now, more than anything, you were his.

“-too much!” you squeal, your squelching pussy growing louder and louder. There isn’t any use in closing your legs as Jungkook isn’t allowing it - not until you’re cumming all over him again. The pleasure is intense and painful, your body trembling right on top of the desk pathetically.

“I know you can handle it, baby.” Jungkook grumbles, his eyes dancing between your creamy pussy to your face. “Where’s the slut with the bitchy attitude?”

Jungkook himself isn’t going to last much longer. 

Jungkook catches your eyes fluttering open, glossy and lustful, stare right at him. 

“Ah, theeeerrree she is.” Jungkook smirks. He adds pressure to your wet clit. “

“Fu-uck you.” you breathe right before cumming yet again, just as pleasured as before but this time with added pain due to the overstimulation. Goosebumps litter your skin, your head falling back against the desk.

“Fuck~” Jungkook hisses, shooting hot, sticky cum right inside of you. 

Jungkook falls on top of you, his cock continuing to twitch until there is nothing left. His head is in your chest, listening as your heart beats erratically, your breathing hitched.

“I-”

Jungkook is cut off. The elevator began to sound and that only meant one thing. “What the fuck?” he hisses, annoyed. He removes himself from you. “Why did Lei let someone up without informing me first?”

Jungkook pulls his pants up and tightens his belt. “Maybe it’s Lei herself.” he murmurs to himself. His eyes look down at you and whistles. “Get dressed, baby. Don’t want her to see how good I’ve fucked you, right?”

The elevator continues to ding, indicating that it’s drawing nearer and nearer.

You button up your shirt with trembling hands. You find your panties on the ground and scramble to pull them up and attempt to make yourself presentable. “I fucking hate you sometimes.” you hiss at Jungkook.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Jungkook retorts. 

You roll your eyes and run a hand over your head. Your hair was now frizzy, your once neat but now appearing entirely fucked up. 

“I’m serious. I don’t want Lei to think-”

“That you’re fucking me?” Jungkook interrupts. “Fucking your boss?”

Jungkook rounds the corner and sits back at his desk. He sends a sly smirk your way.

“Maybe I should fuck you in front of everyone-”

“Jungkook-”

The elevator sounds before the doors open. You straighten your shoulders, waiting for Lei to walk through.

Only Lei doesn’t walk through.

Your eyes widen and your body runs cold.

“Tae?” you murmur at the sight of your son. His eyes glance around the office. He appears much like you did when you first arrived. “What…w-what are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows knit. His mind racks in his mind. Tae…

Ji-tae.

Jungkook’s eyes watch as the younger boy steps into the office. It’s eerily silent on your end.

“Ma,” Ji-tae responds. “grandmother told me you worked here.”

Ma, Jungkook thinks. The words ring through his ears over and over again. His eyes drag towards you. You’re entirely stiff, your eyes wide and from here he notes, a bit glossy.

“Why aren’t you in school?” you swallow the lump in your throat. You take a deep breath. “H-How did you even get-”

“Got out early.” Ji-tae responds. His eyes glance to Jungkook to find the older man is already staring at him. “I’ve passed all my finals and didn’t need to be there.”

Your own eyes look towards Jungkook. Your heart jolts when, at the exact moment, his eyes dart back to you. That look in his eyes; that of realization. He’s done the calculation in his head, and even if he hadn’t, Ji-tae looked far too much like him for the man to not put it together.

Ji-tae’s eyes scans your appearance. His eyes squint just a bit. 

“Let me take you home.” your knees feel weak when you walk towards your desk and grab your bag. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a son.”

Jungkook rises from his seat. Ji-tae’s eyes glanced at him once more. 

“I’m going to take him home.” you don’t look Jungkook’s way. You needed to get out of this situation immediately. “I-I’ll be-”

“Am I interrupting?”

Jungkook furrows his brows at the younger boy. He wasn’t talking to you, but to him. 

“Of course not.” your heels click against the ground as you make your way towards Ji-tae. 

“You must be smart to pass all of your finals so early on.”

Your trembling hand wraps around your son's wrist. 

Jungkook thinks it’s like staring into a mirror when he looks at Ji-tae, the younger boy's glaring eyes staring right back at him.

“Yeah.” is all Ji-tae says as you tug him towards the elevator. You press the button and nearly shove your son inside with you. 

“Y/N” Jungkook calls just as you press the button to the lobby. “we’ll talk another time.”

Jungkook watches the way your eyes meet his as the elevator doors closes.

trivia-yandere: okay… 👁️ so what are we thinking?? like ofc this isnt the og version i was going with but like, i actually like the drama of a secret kid that a few ppl suggested. soap opera vibes 🤪

the cold night air hits your face the second JUNGKOOK drags you out through the doors of the club, his grip tight around your wrist. you had thrown yourself at him the moment he found you by the bar, which was easy considering you were shouting his name, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pressing sloppy kisses all over his face. but jungkook wasn't having it. his face was stone cold, his jaw clenched so tightly his veins jumped, completely serious as he ignored your whining complaints and led you straight toward his parked car.

"gukkieeee, walk slower," you stumble, your heels clicking unevenly against the asphalt as he opens the passenger door and gently but firmly handles you into the seat.

the moment he climbs into the driver's seat and shuts the door, locking out the muffled bass of the club, you crawl straight across the center console. you tangle your fingers in his dark hair, pulling his face toward yours, your breath hot against his lips. "are we gonna fuck in the car? we haven’t had car sex in a while... please, i want you so bad right now."

jungkook lets out a heavy sigh, his hands coming up to grip and pull your hands away.

"we're not doing anything in the car," he doesn't lean into the kiss, and he is serious about what he is saying.

"why not?" you whine, your lower lip trembling as you try to crawl into his lap anyway. "you usually love when i do this, and you always say yes."

"because you're drunk," he murmurs, his tone softening for a second as he shifts you back into your own seat and pulls the seatbelt across your chest, clicking it into place. "you can barely keep your eyes open, and i'm not laying a single hand on you like this."

"but i told you i love you," you blurt out, the alcohol making you completely unfiltered as you look at him with teary eyes. "i want to be your girlfriend, gukkie... d-don't you want me to?"

jungkook freezes as his hand lingers on the steering wheel. a flash of vulnerability crosses his face, but he quickly forces it down, starting the engine. "you're drunk," he repeats quietly, "whatever you say right now won't mean a thing tomorrow. you won't even remember half of it."

"i will! i will remember everything!" you protest, but your eyes are already growing heavy, the warmth of the car heater immediately making the alcohol weigh double on your eyelids.

you spend the rest of the drive slumped against the window, grumbling under your breath until you finally pass out. when the car stops, you barely register jungkook unbuckling you, scooping your limp body up into his arms, and carrying you up the stairs into his apartment.

there is no filthy fucking tonight, or no crossed boundaries on his leather couch.

instead, he sets you down gently on his bed, carefully sliding your heels off your feet and pulling his favorite oversized shirt over your head to replace your uncomfortable club clothes. you groan, rolling over, but jungkook is already back a minute later, sitting on the edge of the mattress with a glass of water and headache pills in his hand.

"up," he orders softly, propping your back up against his chest and holding the glass to your lips. "drink all of it and try not to spit."

you whine, sipping the water obediently while he patiently coaxes the medicine down your throat. once the glass is empty, he lays you back down on the pillows, pulling the covers and the pink blanket up to your chin. you expect him to leave, to go sleep on the couch to keep the distance between you, but instead, your friend climbs in right next to you.

he pulls your back flush against his chest, wrapping his tattooed arm securely around your waist to lock you against his warmth. pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, then into your hair as he hums and sighs, since you smell like cigarettes and alcohol.

"sweet dreams, angel," he whispers, voice full of all the unspoken feelings he's been hiding for months, and a pinch of worry because of the thought of having a real conversation in the morning. but that's a problem for your future you. now it's time to immerse yourself in dreamland, and for him to dream about the things he wants most in this world... you.

© KISSKKU do not copy, repost or modify my work.

the door shut behind her with a quiet thud that still seemed unbearably loud in the otherwise silent room. dozens of eyes flickered toward her for only a second before returning to the front, but it was enough to make embarrassment crawl up her neck. she was usually never late to his classes since she was his phd student.

dr. jeon continued speaking without pause as y/n carefully moved down the steps between rows, trying not to draw any more attention to herself. she sat near her usual seat on the front row, taking out her materials. dr. jeon was wearing a white shirt with a black tie, his jacket draped over the back of his seat.

"the human body is less an individual and more a crowded city, built and sustained by trillions of bacteria we rarely notice until something goes wrong." dr. jeon spoke up, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "everyday items you use from your phones to the coffee cup you hold every morning when you enter my class is covered with it."

he placed his glasses on the desk and rubbed his eyes. "i have to end my class early today as i have a meeting i need to attend, so i would like all of you to collect a bacterial sample from the surface of your choice and culture it. document the growth and bring your report to the me next week."

the students started gathering their stuffs and standing up, content to be let out early. y/n sighed at the fact that she ran all this way for a not even ten minutes long lecture. she stood up to exit the lecture hall before dr. jeon called out to her.

"ms. l/n, can you stay back for a minute?"

she nodded and walked up to his desk as the other students exited the door one by one. he placed his work materials inside his briefcase and leaned against the desk as he held and loosened his tie. y/n's eyes flickered to his throat for a second.

"i wanted to talk to you about your draft."

she involuntarily straightened her back and nodded.

"your research is strong, the data is clean, i like your methodology," he started listing.

"i feel like there's a 'but' coming." y/n said and offered him an awkward smile.

"but you write like you are scared of sounding too certain. if you think something is correct, don't be afraid to stand behind it."

she nodded slowly, knowing he was right.

"it sounds like you're asking permission to believe your own argument," he continued. "stop doing that."

something in his tone caused heat to unfurl slowly beneath her skin. it settled heavily in the room as she could only nod once again. she always pushed it aside as a stupid harmless crush on a professor who seemed to be very good at his job but the swirling in her stomach said otherwise.

"i would like you to come by tomorrow evening to work on your draft together if you're available." he reached for his glasses on the desk and put them on before crossing his arms.

"of course, yeah. i can come by."

“good.”

he slipped the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose before looking down at her again. his eyes were soft as he tilted his head.

“around seven?” he asked. "you can come earlier if you'd like a head start."

y/n nodded. “that works.”

he gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment and gathered the remaining papers from the desk. the conversation should have ended there. simple. professional.

but neither of them moved toward the door.

she watched him slide folders carefully into his briefcase, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, tie loosened just enough to make him look less composed than usual.

“you, uh, really think the argument is strong enough?” she asked softly.

he looked up immediately, a sweet smile on his face.

"i wouldn't be asking you to come over after office hours if i didn't. would i, kid?"

she shook her head, fixing the strap of her bag.

"don't stress it, sweetheart. you got potential."

the endearment caused something in her brain to short-circuit. heat rushed through her so quickly it felt almost embarrassing, blooming beneath her skin and climbing into her face before she could suppress it. she stared at him, momentarily unable to process the fact that he had said it so naturally, so casually, like the word belonged in the space between them.

he didn’t seem to notice the effect it had on her—or maybe he did and chose not to acknowledge it. he checked his watch with the same composed movements, glasses low on his nose, completely unaware that her pulse had become suddenly uneven. y/n swallowed hard and forced herself to look anywhere except directly at him. stupid crush.

"i should get going now, i will be expecting you here tomorrow."

she attended her classes for the next few hours before deciding to walk back home with a dry mouth and a thumping heart. she tried to tell herself that dr. jeon was always like this with her. he wanted her to feel comfortable with the work she's been doing both in his class and her own researches. he would help her extra in the lab during lectures because she was passionate about biology. at least that was what she always told herself.

the night air was cold enough to sting her face as she crossed campus with her headphones hanging uselessly around her neck, too mentally drained to listen to music due to her headache.

most of the buildings were empty, except for the coffee shop near the library.

warm yellow light spilled through the windows onto the wet pavement outside, catching her attention as she walked past by.

and then she saw him.

dr. jeon stood near the counter with a woman she didn’t recognize as they were laughing about something.

he held two coffees in his hand while the woman adjusted the scarf around her neck, smiling at something he had said. she was beautiful in a quiet effortless way—long dark coat, one hand resting briefly against his arm while she spoke.

she slowed without meaning to. something uncomfortable twisted low in her stomach.

the street outside her apartment glistened faintly from earlier rain, reflecting blurred orange light through her windows as she dropped her bag beside the couch and kicked off her shoes near the door. the silence inside the apartment should have calmed her. instead, it gave her thoughts too much room. she tried to work, she really did.

her laptop sat open on the kitchen table beside scattered research articles and annotated drafts, the cursor blinking patiently at the end of an unfinished sentence while the clock crept steadily past midnight.

…is an aggressive clonal malignancy characterized by—

she deleted the line.

rewrote it.

then deleted it again.

it was going to be a long night.

by three in the morning, the words on her screen had begun to blur together into meaningless medical jargon. she had consumed enough coffee to make her hands faintly unsteady, and her apartment smelled like stale espresso. and the worst of it all the draft still looked wrong. her calculations looked a mess and every sentence sounded weaker the second she reread it, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could still hear his voice dismantling her cautious phrasing with irritating ease.

if you think something is correct, don’t be afraid to stand behind it.

she hated that he was right.

around 4.30 a.m., she gave up pretending she was getting anything useful done.

she closed the laptop harder than necessary and let her forehead fall briefly against the cool kitchen table with a muffled groan. exhaustion pressed heavily behind her eyes, making everything feel sharper and slower at the same time. she had maybe slept two hours before waking up unnecessarily early. where was this yesterday? she thought to herself.

by the evening, she was cranky, overtired, and deeply regretting every academic decision that had led her into a phd program. still, her body moved to get ready despite it all. she haphazardly shoved her papers into her bag and exited her flat.

the campus was quiet, washed in thin dark blue and damp from the rain. her sneakers scraped against the wet pavement as she walked toward the biology building, shoulders tense against the cold.

she adjusted the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder and headed toward dr. jeon’s lecture hall, already mentally preparing herself to spend the next several hours fighting with her draft.

he was already there when she entered the unlocked room. he sat at his desk with his sleeves rolled to his forearms again, one hand pressed absently against his mouth while reading through a stack of papers illuminated by the glow of his laptop screen. his glasses rested low on his nose, expression tired and concentrated in a way that made his face stern.

he didn't notice her at first, then the door clicked softly shut behind her. his eyes lifted from the papers as he stared at her through the top of his glasses.

"hey there, rough night?"

she let out a tired scoff that almost sounded ironic and dropped her bag onto one of the desks near the front.

"how did you guess?"

“you’re here thirty minutes early,” he said. “either you’re incredibly motivated or severely sleep deprived.”

the irritating part was that he sounded genuinely pleased about it. for a while, the room settled into silence while the two of them worked. y/n sat a few rows down from the front with her laptop open beside scattered papers, one leg tucked beneath her while she reread the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. the glow from the screen reflected faintly against her tired face while her fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing, deleting, rewriting.

across the room, dr. jeon worked at his desk, flipping through articles and making occasional notes in the margins with precise movements. every so often his head would lift briefly to look at her aggressively tapping at the keyboard. the irritation radiating off her was almost visible. she deleted another sentence with unnecessary force before muttering something under her breath that he couldn’t quite hear from across the room.

"did that keyboard personally offend you?" he spoke up without lifting his head this time.

y/n stopped typing mid-sentence.

slowly, she lifted her head to glare at him from across the lecture hall. "huh?"

dr. jeon finally looked up from the papers spread across his desk, expression calm behind the thin frames of his glasses.

“you type like you’re trying to punish the laptop for disagreeing with you.”

y/n stared at him for a second before dropping her gaze back to the screen with a tired scoff.

"tired." her voice sounded uncharacteristically cold compared to how she usually talked to him.

dr. jeon’s pen paused against the paper.

y/n kept her eyes fixed on the screen, jaw tight as she pressed her fingers against her temple. exhaustion had scraped her patience thin hours ago, leaving her feeling raw around the edges. every sentence in her draft irritated her. every sound felt slightly too loud. and for some fucking reason she couldn't stop thinking about him and that woman from yesterday.

she heard the soft rustle of papers being set aside before dr. jeon walked closer to her with calculated steps.

"y/n." his voice wasn't particularly stern, just certain to catch her attention. "what's going on?"

she kept her eyes on the laptop screen even after he stopped beside her desk.

“nothing,” she said automatically.

the lie sounded thin the second it left her mouth.

dr. jeon remained standing there for a moment, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the desk while he looked down at her.

"you've been huffing for hours and acting like your laptop wronged you. i'm not stupid, try again."

"i'm just frustrated."

she could feel his attention on her face as she refused to meet his gaze.

"with me?"

she was taken aback by the question. he couldn't possibly know, right?

"wha— no."

"then look at me when i'm talking."

she stared at the blinking cursor while embarrassment crept slowly beneath her skin. she wasn’t usually like this with him. normally she could keep up with whatever this was without letting him see when something got under her skin. she took a deep breath before raising her head.

"this draft is kicking my ass and i have deadlines."

“you also have a functioning nervous system you’re actively trying to destroy.”

she scoffed again before chuckling bitterly. "with all due respect, i don't think it's any of your business."

the words hung in the air longer than she intended them to. the bitterness in her voice surprised even her and for a second, dr. jeon said nothing. he just looked at her.

he then sighed and took his glasses off to rub his face before putting them back on.

"alright. we're doing this, huh? what's going on with you?"

y/n immediately regretted saying it aloud. she was tired, overwhelmed and jealous because she saw the professor she had a stupid crush on with some other woman. she pressed her lips together tightly, trying to force the thoughts back down before they reached her face. dr. jeon was still standing beside the desk, watching her carefully now.

“i’m just…” she started, then stopped immediately and looked away again because she had no idea how to finish that sentence without sounding completely insane. "why do you care?" she said abruptly.

dr. jeon licked his lips before gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"because you're making it my problem."

the touch startled her so badly her breath caught.

warm fingers against her chin, firm enough to guide her attention back toward him but not forceful. the gesture felt dangerously intimate in the quiet lecture hall, especially paired with the low steadiness of his voice. she froze.

his eyes searched hers carefully, concern and something sharper flickering briefly beneath his usual composure.

she just looked up at him with expectant eyes like he could possibly read her mind to save her from the humiliation. his thumb remained still against her jaw, warm and grounding and entirely too distracting. y/n could feel her pulse everywhere at once now—throat, wrists, the space beneath her ribs tightening painfully beneath the weight of his attention.

"you're pissed about something and i really don't think it's the deadlines or the stupid draft, sweetheart."

y/n’s stomach twisted because he was right. and because she had the terrible feeling he already knew that.

she swallowed hard, eyes dropping briefly to the loosened collar of his shirt before forcing herself to look away again. his hand was still lightly holding her jaw, enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin spreading through her entire body like a fever.

the silence stretched and she could feel herself losing the ability to think coherently under his attention.

“i’m not pissed,” she said weakly.

dr. jeon’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

the expression was almost enough to make her crack on its own.

his thumb moved once against her jaw in a slow absentminded motion that completely destroyed whatever remained of her concentration.

"i can't help you if you keep sulking and don't tell me, kid. now, are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what's bothering you?" he said sternly.

okay, she thought squeezing her thighs together under the table, getting scolded shouldn't be getting you this wet.

"i saw you yesterday."

dr. jeon seemed genuinely puzzled. of course she'd seen him yesterday. she had her class, no? she huffed once more like what she was trying to say was the most obvious thing in the world.

"at the coffee shop."

dr. jeon furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand what she was talking about. then he did, his neighbour. he took a deep breath and sighed.

"is that why you've had an attitude all day? because you saw me with my neighbour?"

"neighbour?"

"yes, neighbour. her kid is apparently taking one of my courses."

she felt even more embarrassed now. her getting jealous was one thing, now he knew she was jealous because he had a friend.

"why did it bother you so much?" he sounded curious, his voice low.

she stayed quiet. the silence stretched long enough that he shifted his weight and dropped his hand from her face to place them on his hips with an accusatory look.

“well?” he asked softly.

“it didn’t.” she muttered.

a quiet huff of amusement left him. “again, you’re a terrible liar.”

she closed her eyes for a second. of course she was.

“it's stupid.” she said finally.

“i didn’t say it was.”

“it is.” she swallowed hard. “your personal life shouldn't bother me.”

“no,” he agreed, still strangely calm. “yet you hated seeing me talk to her.”

her cheeks burned hotter.

when she didn’t deny it, the room grew quieter somehow.

"tell me why it bothered you."

the answer sat painfully in her throat.

because lately every small thing about him felt dangerous. because she’d started expecting his attention without realizing it. because seeing someone else have it so easily had made something ugly and sharp twist inside her chest.

"i'm just trying to understand, honey."

again, the newly acquired term of endearment caused her stomach to flip. her lips pulled into a pout.

dr. jeon's hand moved to grip her chin once again, freeing her bottom lip from her upper lip. he sighed, eyes solely focused on her mouth as he swiped his thumb once. he swallowed hard once her lips parted upon his touch.

"you have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

she would speak up and ask him what he meant if she trusted herself to form coherent sentences.

"do you think it's easy watching you come in my class and sit on the front row hanging onto my every word? i've been going crazy telling myself you're too young and my fucking student."

her eyes widened at his words. did dr. jeon just admit thinking about her?

"dr. jeon…" she whispered.

all those weeks of stolen glances across the lecture hall, the way his gaze lingered a second too long whenever she answered a question, the tension she thought she'd imagined — suddenly it all felt painfully real.

"i've been trying not to want you. all this time. and now you come here today with an attitude, adamant on not admitting that you're jealous because you saw me with another woman."

her face burned hot, his thumb still toying with her bottom lip.

"is this what you wanted? you walked in here glaring at me before i even said a word to you because you wanted my attention?"

she weakly nodded, her eyes glazed over with pure want.

he pushed his thumb between her lips, lightly tapping her cheek with the other two. she parted her lips further, taking his thumb in her mouth. she closed her eyes and savored the salty taste on her tongue. dr. jeon's gaze was concentrated on his fingers, how she easily accepted whatever he decided on doing.

his breath visibly slowed at the sight like he hadn't expected her to obey so easily.

her lips were warm around his thumb, eyes shut, expression softening into something that made restraint look painful on him. his gaze stayed fixed on her mouth, jaw tense enough that she could see the muscle tick if she opened her eyes.

"fuck," he muttered under his breath.

the sound alone made her stomach twist.

his eyes flicked back up to hers as she opened them. there was something almost disbelieving in his expression now, like the reality of this moment was finally catching up to him.

"you sit in my lectures looking at me like that," he said, voice rough, "and then you act surprised that i notice?"

heat spread across her entire body at the accusation because she had looked at him like this before. she just hadn't realized how obvious it was. he slowly pulled his thumb from her mouth, and she whined at the loss. whined. he cleared his throat once before pulling back.

"fuck, what am i doing?" he whispered to himself.

she immediately felt the loss of him.

"dr. jeon—"

"don't." his voice cracked slightly before he steadied it. "don't look at me like that right now."

her chest tightened. and despite the distance he'd put between them, his eyes were still fixed on her mouth.

still wanting.

he let out a humourless laugh under his breath, shaking his head once. "i spent months convincing myself this was wrong and that i should get over it. shit, you're like half my age."

that caused her to rub her thighs together again, but this time dr. jeon caught her whole body move. his eyes dropped down slightly.

"you get off on this?" his hand flexed at his side like he was resisting the urge to touch her again.

"c`mere." he mumbled walking toward the whiteboard. she swallowed hard and stood up to follow him.

when she stood in front of him, he pushed her against the board with a soft thud. his fingers gripped her hips as her hands flew to his biceps. he was built firmer than she expected.

"tell me to stop." their noses were nearly touching, his breath hot against her mouth.

"please."

"please what? you want me to keep going or stop?"

her breath caught in her throat.

the board pressed cold against her back, completely opposite to the heat radiating from him. his hands on her hips felt almost possessive.

she could feel the tension in his body like he was one second away from either kissing her or forcing himself to walk away.

"please," she repeated weakly.

his eyes searched hers carefully.

"that's not an answer."

their noses brushed slightly when she inhaled shakily, and the tiny contact seemed to affect him just as much as it affected her. his grip tightened for half a second before easing again.

"tell me what you want." he said softly.

"i want you to kiss me." she whispered.

"that wasn't so hard, was it?"

her heart hammered painfully against her ribs as his gaze dropped to her lips again. this close, she could see the restraint still fighting behind his eyes.

like kissing her meant crossing a line he wouldn't be able to uncross.

his hand slid a little higher along her waist before stopping there, fingers flexing against her side.

"you're going to ruin me." he said quietly.

then he kissed her. it was slow, careful at first.

his lips were warm and softer than she'd imagined, and the second she kissed him back, she felt the controlled breath leave him entirely.

one of his hands moved to her jaw instinctively, tilting her face deeper into the kiss while the other kept her close against him.

the sound he made against her mouth was low and restrained, almost frustrated from how long he'd denied himself this. his teeth sinking into her bottom lip caused her to gasp and he took the opportunity to push his tongue in her mouth.

his hand slid into her hair, gripping softly while the other stayed firm against her waist, keeping her pressed close enough that she could feel how uneven his breathing had become.

every kiss felt like he was trying to savor her while also fighting the urge to lose control completely.

when she shifted against him, he let out a low sound under his breath and finally broke away just enough to look at her.

his lips were swollen and he was breathing hard. then he moved her until the back of her legs hit his desk. he lifted her easily onto his desk behind.

he stepped between her knees immediately, one hand raising to hold her jaw again while the other settled on her thigh instinctively, thumb stroking once through the fabric there.

her fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him back in for another desperate kiss. "half my age," he mumbled against her lips. "my student. this should've stayed in my head."

he pulled back just enough to leave her lips swollen and breathless before his mouth trailed along her jaw instead.

the change made her inhale sharply.

his hand tightened slightly on her thigh as he pressed another slow kiss beneath her ear, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

"fuck, dr. jeon, please…" she whined, her fingers carding through his disheveled hair.

"patience, kid, i got you."

she should've hated how easily it affected her, but the low reassurance in his voice only made her cling to him tighter.

his lips curved faintly against her skin when she shivered beneath him.

"yeah," he murmured softly. "that's it."

his hand slid from her thigh to her waist again, steadying her when she instinctively leaned closer for more. he kissed the side of her neck once more, slower this time, before lifting his head just enough to look at her properly.

her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, the way she was looking at him like she'd forgotten how to think clearly and it visibly affected him all over again.

his thumb brushed gently beneath her jaw.

"you know how pretty you sound when you say my name like that?" he asked quietly. "had to hold myself back from getting on my knees in class every time you said it. good that i don't have to now."

he kissed her again as his hand travelled down to undo her jeans. he pulled them down with himself when he kneeled between her thighs.

her panties were already wet when he made eye contact with it.

for a second, he just stayed there between her knees, hands gripping her thighs a little tighter like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

“you’re killing me.” he groaned, planting soft kisses to the inside of her thighs. he bit the soft meat which was dangerously close to her clothed core.

“don’t tease…” she whined.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, a quiet laugh laced with nerves. "needy thing," he murmured, but there was no real protest in it.

his hands slid up her thighs slowly, thumbs brushing the soft fabric of her panties. he pressed one kiss right over the covered heat between her legs. chaste at first, just a warm press of lips.

then another. and another.

he kissed her more deliberately now, the softness turning into something hungrier. his hands slipped under the hem of her panties, fingertips grazing bare skin.

"so pretty." he breathed against her inner thigh before pressing an open mouthed kiss right where she wanted him most.

his voice dropped lower, rougher. "you’re gonna let me taste you, baby?"

“yes.” she nodded, nearly whimpering at his words.

with careful, almost reverent hands, he peeled her panties down just enough to expose her completely. the air in the room felt thick and for a moment he just looked at her.

then his mouth was on her.

a slow, wet kiss right where she ached most—soft at first—then bolder. he licked gently through soft folds before finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving it a small suck. her breath hitched the second his tongue touched her. one hand fisted in his hair instantly, not pulling hard but holding tight, anchoring herself.

she arched slightly off the desk as he sucked that sweet spot just right. a quiet whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

her other hand braced against the edge of the desk for balance while her hips twitched forward on their own instinct, chasing more contact with his mouth.

he hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt straight through her core. encouraged by her trembling, he got bolder.

his tongue swirled in slow circles, teasing with just enough pressure to make it good but not too much… at least not yet. he alternated between soft licks and gentle sucking, exploring every inch like he was memorizing how she tasted.

and god, she tasted good.

her breathing turned shallow, each breath catching in her throat as pleasure pooled low in her stomach. she didn’t realize she was rocking against his mouth until it happened again: a tiny, involuntary grind of her hips forward.

he slipped his hand up to hold her hips against the desk, stopping her from moving. her thighs tensed around him, not squeezing to push him away but holding him there like he might disappear if she let go.

"dr. jeon, i— i’m close.”

he hummed between her legs and looked up at her. his glasses were fogged from the heat.

she saw his face. flushed, eyes half-lidded and dark with want behind those fogged glasses. the sight of him like that, sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

"don't stop," she whispered shakily, fingers tightening in his hair again.

her thighs trembled around him as the coil inside tightened further. his tongue was now faster over that perfect spot sending sparks behind her closed eyelids as he inserted two fingers inside and scissored her open.

his movement wasn’t rough, but it was deep. and the combination of his curling fingers and the quick flicks of his tongue sent a shockwave through her entire body. before she could stop herself, she came on his tongue with a moan.

he didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he slowed, gentle licks now to ride out the aftershocks for her. he left tender kisses on sensitive skin as she came down from that high.

he finally lifted his head, lips glistening. the glasses still fogged and slid slightly down his nose as he looked up at her.

she was flushed, chest rising and falling fast, eyes still closed like she was savoring the last ripples of it. her fingers had loosened in his hair but hadn’t let go entirely.

without a word, he carefully kissed each of her thighs. the places he bit before. “breathe.” he spoke softly, caressing her hips.

dr. jeon slowly stood up and held his hand between them, two fingers coated in her slick.

“remember the surface swabbing assignment i gave the class?” he mumbled. “maybe you should take a sample from my fingers.”

she groaned, her head falling against his shoulder.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?

You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.

And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words. 

Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?

“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.

Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.

No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does. 

Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.

Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.

Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.

You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.

You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving? 

He has all the rights to.

Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—

You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense. 

Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there. 

One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.

The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs. 

He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.

And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.

“Jungkook?” 

He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger. 

Couldn’t be you.

Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”

He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.

You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.

“Jungkook—”

Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?” 

You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.

Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either. 

“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet. 

“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”

“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.

Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.

Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you. 

You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.

“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.

“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the bullshit.” 

You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.

“You’re being unfair.” You croak.

“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”

Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.

“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.

You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.

“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say. 

His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.

“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”

“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.

“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”

Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust. 

“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’

His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”

Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.

Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart. 

He’s left you behind.

Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”

Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.

Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.” 

“I know.” He says, “I know that.”

The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.

“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.

He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”

Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak. 

He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”

“Of what?” You ask.

He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?

… Strangers?

You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.

“Pix–”

“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”

“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”

“I’m not with him anymore.”

He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.

Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.

“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil. 

“Jungkook …”

“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”

You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”

“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”

“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”

Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.

The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—

The buzzing stops.

Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.

Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.

“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.

You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” 

He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”

Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.

Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.

“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”

His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared. 

“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget. 

“I missed you so much, Pix.”

You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.

He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew. 

“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker. 

“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.

You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.

He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to. 

Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake. 

He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.

“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”

“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment. 

A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now. 

Yet, you’re both so full. 

And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.

“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.

“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.

“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.

“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.

“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”

He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”

Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.

This was love, right?

“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.

“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret. 

He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”

Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.

“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer. 

“A little.” You admit.

You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.

Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.

He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”

Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.

He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.

On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.

You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.

Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at. 

His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for. 

You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”

He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.

“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”

“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face. 

He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”

You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.

You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’

Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.

“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.

“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.

“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you. 

“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.

“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.

You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”

“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”

Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.

“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.

The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed. 

Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”

“I will.”

Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment. 

He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together. 

In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.

He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body. 

After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort. 

Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona. 

She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to. 

“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?

“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”

“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.

Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.

She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.

Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.

“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.

“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel. 

Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.

“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse. 

“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.

Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.

Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her. 

Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.

Five hours and he’ll be done. 

As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.

It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer. 

Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.

Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.

The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.

“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty. 

Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition. 

Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.

You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.

“What time is it?”

“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees. 

“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”

“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”

He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.

“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.

You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness. 

“Hard day?” You ask.

His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.

“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”

He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing. 

“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.

“Kook?”

He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.

“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”

He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.

You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.

“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.

“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food. 

Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love. 

“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.

“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”

“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.

You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”

He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”

“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for. 

His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”

And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.

But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?

Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying. 

“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”

His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.

All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.

“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.

The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.

Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.

“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set. 

As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.

As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.

Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back. 

Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.

Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.

Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.

Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night. 

“Thanks again for coming with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”

“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes. 

He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”

You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.

Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.

Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.

Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition. 

“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”

“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.

Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.

He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.

You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.

He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.

He loves you.

An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.

He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.

Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.

“Mind if I join ya?”

Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.

Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be. 

Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.

“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence. 

Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”

This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground. 

“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”

Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”

“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”

What was Jungkook waiting for?

“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”

“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.” 

“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.

“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”

Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”

Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?

You turn, also finding him, and smile.

It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.

Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile. 

Finally.

Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.

He needs to be near you.

You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.

His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.

The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.

“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”

He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.

He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”

“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.

With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front. 

Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.

“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair. 

You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”

Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.

Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”

He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent. 

“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.

You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate. 

“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.

You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”

His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”

You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.

“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.” 

Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here. 

“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.

“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.

“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.

“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”

The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.

Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.

All yours.

“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features. 

Deja vu.

Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?

Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.

And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.

He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.

“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.

He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.

Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”

You shake your head. “I’m right here.”

He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.

He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.

Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.

He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness. 

Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him. 

It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.

Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.

He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied. 

Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.

“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.

“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”

When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication. 

You wanted this with him. 

“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”

No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together. 

And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.

You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.

You mouth, ‘You tired?’

He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.

You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm. 

Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?” 

With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss. 

“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car. 

“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.

Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere. 

Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.

Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker. 

But he’s in no rush.

He’s never been in a rush with you.

Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.

He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.” 

He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.

Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.

Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”

It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.

He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.

“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”

He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”

You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”

A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”

“Home.” You reply.

Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.

“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.

His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”

Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.

Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”

You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.

In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?

Does it end with his scent on your body?

All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.

You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response. 

Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.

You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.

“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.

Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”

The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”

The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.

You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.

“Night, P.” He mumbles.

“Good night, Kook.”

Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.

There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.

Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.

There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach. 

You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.

That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.

You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.

Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.

You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.

Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.

“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.

“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window. 

His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”

You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.

“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.

There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.

“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”

You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.

He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”

You hum a small ‘what?’

So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?

“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.

“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”

And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.

His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.

“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.

You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”

Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor. 

“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”

He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in. 

“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”

He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you. 

“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”

The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”

Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”

You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.

“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves. 

“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”

He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”

Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.

“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.” 

Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”

“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.

“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.

And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.

“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”

He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.

He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.

How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love? 

Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart. 

“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.

You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.

You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.

Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.

“Baby–” You rasp.

“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.

You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.

“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.

“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”

You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.

He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.

He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful. 

Jungkook also has the best view in the city too. 

You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”

“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.

He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.

And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.

You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.

You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience. 

He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.

“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.

He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.

“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”

The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on. 

“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”

You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.

“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower. 

You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.

You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.

It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.

“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.

You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.

“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.

“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”

You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.

You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.

Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.

He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”

A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.

His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in. 

Oh.

“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.

You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster. 

Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.

You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed. 

The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.

He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum. 

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.

“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.

Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”

More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.

“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”

He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week. 

Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.

But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.

Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.

“Pixie?” 

“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend. 

Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.

He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen. 

“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.

“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.

To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.

“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”

You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”

“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”

“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl. 

You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.

“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”

The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.

Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.

During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him. 

“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman. 

He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day. 

“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.

He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”

You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.

Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”

You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”

“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”

You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.

“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”

Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.

“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.

For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.

“Quota met.”

Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.

He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”

Will it? 

Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind. 

He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn. 

“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.

He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.

“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.

Well, one way to find out.

No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.

He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.

The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.

He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”

Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.

You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge. 

“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.

He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.

Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good. 

He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry. 

You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed. 

There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.

Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.

“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.

He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft. 

“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.

“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you. 

“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”

His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.

He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.

Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw. 

“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.

“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.

“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”

Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.

“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.

And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.

When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.

Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”

He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.

You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids. 

Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.

And you love him.

“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding. 

You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.

Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”

The relationship. The love. The experience.

His heart — it’s all yours.

The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.

He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”

You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.

Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.

He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm. 

Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.

You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.

“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”

And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.

His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core. 

You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings. 

“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state. 

Can’t bear him looking at you either.

“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’

You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.

Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.

You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.

You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.

“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.

“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”

He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.

The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you. 

You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.

“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.

Huh?

The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.

“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.

You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.

“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”

You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”

“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”

His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.

“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.

“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.

“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.

“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”

He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.

“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.

You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”

He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”

You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.

“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”

You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.

“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”

He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.

“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.

And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”

You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.

He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.

Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …” 

He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again. 

“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.” 

He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.

“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.

He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”

You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook. 

“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”

The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.

“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.

“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.

You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”

He doesn’t move. 

Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.

You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.

“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”

“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.

“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.

“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”

He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.

“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him. 

What else could he do but comply with your wishes?

Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.

He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”

You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”

The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.

Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact. 

Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.

“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.

You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority. 

“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”

So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below. 

“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling. 

Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.

“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.

He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more. 

Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.

“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.

You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.

“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.

“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.

He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”

“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”

“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.

A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.

fin.

ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂

🧚🏻‍♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅

with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!

in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡

Taehyung moved through it all with his usual bright, easy smile, clapping Jungkook on the back as they joked about something you couldn’t quite hear from across the room. Your fiancé looked happy— genuinely happy and a sharp pang twisted in your chest at the sight. You loved him. You truly did. He was safe, kind, and had built a beautiful life with you. But love wasn’t the same as the all-consuming fire that burned in your veins whenever Jeon Jungkook was near.

No one noticed when you slipped away from the bustling main hall, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors as you made your way down a dimly lit side corridor. Seconds later, the supply closet door opened and closed with a quiet click, and Jungkook was on you. The space was small and intimate, barely large enough for the two of you, filled with the clean scent of fresh linens, lemon furniture polish, and the faint woody notes of his cologne that always made your head spin. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with folded tablecloths and spare glassware that trembled slightly as he pressed you back against them. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist with a hunger that had been building for far too long.

His mouth crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling instantly as years of suppressed longing poured out between you. You moaned softly into him, fingers threading through his dark, silky hair and tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The kiss was messy, breathless, all teeth and tongue and raw need. One of his large hands trailed down your body, bunching the soft, flowing fabric of your rehearsal dinner dress higher and higher up your thighs until the cool air kissed your skin. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, yanking them roughly to the side without bothering to remove them. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock pressing against your entrance, already slick and aching for him after just one heated look across the room earlier.

“Jungkook…” you whispered breathlessly against his lips, but the name came out more like a plea than a warning. You tried not to think about how long this had been going on; one entire year of stolen touches, secret meetings, and nights where you told yourself it would be the last time. You tried not to think about Taehyung waiting just down the hall, about the vows you would speak tomorrow, or the life you had so carefully built. But then Jungkook pushed inside you in one slow, powerful thrust, stretching you open so perfectly that all coherent thought shattered.

A choked gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his cock buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his thick girth. He was so big, so deep, the delicious burn of it making your toes curl inside your heels. Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength to hold you steady in the cramped space. “Fuck, baby… so tight, so wet for me already,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, barely above a whisper. He began to move then, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect in the tight confines of the closet. The shelf behind you rattled softly with each measured pump of his hips, the quiet, wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing obscenely in the small room.

You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into the crisp fabric of his black button-up shirt as you tried desperately to stay quiet. Outside, the rehearsal dinner continued, laughter rang out, glasses clinked, someone called your name faintly in the distance, but in here, it was just the two of you. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as he fucked you with controlled intensity, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your lower belly, building faster than you could handle. Sweat beaded along your skin, your dress sticking to your back, while Jungkook’s breath fanned hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered filthy praises.

“You feel so fucking good… always take me so well,” he groaned quietly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. His pace quickened slightly, hips snapping forward in short, powerful strokes that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the desperate whimpers threatening to spill out. The scent of him, clean soap, faint sweat, and pure Jungkook— overwhelmed you, making your head spin. Every drag of his cock sent sparks of ecstasy racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him as you neared the edge.

He could feel it, knew your body better than anyone. “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he murmured, voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go… I’ve got you.” The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in powerful waves. Your thighs trembled violently as you came hard around him, a broken sob muffled against his skin while your pussy pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan he tried— and failed— to silence. You felt the hot rush of his release filling you, his cock twitching deep inside as he rode out his orgasm, hips grinding lazily against yours until you were both spent and shaking.

For several long moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the dim closet. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, tender now that the storm had passed. You kept your eyes closed, trying to savor the warmth of him, the feeling of being so completely his, even if it was only for these stolen minutes. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle and promise forever to Taehyung. Tomorrow this would have to end.

The aftershocks of pleasure still hummed through your body as Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you— slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. It wasn’t the frantic hunger from minutes ago; this kiss was full of quiet longing, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You melted into it, fingers curling weakly into his shirt, wishing you could stay wrapped in him forever.

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh. “We should get back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still laced with emotion. He pressed one last soft kiss to your swollen lips before carefully slipping out of you. The loss of him made you ache in more ways than one. Jungkook stepped back just enough to fix himself, tucking his shirt back in, smoothing down the front of his black trousers, and running a hand through his messy hair until it looked intentionally tousled rather than freshly fucked. He gave you one final look, eyes dark and conflicted, the weight of tomorrow hanging between you like a storm cloud.

“I’ll see you back out there, baby,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like a secret he couldn’t hold in. Then he cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and slipped out without another word, leaving you alone in the dim, cluttered space.

You stood there for a long moment, thighs still trembling, his release slowly trickling down your skin. The distant sounds of the rehearsal dinner filtered in, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped turning.

With a shaky breath, you reached for the small mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Your reflection stared back at you: cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair slightly disheveled. You carefully smoothed everything back into place, patting down stray strands, fixing the smudged edge of your lipstick with your fingertip, and adjusting the neckline of your dress until you looked like the composed bride-to-be everyone expected.

As you stared at your own eyes in the mirror, a heavy wave of memory washed over you. Your mind drifted back to the exact day this all began, the moment everything between you and Jungkook shifted from best-friend’s-girlfriend and best man into something irreversible.

one year ago.

The rain came down in merciless sheets that night, turning the city streets into glossy rivers that reflected the blurred glow of streetlights. Thunder rolled overhead like distant artillery, shaking the windows of the apartment building as you slammed the door behind you. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a chaotic mix of rage, hurt, and disbelief crashing through you with every step. The fight with Taehyung had been one of the worst you’d ever had, maybe the worst. It started over something small, as these things often did: a forgotten anniversary plan, a careless comment about your long work hours. But it had snowballed fast, words flying like daggers neither of you could take back.

“You’re never here anymore!” Taehyung had shouted, his usually warm voice sharp with frustration. “It feels like I’m dating a ghost. Do you even still want this?”

You’d fired back just as viciously. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything while you act like the charming golden boy who never has to try!” The accusations had grown crueler, old insecurities dragged into the light, past arguments rehashed with fresh venom. He’d said you were emotionally unavailable. You’d thrown back that sometimes you wondered if he even loved you or just loved the idea of you. By the end, both of you were yelling things you never thought you’d say to each other. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be together,” he’d spat. You hadn’t disagreed. You’d grabbed your coat and left before the tears could fall in front of him.

Now, soaked to the bone, your phone vibrated relentlessly in your pocket. Taehyung’s name lit up the screen again and again, missed calls piling up, text notifications buzzing like angry hornets. You ignored them all, teeth chattering as the cold rain seeped through your thin jacket and into your skin. The wind whipped your hair across your face, stinging your eyes that were already burning from crying. Where could you even go? Chaewon was out of town for the whole week, visiting family in Busan. Hotels felt too lonely, too clinical for a night like this. Your feet carried you almost on autopilot through the storm, blocks blurring together until you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment building.

He was Taehyung’s best friend, but over the years he had become yours too. The three of you had built a comfortable little world together, lazy Sundays playing video games, late-night drives for street food, inside jokes that no one else understood. Showing up at his door in the middle of a breakdown wasn’t entirely out of character, but it still felt vulnerable. Your knuckles rapped against the wood, weak at first, then louder as another crack of thunder split the sky.

The door opened after a moment, and Jungkook stood there in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been relaxing. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of you, drenched, shivering, mascara running in dark streaks down your cheeks, lips trembling from the cold and suppressed sobs. “Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out without hesitation. “Get in here right now. You’re going to freeze to death.”

Strong hands pulled you inside, and the warmth of his apartment wrapped around you like a hug. The door clicked shut, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Soft lighting glowed from a lamp in the living room, and the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, mingled with the smell of rain on your clothes. Jungkook didn’t bombard you with questions. Instead, he moved with quiet efficiency. He disappeared down the short hallway and returned quickly with a large, fluffy towel, an oversized black hoodie that smelled like him, and a pair of his sweatpants.

“Here,” he said gently, pressing them into your arms. “Bathroom’s yours. Change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia. I’ll make you something warm to eat.” His voice was steady, grounding, the kind of calm that made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming.

You nodded numbly and slipped into the bathroom. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of the fight itself. The dry fabric of his hoodie engulfed you, soft and comforting against your chilled skin, the hem falling mid-thigh. The sweatpants were loose but warm. When you emerged, Jungkook had already set up the living room: a steaming bowl of spicy ramen on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, and a glass of water beside it. He patted the seat next to him.

Only then did he ask, voice soft and free of judgment, “What happened?”

The words tumbled out of you for what felt like hours. You told him everything, the small spark that started the argument, how it escalated into screaming matches about commitment, about feeling unseen, about fears that maybe the two of you had grown in different directions. You recounted the cruelest things said: how Taehyung had implied you were selfish for prioritizing your career, how you’d thrown back that sometimes he felt more like a best friend than a partner. Tears flowed freely again as you spoke, and Jungkook listened through it all. He never interrupted, never took sides. He simply nodded, offered quiet “I’m sorry you went through that,” and handed you tissues when your voice cracked.

As the ramen cooled and your shivering finally stopped, the conversation stretched deeper. You talked about the good times too, the early days when everything with Taehyung felt effortless and exciting. Jungkook shared his own observations from the outside, careful and kind. “You two have always been strong,” he said at one point, leaning back against the couch. “But even strong couples hit rough patches. Doesn’t mean it’s over unless you want it to be.”

Time slipped away. The storm outside began to ease into a steady drizzle. Eventually, Jungkook stood and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You’ve earned this,” he said with a small, comforting smile, pouring generously. “Might help take the edge off.”

You accepted the glass gratefully. The rich, velvety liquid warmed your throat and loosened the knot in your chest. As you sipped, the heavy topic of the fight slowly faded. The conversation drifted naturally into lighter waters, funny memories from group trips, inside jokes about Taehyung’s dramatic reactions to horror movies, stories from Jungkook’s recent work projects. He was always so easy to talk to, his laughter low and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners when something truly amused him.

Eventually the topic turned to his love life, or lack thereof. Jungkook swirled the wine in his glass, a faint sigh escaping him. “I don’t know… I just haven’t found the right girl yet. Dating feels exhausting lately. Everyone I meet seems nice on the surface, but there’s no real connection. No spark that makes me want to fight for it, you know?”

You tilted your head, studying him under the warm lamplight. The wine had brought a soft flush to your cheeks, and the comfort of his clothes made you feel safer than you had all night. “She’ll come along, Kook. I promise. You’re… you’re really attractive. Like, stupidly attractive. You’re kind, talented, funny, thoughtful. Any girl would be incredibly lucky to have you. Don’t sell yourself short.”

He looked surprised, then shy. A light blush crept across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he ducked his head with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stop it. You’re just saying that because you’re being nice after a bad night.” But when he lifted his gaze again, his dark eyes met yours and held. The air between you thickened, charged with something new and electric. “You’re attractive too,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower. “Really fucking attractive. Inside and out. The way you light up when you talk about things you love… the way you’re so strong even when you’re hurting. Taehyung’s lucky. Anyone would be.”

The compliment landed heavily, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine. You stared at each other across the small space of the couch. The storm outside had become a distant murmur. Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, a mix of guilt, curiosity, and undeniable pull swirling inside you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.

Then you leaned forward, closing the distance in one breathless moment, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started tentative, soft and uncertain, tasting of red wine and the faint salt of earlier tears. But the moment Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your damp hair, something ignited. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like both of you had been waiting for permission you didn’t know you needed.

The kiss deepened almost instantly, like a dam breaking after years of careful restraint. What started as soft and tentative quickly turned hungry— your lips parting, tongues sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Jungkook tasted like red wine and warmth, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your head spin. One of his hands stayed cradled at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your still-damp hair, while the other settled on your waist, gripping the fabric of his oversized hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The ache that had been building inside you all night, the hurt from the fight, the confusion, the unexpected pull toward Jungkook, pushed you forward. You shifted on the couch, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your bodies flush together, your chest pressed against his, and you felt the sharp intake of breath he took against your mouth.

Jungkook’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, holding you there as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. A low sound rumbled in his chest— half groan, half sigh— and for a few blissful seconds, he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His tongue explored yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending little sparks straight down your spine.

Then he suddenly pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp. His forehead rested against yours, eyes squeezed shut, breathing ragged. “Wait— wait,” he whispered, voice strained and rough. One hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with conflict. “But… Taehyung. He’s my best friend. You’re his girlfriend. We can’t— we shouldn’t—”

The words hung heavy between you, the reality of what you were doing crashing down like cold water. For a heartbeat, guilt flickered across his face, his jaw tight as he fought an internal battle. You could see it, the loyalty to Taehyung warring with the undeniable desire burning in his gaze.

You shook your head, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your fingers curled into the front of his t-shirt, holding him close. “I know,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s wrong. But right now… I need this, Jungkook. I need you.” Your voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. “Tonight I don’t want to think about the fight or what it means. I just… I want this. I want you. And I can tell you want it too.”

Jungkook stared at you for a long, charged moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. The silence stretched, thick with tension and unspoken consequences. Then something in his expression shifted, the hesitation cracked, desire winning out. With a quiet, defeated groan, he slid his hand back into your hair and pulled you back down into a searing kiss.

This time there was no restraint. The kiss was deeper, more possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed. He kissed you like he was pouring every hidden feeling he’d ever had into it. His lips soon trailed away from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, a soft whimper escaping as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

“Fuck… you taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky. One of his large hands slid down to your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed sweatpants, stroking the bare skin there with slow, deliberate touches. The other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you as you began to move.

You rocked slowly against him, grinding down onto his lap in a gentle, teasing rhythm. You could already feel him hardening beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through the thin layers of fabric. Each roll of your hips drew a low, muffled groan from him, the sound vibrating against your neck where he continued kissing and gently sucking, careful not to leave marks but clearly struggling with the urge.

His hands explored your thighs with increasing hunger, squeezing the soft flesh, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You feel so fucking good on me,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been trying not to think about this for so long…”

You answered by grinding down harder, chasing the friction that was quickly turning the slow burn into an open flame. The living room felt smaller, hotter, the distant sound of rain against the windows the only thing grounding you to reality. Jungkook’s breath grew heavier, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet your movements, hands guiding your pace as he kissed lower, nudging the collar of the hoodie aside to press his lips to your collarbone.

Every touch, every whispered word, every roll of your hips blurred the line further, guilt and desire twisting together until they were almost indistinguishable. The heat between you had become unbearable, a slow-building fire that consumed every last shred of hesitation. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the oversized hoodie, palms hot against your bare skin as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers trembled as they found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, lifting his arms so you could peel it off, revealing the smooth, toned planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. The hoodie came off next in a frantic blur, your hair tumbling messily around your shoulders as he yanked it over your head. Sweatpants and his own followed, fabric whispering against skin and pooling on the floor until there was nothing left between you.

Naked, skin to skin, the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his body, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours, the way his dark eyes drank you in like you were the only thing that mattered. Any lingering thought of Taehyung dissolved completely, washed away by the storm outside and the one raging inside you. There was only Jungkook, his scent, his touch, the way he looked at you like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

You rose up on your knees, straddling him fully now, one hand braced on his broad shoulder while the other reached between your bodies. His cock was hard and heavy, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. Jungkook’s breath hitched, a low, needy sound escaping his throat as he gripped your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. No words passed between you. None were needed.

Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him.

The stretch was exquisite, inch by inch, he filled you, thick and deep, pressing against walls that had never been touched quite like this. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you bottomed out, your thighs trembling against his. Jungkook’s head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, his chest rising sharply with a silent groan. His hands tightened on your hips, not guiding, just holding, reverent, steady, like he was afraid this might vanish if he gripped too hard.

You stayed there for a long moment, just feeling him, letting your body adjust to the fullness. Then you began to move. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, rolling waves, your hips lifting and sinking in a languid rhythm, grinding down on every descent so his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside you. Every movement drew quiet, breathy moans from both of you. Your forehead pressed to his, noses brushing, mouths hovering close enough to share the same air. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, gentle caresses that felt almost worshipful. One palm came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over your nipple, drawing another soft whimper from you.

You rode him like that for what felt like forever, lost in the rhythm. The wet, intimate sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet living room, mingling with the steady patter of rain against the windows. Your breaths synced— short, panting exhales every time you sank down, shaky inhales when you rose again. Jungkook’s moans were low and guttural, vibrating against your chest whenever he buried his face in your neck. He kissed you there, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently, tongue tracing your pulse.

You hated yourself for the thought that flickered through your mind, but it was impossible to ignore: Jungkook was hitting places Taehyung had never reached. Deeper, fuller, brushing against a spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was different, richer, more intense, curling low in your belly and spreading outward like warm honey. Guilt twisted sharp and sudden in your chest, but it melted away again under the next wave of sensation as you ground down harder, taking him to the hilt.

Jungkook seemed to sense it. His arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, moving as one. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other stayed on your lower back, guiding your slow, sensual rhythm without forcing it. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, languidly, tongues stroking in time with your hips. Every moan, every sigh, every quiet gasp became your only language.

You could feel the tension building in both of you, coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching with every descent. Jungkook’s breathing grew more ragged, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet yours, pushing just a little deeper each time. Sweat slicked your skin where you pressed together. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents as the pleasure crested.

When you came, it was slow and devastating, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, pulling a long, trembling moan from your throat that he swallowed with another deep kiss. Your body pulsed around him, drawing him in, holding him there as pleasure blinded you. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep with one final, shuddering thrust. A broken groan tore from him as he spilled inside you, hot and pulsing, his arms tightening around your body like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed like that for a long time afterward, still joined, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hands stroked soothingly up and down your back. Soft kisses were pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. No words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who had crossed a line they could never uncross.

The next morning light crept in slowly through the half-drawn blinds of Jungkook’s living room, painting long, lazy stripes of pale gold across the hardwood floor and the rumpled blanket that had been pulled over your bodies sometime in the night. You woke gradually, not with a jolt but with a soft, heavy awareness that settled into your bones like warm honey mixed with lead. Your body felt different, deliciously used, sore in the most intimate places, a faint ache between your thighs that made heat bloom across your cheeks even before your eyes fully opened.

Every shift of your hips reminded you of how deeply he had been inside you, how perfectly he had filled you, how your walls had clenched around him in those slow, rolling waves of pleasure. The memory hit you in fragments: the way his hands had gripped your hips with such tender reverence, the quiet hitch in his breath each time you sank down onto him, the way your foreheads had stayed pressed together as if you were sharing the same heartbeat.

Jungkook lay beside you on the wide couch, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled against the cushion, one arm draped loosely over your waist, fingers curled loosely against the bare skin of your lower back where the blanket had slipped. His chest rose and fell in deep, even rhythms, lips slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, so boyishly handsome in the morning light, and for a fleeting second your heart squeezed with something dangerously close to affection.

Last night had been… God, it had been some of the best sex of your life. Not just the physical release— though that had been shattering— but the intimacy of it. The way it had felt romantic, almost sacred, like two souls reaching for each other in the dark without a single word spoken. You hadn’t rushed. You hadn’t needed to. Every slow grind of your hips, every shared breath, every soft moan had built something deeper than lust. And now, in the quiet aftermath, you lay there feeling the evidence of it still inside you, his release, dried on your inner thighs, a sticky reminder that refused to let you pretend it had been a dream.

But the warmth in your chest curdled quickly into something colder. Your heart felt heavy, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against your ribs as reality seeped in like the gray dawn outside. You didn’t regret it. Not entirely. How could you, when your body still hummed with the afterglow of something so raw and real? Taehyung had never touched you like that— never reached the places Jungkook had found so effortlessly, never made you feel so completely seen and wanted in the middle of your brokenness.

The thought made guilt twist sharp and vicious in your stomach, but it was tangled up with an odd, stubborn sense of clarity. Last night had been a release you hadn’t known you needed. Still, the dread pooled low in your belly, thick and icy, spreading outward until your fingers trembled where they rested against Jungkook’s arm. You had cheated. On Taehyung. With his best friend. The words echoed in your mind like a courtroom verdict, cold and final. You had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and the weight of it pressed down on you until breathing felt like an effort.

Your mind began to whirl, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. What if Jungkook woke up right now? What would you say? What if he looked at you with those dark, searching eyes and asked if it changed anything? What if Taehyung somehow sensed it the second you walked through the door, the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne still clinging to your skin, the subtle marks his mouth had left on your neck that you’d have to hide? Panic flickered at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t stay here. You had to leave before the apartment filled with daylight and questions and the terrifying possibility that last night might mean more than either of you could handle.

Carefully, so carefully, you began to disentangle yourself. You lifted Jungkook’s arm inch by inch, holding your breath when he stirred and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His fingers brushed your hip as they fell away, sending a traitorous spark through you, but he didn’t wake. You slid off the couch on silent feet, the cool floorboards kissing your bare soles. Your clothes from the night before, still slightly damp from the storm, lay folded neatly on the coffee table where Jungkook must have placed them.

You dressed quickly but quietly, pulling on your pants and shirt with shaking hands, wincing at the way the fabric dragged against skin still sensitive from his touch. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants you’d borrowed last night stayed behind; you couldn’t risk taking anything that smelled like him home. One last glance at Jungkook, his peaceful face, the faint red lines your nails had left on his shoulder, and your chest tightened with a confusing mix of longing and shame. You slipped out the door like a ghost, pulling it shut behind you with the softest click. The hallway was empty, the building still hushed in the early hour. Your footsteps echoed too loudly in your own ears as you hurried down the stairs and out into the morning air.

The city was just waking up, the streets still glistening from last night’s rain. Puddles reflected the pale sky, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent of wet pavement mixed with distant coffee shops opening their doors. You walked the familiar route home, each step heavier than the last. The dread in your belly grew into a storm of its own, churning and expanding until it felt like it might swallow you whole. You had cheated. With Jungkook. Taehyung’s best friend. The man who had stood beside him at every milestone, who had laughed with the two of you over late-night dinners, who had been part of your shared life for years.

How had it come to this? One fight, one storm, one vulnerable night, and now everything was tainted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Taehyung again, probably, but you couldn’t look. Not yet. Your mind raced through every possible scenario: what if he could tell just by looking at you? What if the guilt was written across your face like a neon sign? What if Jungkook texted him something innocent later and the truth slipped out anyway? You prayed, silently and desperately, that Taehyung wouldn’t be home when you got there. Maybe he’d crashed at the studio. Maybe he’d gone for a run to clear his head. Anything but facing him with last night still burning on your skin.

But the universe had other plans. Punishment, it seemed, came swift and merciless.

The moment you slid your key into the lock of your apartment door, the familiar click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The living room was dim, curtains still drawn, but the lamp on the side table was on. And there he was, Taehyung. He had clearly spent the entire night on the couch, exactly where you’d left him. His hair was a wild mess, dark circles carved under his eyes, clothes wrinkled and rumpled from hours of restless tossing. The second the door opened and he registered your presence, he shot up from the couch like a man possessed, eyes wide and red-rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears.

“Baby—” His voice cracked on the single word, raw and broken. He crossed the room in three long, desperate strides, bare feet silent on the floor. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, the impact loud enough to make you flinch. His arms wrapped around your legs in a crushing embrace, face burying itself against your thighs as heavy, gut-wrenching sobs tore from his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, voice muffled against the fabric of your pants. Tears soaked through immediately, warm and relentless. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night— none of it. I was scared and angry and I took it all out on you. I love you. God, I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you.”

His shoulders shook violently under the force of his crying. He clung to you like a lifeline, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as if letting go would make you disappear forever. “I stayed up all night thinking about everything. About us. About how I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just tell me we’re okay. Tell me you still love me.”

Your heart sank like a stone dropped into the deepest, coldest part of the ocean. The guilt you’d been carrying since you left Jungkook’s apartment crashed over you in a tidal wave, so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. Here was Taehyung— your boyfriend, your partner, the man you had built a life with, completely shattered at your feet, pouring out his soul in raw, ugly tears. And you… you had spent the night wrapped around his best friend, letting Jungkook fuck you slow and deep while the rain fell outside. The contrast was nauseating. You couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. The truth would destroy him. It would destroy the three of you. Everything you had worked so hard to build would crumble into dust.

Right then and there, kneeling on the floor with him, the decision crystallized in your mind like ice forming over a lake. It had to be a one-time thing. A horrible, beautiful, unrepeatable mistake born from anger and vulnerability and the storm. You would talk to Jungkook, soon, before anything else could happen, and make him understand. You would convince him that you couldn’t tell Taehyung, that it was a mistake that could never be repeated, that the two of you had to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again. For Taehyung’s sake. For all of your sakes.

Tears spilled down your own cheeks then— hot, guilty, bitter tears that burned tracks down your skin. You sank to your knees too, right there in the entryway, cupping Taehyung’s tear-streaked face in both your hands and lifting it so you could look into his eyes. They were so full of love and relief and desperation that it nearly broke you all over again. “Taehyung…” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. You leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, everything he needed it to be. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. We both said awful, hurtful things. I love you. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

He pulled you into his arms with a broken sob of relief, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shook against yours. You held him tight, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles, letting your own tears fall freely into his hair. The two of you stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours, two broken people clinging to each other in the wreckage of last night’s fight.

Taehyung’s tears eventually slowed, replaced by shaky, grateful breaths and whispered promises against your skin. But while his were tears of remorse and gratitude and second chances, yours were born from something far darker: a crushing shame that settled deep in your bones, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, and the terrifying knowledge that you had just shattered something sacred and could never, ever take it back.

The apartment smelled like yesterday’s dinner and stale coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence between his sobs. Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, cars passing, birds calling, life moving forward as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had. You stroked Taehyung’s hair and whispered more reassurances, even as your mind replayed every slow, intimate moment with Jungkook in vivid, unwanted detail. The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt inside you. The way your body had responded like it had been waiting for him all along.

You hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t undo it. All you could do now was bury it, lock it away, and pray that the secret wouldn’t eat you alive from the inside out.

The week that followed the stormy night felt like walking through fog, thick, disorienting, and heavy with the weight of what you’d done. You threw yourself into repairing things with Taehyung: quiet dinners at home, long talks where he held your hands and promised to be better, soft kisses that tasted like forgiveness. You told yourself every single day that the night with Jungkook had been a one-time lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness you would bury so deep it would never surface again. You even avoided places where you might run into him, deleting the casual “you okay?” text he’d sent the day after and never replying.

But the memories refused to stay buried. At night, when Taehyung slept beside you, your mind replayed every slow roll of your hips, every shared breath, the way Jungkook had looked at you like you were the only real thing in his world. Your body remembered too— the delicious ache, the way he had reached places no one else ever had. The guilt was constant, but so was the pull. By the seventh day, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You told Taehyung you were going out for a walk to clear your head, and your feet carried you straight to Jungkook’s apartment building like they had a mind of their own.

Your heart thundered as you stood outside his door, fist hovering. Just end it, you repeated like a mantra. Tell him it was a mistake. Make sure he understands we can never speak of it again. You knocked before you could chicken out.

Jungkook opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d sensed you coming. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, wearing the same black hoodie from that night. The moment his gaze landed on you, something raw and relieved flickered across his face.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment smelled exactly the same, clean cotton, faint cologne, warm coffee. It made your stomach twist with unwanted nostalgia. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the same one where everything had started, hands knotted tightly in your lap. Jungkook settled across from you, leaving careful space between you, but his eyes never left your face.

You swallowed hard. “Kook… what happened last week can never happen again. It was a mistake. I was hurting, the fight with Taehyung was fresh, and I was vulnerable. But I love him. He’s your best friend. We crossed a line we had no right to cross.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, jaw flexing. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I know. I’ve been sick over it. He’s like a brother to me. Every time I think about looking him in the eye, I feel like the worst person alive.” His voice was heavy, genuine. “You’re right. It has to stop. We bury it. Pretend it never happened.”

Relief flooded through you, cool and fleeting. He agreed. This nightmare could end here. But the silence that followed stretched too long, thick with everything unsaid. Your mind betrayed you first.

“I still can’t stop thinking about how slow we went,” you whispered, almost against your will. “The way you held me… like I mattered. Like nothing else existed.”

Jungkook’s breath caught. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. “Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “I keep remembering how you sank down on me… so wet, so tight. The way your walls fluttered every time I hit that spot deep inside. Fuck… I’ve jerked off to that memory every night since.”

Heat flashed through your body like lightning. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “The way you looked at me when I came,” you continued, voice trembling. “Like you were feeling it too.”

“I was,” he rasped. “I felt everything. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips, the way you clenched around my cock when you fell apart. I’ve never come that hard in my life.”

The air between you crackled, electric and dangerous. You leaned forward slightly at the same time he did. “We shouldn’t,” you breathed, even as your body leaned closer.

“I know,” he growled, but his hand was already reaching for you.

The distance vanished in a heartbeat. Jungkook pulled you up and into his arms, mouths crashing together in a desperate, starving kiss. This wasn’t the tender exploration of last week. This was weeks of guilt, longing, and frustration exploding all at once. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, hands roamed frantically. He walked you backward down the hallway without breaking the kiss, kicking his bedroom door open.

Clothes came off in a frenzied blur, your sweater yanked over your head, his hoodie tossed aside, pants and underwear shoved down and kicked away. By the time your back hit his bed, you were both completely naked, skin flushed and burning. Jungkook climbed over you like a man possessed, eyes blazing with raw hunger. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up and over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The position left you completely open, vulnerable, and aching.

He gripped his thick cock, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds once, twice, teasing your entrance. Then he thrust in— hard. One powerful snap of his hips buried him to the hilt inside you. You cried out sharply at the sudden, breathtaking stretch, your walls fluttering wildly around his girth. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that made the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.

“Fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound animalistic. “So fucking tight. So wet for me. God, this pussy was made for my cock.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fast, deep, almost feral. The new angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and sending white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Skin slapped loudly against skin. Sweat slicked your bodies. His balls smacked against your ass with every powerful drive.

Nothing like the slow, romantic first time. This was pure, unrestrained need, a week of denial poured into every brutal thrust. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the guilt, like he could fuck his name into your soul. Your legs shook over his shoulders, toes curling in the air. Every drag of his thick cock sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you’d have to hide later. “So deep, shit, I’m so deep inside you, baby.”

You couldn’t form words anymore. Only broken moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he pounded into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, white-hot and devastating. When you came, it hit you like a freight train, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your entire body seized.

Jungkook followed right after with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling inside you in hot, thick ropes. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he emptied every drop.

You stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but he didn’t pull out. He collapsed half on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he was savoring the connection.

“We’re so fucked,” he whispered after a long silence.

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Yeah… we are.”

Neither of you suggested stopping again.

And so it began.

What was meant to be the final goodbye became the second time, then the third, then an addiction neither of you could quit. Over the following weeks and months, you found yourself at Jungkook’s door again and again. The excuses started weak—“I just need to talk”—but soon you stopped pretending altogether. You would text him a single “now?” and he would reply with his door code.

The encounters grew more intense, more varied, more dangerous.

One rainy afternoon he took you on the kitchen counter. He sat you on the edge, spread your legs wide, and fucked you slow and deep while staring into your eyes, whispering how perfect you felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when he was with Taehyung. Another night he bent you over his gaming desk, pounding into you from behind while one hand reached around to circle your clit until you were sobbing his name. You rode him in his desk chair, grinding down on his cock while his hands guided your hips and his mouth worshipped your breasts.

He ate you out on the dining table for nearly an hour, tongue and fingers working you until your thighs shook uncontrollably and you begged him to fuck you properly. In the shower you clung to him as he held you against the tiled wall, water cascading over your joined bodies while he thrust up into you. In the backseat of his car in a deserted parking garage, windows fogged, you straddled him desperately because you couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes to get upstairs.

With every new position, every new location, the sex evolved. It stopped being just release and became something deeper, more intimate. He started staying inside you after he came, holding you close, tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. You talked for hours between rounds— about childhood dreams, fears of the future, silly stories that made you both laugh until your stomachs hurt. He comforted you when you cried after arguments with Taehyung. He listened when you admitted how lost you sometimes felt in your own relationship. He looked at you like you were the center of his universe.

And somewhere in the quiet moments after mind-blowing orgasms, you fell in love with him.

It happened gradually, terrifyingly. You started craving not just his body but his presence, his laugh, his gentle teasing, the way he made you feel truly seen. You caught yourself smiling at your phone when his name appeared. You found yourself comparing Taehyung’s gentle kisses to Jungkook’s consuming ones. The guilt never disappeared, but it became background noise, drowned out by the overwhelming love and pleasure you felt in Jungkook’s arms.

You were in love with your boyfriend's best friend. and then, you were— you were Taehyung's fiance.

The night he proposed was one you'd never forget. The elegant Italian restaurant glowed under warm amber lighting, crystal chandeliers casting soft golden patterns across crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The air carried the rich aroma of garlic, fresh basil, aged wine, and seared butter — the kind of scent that made every breath feel indulgent. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a special night, or so everyone believed.

Your mother sat across from you, elegant in her cream blouse, chatting animatedly with Chaewon, your best friend, who kept shooting you knowing little smiles. Taehyung was in his element— charming, bright, laughing easily as he poured more wine for everyone. And then there was Jungkook, seated diagonally across from you, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, dark eyes clouded with something raw and anguished. He kept glancing at you, then at Taehyung, then down at his plate, fingers white-knuckled around the stem of his wine glass. He knew. Somehow, in the way only someone who had been tangled in your secret for months could know, he sensed what was coming tonight.

You hadn’t planned to sneak away with him. Not here, not with everyone present. But the tension had been unbearable from the moment you all sat down. Under the table, Jungkook’s foot had brushed yours once, twice, then stayed pressed against your ankle. When Taehyung excused himself briefly to speak with the waiter about a special dessert, Jungkook’s eyes met yours, dark, desperate, pleading. You gave the smallest nod.

The two of you slipped away separately, hearts racing. You waited in the dimly lit hallway near the restrooms for what felt like an eternity before his hand closed around your wrist and pulled you into the single-occupancy bathroom at the end of the corridor. The door locked with a quiet click.

There was no time for tenderness tonight.

Jungkook spun you around, pressing your front against the cool marble counter, your reflection staring back at you, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips. He hiked your elegant black dress up around your waist in one rough motion, yanking your lace panties down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then he was pushing inside you, thick, hard, and urgent.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moan as he bottomed out in a single thrust. “So wet already… you’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?”

You could only nod frantically, pushing back against him. He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with desperate intensity. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed quietly in the small space, drowned out by the restaurant’s ambient noise just beyond the door. One of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub tight, frantic circles over your clit. It was quick, dirty, and devastatingly good. Within minutes you were coming hard around him, biting down on his fingers to stay silent as pleasure ripped through you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a choked groan, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

For a few seconds you both just breathed— ragged, guilty, addicted. He kissed the back of your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling out. You quickly fixed your panties and smoothed down your dress while he tucked himself away and washed his hands. Your eyes met in the mirror. His were tormented.

“We should get back,” you whispered.

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You returned to the table one after the other, trying to look casual. Taehyung was already back, smiling warmly as he pulled your chair out for you. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering sweetly against your skin.

“There you are,” he murmured affectionately. “Missed you for a second.”

You forced a smile, cheeks still warm from the bathroom. “Just freshening up.”

Chaewon raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. Your mother continued talking. Jungkook stared down at his plate of half-eaten risotto, fork gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. His expression was twisted— anguish, jealousy, heartbreak, and self-loathing all etched into the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a man watching his entire world prepare to slip away.

The conversation flowed around you. Taehyung’s hand rested warmly on your thigh under the table, thumb stroking gentle circles. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded at stories about old memories, sipped your wine to steady your nerves. But every time you glanced at Jungkook, your heart cracked a little more. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice was tight, clipped.

Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared and another bottle of wine opened, Taehyung stood up. The table quieted. Your stomach dropped like a stone. He turned to you, eyes shining with love and nervous excitement. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee right there beside your chair. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Soft gasps and murmurs rose from nearby tables as people realized what was happening.

Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Chaewon grinned widely, already pulling out her phone to record.

Taehyung took your left hand in both of his, his touch warm and steady. From his pocket he produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the chandelier light and sparkled like starlight. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything you should have wanted.

“Baby,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You make every day brighter. You make me want to be better. I want to spend every tomorrow with you— building a home, chasing dreams, growing old together. I love you more than words can say.” His eyes glistened. “Will you marry me?”

Time slowed.

Your mind spun wildly. Saying no would shatter everything. It would break Taehyung’s heart in front of your mother, your best friend, and half the restaurant. It would destroy years of shared memories, plans, stability. Your career, your social circle, the life you had so carefully built— all of it intertwined with him. People would ask questions. Rumors would spread. You would lose the safety net you had clung to for years.

Your gaze flickered desperately to Jungkook.

He sat frozen, head bowed, staring down at the tablecloth. His fork was clenched so tightly in his fist that it looked like it might bend. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He wouldn’t look at you. He couldn’t. The anguish on his face was so raw it hurt to see.

You looked back at Taehyung— kind, loving Taehyung, on his knee with nothing but hope and devotion in his eyes.

Your throat tightened. The word you wanted to say— no, lodged somewhere deep inside you, trapped beneath layers of fear and guilt and years of momentum. Instead, you whispered, voice barely audible yet somehow carrying across the silent table, “Yes.”

The restaurant erupted in applause. Taehyung’s face lit up with pure joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply in front of everyone. Your mother was crying happy tears. Chaewon cheered. Cameras flashed from nearby tables.

You smiled. You laughed. You hugged him back.

But inside, something vital fractured.

Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the guilt sat like lead in your chest.

Taehyung made love to you slowly, reverently, the way he always did on important nights. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Soft music played low in the background. He kissed every inch of your skin like you were something sacred, whispering “I love you” between each touch. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle, familiar, comforting, safe.

But all you could think about was Jungkook’s desperate thrusts in the bathroom earlier, the way he had filled you so completely, the anguished look on his face at dinner. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as Taehyung moved above you, slow and deep and loving.

He noticed the tears and misunderstood completely. A tender smile crossed his face as he brushed them away with his thumbs, still rocking into you gently. “Are you crying because it feels good, baby?” he murmured, voice husky with affection. He kissed the tears from your cheeks, then your eyelids, then your lips. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I love making you feel this way.”

You nodded, unable to speak, fresh tears falling faster. He took it as overwhelming emotion from the proposal, from the intensity of the moment. He held you closer, hips rolling languidly, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. When you came, it was quiet and bittersweet, more from emotional exhaustion than pleasure. Taehyung followed soon after, groaning your name softly as he spilled inside you.

Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “My fiancée,” he whispered happily, already drifting off. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

You lay there in the dark, his warm breath against your neck, the new ring heavy on your finger. Silent sobs shook your body long after he fell asleep. The guilt was suffocating. You had said yes to a future you no longer wanted, all while carrying the scent of his best friend on your skin.

Jungkook’s tormented face flashed behind your closed eyelids again and again.

You had never felt more lost.

Present day.

The supply closet door creaked open just a sliver. You peered out, heart still racing from the aftershocks of what had just happened. The hallway was mercifully empty— no lingering guests, no staff rushing by with trays. Only the distant hum of the rehearsal dinner setup floated toward you: silverware clinking, soft laughter, the low murmur of voices echoing off the high ceilings of the venue. You slipped out quickly, smoothing down the front of your rehearsal dress with trembling hands. Your thighs still felt slick, your core pleasantly sore, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to your skin like evidence you couldn’t erase.

You paused at a decorative mirror hanging on the corridor wall, checking your reflection one final time. Lips slightly swollen but hidden under fresh lipstick. Hair mostly back in place, though one strand still looked a little too mussed. Cheeks flushed, but you could blame that on the warm venue lighting or a glass of champagne. You took a slow, steadying breath, forcing your expression into something calm and bridal. The diamond on your finger caught the light mockingly as you turned and walked back toward the main hall.

No one seemed to notice your absence. Or if they did, they didn’t care. The venue buzzed with pre-dinner energy, florists making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, waitstaff filling water glasses, family members chatting in small clusters. You spotted Taehyung immediately. He was standing near the head table, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored navy suit, laughing at something Namjoon said. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“There you are, baby,” he said warmly, crossing the distance in a few strides. His arms wrapped around you before you could prepare yourself, pulling you into a tight, loving hug. One hand rubbed soothing circles on your lower back while the other tilted your chin up gently. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your temple, exactly where Jungkook’s breath had ghosted earlier. “I was starting to wonder where my beautiful almost-wife disappeared to. The rehearsal dinner’s about to start. Everything okay?”

You smiled up at him, the motion automatic after months of practice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a minute to breathe. It’s all a little overwhelming.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. But tonight’s going to be perfect. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect. Because I get to marry you.” He kissed your forehead again, then laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he led you toward the long head table.

The seating arrangement had been planned meticulously. You sat near the center, with Chaewon— your maid of honor, on your immediate right. Next to her were your other bridesmaids: Jennie, glowing in a sleek emerald dress, and a couple of college friends who chatted excitedly about the florals. Across the table sat Taehyung’s groomsmen, Yoongi looking effortlessly cool in all black, Namjoon with his dimpled smile, and a few others. And directly across from you, of course, was Jungkook. Best man. Taehyung’s closest friend. The man who had just fucked you senseless in a supply closet less than ten minutes ago.

You did everything possible not to look at him.

Taehyung pulled your chair out for you like the perfect gentleman, then took his seat beside you, immediately draping an arm along the back of your chair. His fingers found yours again under the table, thumb stroking over your engagement ring as if reminding you, or himself that this was real. He leaned toward Yoongi and Namjoon, launching into an easy conversation about some new whiskey Namjoon had discovered on a recent trip. Their laughter rolled over the table, warm and familiar.

You kept your gaze fixed on your water glass, on the delicate gold rim of your plate, on the beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the table, anywhere but across from you. Still, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a physical weight. The heat of his stare. The way his shoulders filled out his black button-up. The faint redness on the side of his neck that you knew you’d left there with your teeth.

Chaewon nudged your side gently. “You good? You look a little flushed.”

“Just the wine,” you lied with a small laugh, lifting your glass as proof.

Before anyone could press further, Jennie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only you and Chaewon could hear. Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “Okay, you guys are never going to believe this. Wonyoung just told me she heard two people straight-up fucking in one of the supply closets a little while ago.”

Chaewon gasped, hand flying to her mouth in dramatic shock. “No way. During the rehearsal dinner? That’s insane. Who would be bold enough?”

Your face drained of color. Ice-cold dread flooded your veins, turning your stomach into a tight knot. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass until you worried it might snap. They know. Oh God, they know. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, keeping your expression neutral even as panic clawed up your throat.

Jennie shrugged, clearly enjoying the scandal. “Wonyoung said she heard moaning and the shelf rattling. She tried to be sneaky and wait to see who came out, but she got bored after a couple minutes. The only person she actually saw leave was Jungkook. The girl, whoever she was, took too long, so Wonyoung gave up and came back to the table.”

Chaewon made a disgusted yet amused face, leaning back in her chair. “Of course it was Jungkook. Leave it to him to sneak off and fuck some random girl right before his best friend’s wedding rehearsal. The man has zero shame. I swear, he’s going to end up causing drama at the actual wedding if he’s not careful.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a weak chuckle that sounded fake even to your own ears. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure it was him doing anything. Maybe he just… needed something from the closet. Or maybe Wonyoung misheard. These old buildings have weird acoustics.”

Chaewon turned to you with a weird, skeptical look, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Since when do you defend Jungkook’s hook-up habits? You’ve literally complained about his ‘playboy phase’ with me a dozen times.”

Jennie giggled, already moving on. “Maybe it was one of the catering staff. Or that cute bridesmaid from Taehyung’s cousin’s side? God, I hope it wasn’t. Can you imagine the drama if someone finds out?”

The two of them launched into eager speculation, voices low but animated, throwing out names and possibilities while laughing behind their hands. You sat there frozen, smiling stiffly when they looked at you, nodding along like you were just as amused. Inside, your mind screamed. Every beat of your heart felt like a countdown. The memory of Jungkook’s cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth, his whispered “so fucking perfect” still echoed in your ears while your fiancé held your hand lovingly under the table.

Taehyung squeezed your fingers, completely oblivious, still deep in conversation with Namjoon about honeymoon destinations. “What do you think, babe? Beach or mountains?”

“Beach sounds nice,” you murmured, forcing warmth into your voice.

Across the table, you couldn’t resist anymore. Your eyes lifted.

Jungkook was already watching you. His gaze was intense, dark, and unapologetic. He hadn’t touched his food. His fork rested beside his plate, forgotten. Those familiar eyes, the same ones that had looked at you with lust and something far deeper in the closet, bored straight into you. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, jaw tight, like he was daring the entire room to notice. Like he didn’t care if they did. One of his hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once, slowly, as if remembering how they’d gripped your thigh earlier.

The heat in his stare made your core clench involuntarily, a fresh rush of slick mixing with what he’d left inside you. Guilt and desire twisted together so tightly you felt dizzy. You looked away first, cheeks burning, focusing instead on the way Taehyung’s thumb kept stroking your knuckles.

The rehearsal dinner continued around you— toasts starting soon, servers bringing out the first course, laughter rising and falling like waves. But inside your chest, everything felt like it was fracturing. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow you would promise forever to the man beside you. And the man across from you, the one still staring like he owned every broken piece of your heart, would be standing right there watching it happen.

The rehearsal dinner wound down slowly, like the final notes of a song that had gone on just a little too long. Laughter gradually softened into tired goodbyes, chairs scraped against the polished floors, and the warm glow of string lights overhead began to feel almost too intimate. Plates were cleared, half-empty wine glasses collected, and the wedding party slowly migrated toward the connected hotel lobby in a cheerful, slightly tipsy procession. Hugs and promises to meet bright and early tomorrow filled the air. Your mother kissed your cheek and whispered how proud she was. Chaewon squeezed your hand and reminded you she’d be there first thing in the morning to help you get ready. Everyone was glowing with excitement.

Everyone except you.

A heavy fog of exhaustion and dread clung to your bones as you walked beside Taehyung through the elegant hotel corridors. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, but nothing could muffle the storm raging inside your chest. Jungkook lingered somewhere behind the group with the other groomsmen— you hadn’t dared look back at him since that intense stare across the dinner table. The memory of his eyes on you still burned.

True to old-fashioned wedding tradition, you and Taehyung were to spend the night apart. No shared suite, no last-minute intimacy. Just one final night as fiancés before tomorrow made everything permanent.

Your group reached the executive floor where the bridal and groom parties had been booked. Doors lined the quiet hallway, each marked with elegant gold numbers. Taehyung’s suite was three doors down from yours. The others said their final goodnights, waving and calling out teasing reminders not to stay up too late thinking about each other. Slowly, the hallway emptied until it was just the two of you standing outside your door.

Taehyung turned to face you fully, the soft hallway lighting casting gentle shadows across his handsome face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, eyes warm, smile soft and full of love. Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t a quick goodnight peck. This was slow, reverent, full of promise. His lips moved against yours with familiar affection, tongue gently teasing until you parted for him. You tasted the red wine from dinner on his tongue, felt the steady warmth of his body pressing close. One of his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “God, I love you. I can’t believe tomorrow is finally here. I get to marry the love of my life. My best friend. My everything.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then your lips again, softer this time. “I’ve been dreaming about this day since the moment I proposed. I can’t wait to watch you walk down that aisle toward me. I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you whispered, the words tasting both true and bitterly false at the same time. “I can’t wait either.”

But inside, a mountain-sized rock of fear and doubt sat heavy in your stomach, pressing against your lungs and making it hard to breathe. Tomorrow you would stand in front of family, friends, and God, and promise forever to this man while carrying the weight of months of betrayal. While the memory of Jungkook’s hands, his mouth, his body still lingered on your skin. The thought of saying “I do” felt like stepping off a cliff. What kind of life were you building on such a rotten foundation? What if you ruined him? What if you ruined yourself?

You pushed the thoughts away violently, locking them behind a mental door you refused to open tonight. Not now. Not when Taehyung was looking at you like this.

He smiled against your lips, then leaned in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into that husky, intimate register that always made your stomach flutter. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could take you into that room right now,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “How much I want to peel this dress off you, lay you down on that big bed, and fuck you slow and deep until you’re moaning my name. I’ve been thinking about it all night… how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me on the night before our wedding.”

A shiver ran through you, part guilt, part muscle memory from the supply closet earlier. You played along, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as you slid your arms around his neck. “Tae… you’re going to make this separation even harder,” you whispered back, kissing the corner of his jaw. “But you’re right. We’ll have forever after tomorrow. All the nights we want.”

He groaned quietly, pulling you into another deep kiss, this one edged with restrained hunger. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and for a moment you let yourself sink into the familiarity of him, the safety, the love, the life you had chosen. When he finally stepped back, his eyes were dark with want but shining with pure happiness.

“One more night,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you’re mine forever. Sleep well, my beautiful bride. Dream of me.”

“I will,” you lied gently.

He kissed you one last time, slow, lingering, full of quiet devotion, before pulling away with visible reluctance. He walked backward a few steps, still watching you with that bright, loving smile, then turned and disappeared into his own suite a few doors down. The soft click of his door closing echoed in the now-empty hallway.

You stood there alone for a long moment, keycard clutched tightly in your fingers, staring at the polished wood of your own door. The mountain in your stomach grew heavier. Your thighs still ached faintly from Jungkook. Your lips still tingled from Taehyung. Two completely different kinds of kisses, two completely different kinds of love, one safe and warm, the other dangerous and all-consuming, warred inside you until you felt dizzy.

Finally, you slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open. The luxurious suite welcomed you with soft lighting, a king-sized bed piled with crisp white linens, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.

You closed the door behind you, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow was coming whether you were ready or not.

You had been lying in the massive king-sized bed for what felt like an eternity, though the clock on the nightstand insisted it had only been forty-three minutes. The silk sheets were cool against your skin at first, but now they clung to your legs like a second, suffocating layer. No matter how many times you flipped the pillow to the cool side, no matter how you rearranged your body— on your back, curled on your side, sprawled on your stomach— sleep refused to come. Your mind was a hurricane, relentless and loud, every thought crashing into the next with brutal force.

Tomorrow.

The word echoed like a death knell. Tomorrow you would walk down a petal-strewn aisle in a dress that had cost more than most people’s cars. Tomorrow you would stand in front of two hundred people and promise forever to Kim Taehyung. Tomorrow you would become someone’s wife.

And tonight, your body still carried the ghost of Jeon Jungkook.

You could still feel the faint ache between your thighs from the supply closet. The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips beneath the mint of toothpaste. His scent, clean, woody, faintly sweet, seemed embedded in your skin no matter how many times you’d showered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face at dinner: that anguished stare across the table, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.

You and Jungkook had never truly talked about it.

Not once in all those stolen months had either of you said the words “I love you.” The relationship, if it could even be called that, had existed in heated silences, desperate touches, and late-night conversations that danced around the edges of real feelings. You’d talk about music, about childhood memories, about fears of failure and dreams you were too scared to chase. You’d laugh until your stomachs hurt, then fuck like the world was ending. But love? That word had always stayed locked behind teeth and bitten lips, too dangerous to release.

Still, you knew.

You loved him. God, you loved him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable, like gravity. You loved the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his universe. You loved how he remembered tiny details no one else noticed. You loved the way he touched you— like worship and ruin all at once. And deep down, in the quietest part of your heart, you were almost certain he loved you back. The way he held you after sex, the way his voice would crack when he said your name in the dark, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching… it was all there.

But love wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on lies and betrayal. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life sneaking around, stealing moments, destroying two people who didn’t deserve it. Tonight had to be the end. One final goodbye, then you would lock your heart away and become the wife Taehyung deserved.

The decision settled over you like cold steel.

You sat up abruptly, heart hammering. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred through the tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t bother with a robe, just grabbed the hotel keycard and slipped on the soft hotel slippers. Your silk nightdress brushed against your thighs as you moved silently to the door. The hallway was quiet, dimmed for the night, the carpet plush underfoot. Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

Jungkook’s room was only two floors up. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the movement to steady your nerves. By the time you reached his door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the keycard twice. You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood, breathing through the panic.

Then you knocked. Soft. Hesitant. Barely audible.

You heard movement inside, sheets rustling, footsteps padding across the floor. The door opened. Jungkook stood there in nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair messy from tossing and turning of his own. His eyes widened in genuine shock when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway light spilled into his dimly lit suite, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulder earlier.

You didn’t wait for an invitation. You stepped forward, gently pushing the door wider, and slipped inside. Jungkook closed it behind you with a quiet click, the sound final in the heavy silence. No words passed between you. You stood just inside the room, staring at him. He stared back. The air felt thick, charged with everything unsaid for months. The king bed behind him was rumpled, one pillow tossed aside like he’d been struggling to sleep too. A single lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the space, catching on the sharp angles of his face and the tension in his jaw.

You moved first, walking slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting down. The mattress dipped under your weight. Tears welled up instantly, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, but one slipped free, rolling down your cheek.

Jungkook was on his knees in front of you before you could draw another breath.

He moved with that quiet, graceful speed he always had, dropping down between your legs, hands coming up to cradle your face with heartbreaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed away the tears as they fell, warm and calloused from years of playing guitar and working out. His dark eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper, something that made your chest ache even worse.

“Baby… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. More tears spilled over. “This has to be the last time, Jungkook,” you managed, voice cracking. “Tonight. This… us. It has to end. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t marry him tomorrow while I’m still… while we’re still—”

Your words dissolved into a quiet sob. You cried harder, shoulders shaking, the weight of months of guilt and love and fear crashing down all at once.

Jungkook’s face crumpled. His own eyes glistened as he continued wiping your tears away with careful thumbs, like he could erase the pain if he was gentle enough. “Okay,” he whispered, voice wavering badly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay… if that’s what you need. I’ll… I’ll let you go.”

The words sounded like they physically hurt him to say. His hands trembled against your cheeks. He stayed on his knees, looking up at you like you were his whole world breaking apart right in front of him. You cried harder, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. Your hands came up to clutch at his bare shoulders, nails digging in like you could anchor yourself to him one last time. The sobs came freely now, quiet but devastating. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing his face into your stomach as he held you through it. His own breathing was shaky, uneven.

After a long stretch of silence broken only by your quiet crying, he pulled back just enough to look up at you again. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastatingly beautiful in their pain. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with infinite tenderness.

Then, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, he whispered:

“Don’t marry him.”

The words hung between you like smoke. Time seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s eyes never left yours, raw and pleading and full of a love he had never dared speak out loud until this moment. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the silk of your nightdress, grounding and desperate all at once.

You stared down at him, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then you pulled back slightly, staring at him through tear-blurred vision. Your heart stuttered. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.

Jungkook didn’t look away. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, desperate circles through the silk of your nightdress. “I mean don’t marry him,” he repeated, louder this time, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t do it, baby. Please.”

You shook your head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “Jungkook… I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” he said immediately, eyes pleading. “You have a choice. Right now. Right here.”

A broken sound escaped your throat. You pulled away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together. “No, I don’t. Everyone would hate me. My family, his family, our friends… they’ve all poured so much into this wedding. Into us. I can’t destroy everything like that. I can’t do that to Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”

Jungkook stayed on his knees for another moment, watching you unravel. Then frustration flickered across his face. He pushed himself up abruptly, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in clear agitation. He paced two steps away, then turned back to you, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“But what about what you want?” he asked, voice rough and edged with pain. “What about you? For once in all of this… what do you actually want?” You looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The truth sat on your tongue like fire: You. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long it feels like I’m drowning. But the words wouldn’t come. Admitting it would make everything real. It would make the pain sharper, the consequences unavoidable.

So instead of answering, you stood up. Jungkook watched you, breath caught, waiting. You closed the distance between you in two shaky steps. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. For one heartbeat, you just looked at him — memorizing the way his dark eyes searched yours, the slight tremble in his jaw, the love and heartbreak written so clearly across his features.

Then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, desperate, and devastating, all the things you couldn’t say poured into the press of your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as your mouth moved against his with raw hunger and sorrow. Jungkook groaned into the kiss, hands gripping your waist almost painfully as he kissed you back like it was the last time. Because it was.

Tongues tangled. Breaths mingled. Tears slipped from your eyes and mixed between your lips. The kiss tasted like salt and goodbye. You poured every unsaid “I love you,” every stolen moment, every future you could never have into it. Jungkook held you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he could keep you here forever if he kissed you hard enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Your forehead rested against his for one final second. Then you turned and walked toward the door. A sob caught in your throat, thick and painful, threatening to break free. You didn’t let it. You kept your back straight, shoulders tense, even as your vision blurred with fresh tears.

Jungkook didn’t try to stop you. You heard him take one shaky step forward, then stop. “Please…” he whispered, voice wrecked. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You opened the door and slipped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The sob finally escaped the moment the door clicked shut behind you, a broken, muffled sound that you tried to swallow as you hurried back toward the stairs.

Your bare feet moved quickly over the carpet. Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the silk of your nightdress. Every step away from him felt like tearing your own heart out. You pressed a hand to your chest as if that could ease the pain, but it only made it worse.

By the time you reached your own floor, your shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. You slipped back into your cold, empty suite, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until you were sitting on the floor.

The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever.

The morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains of the bridal suite like a soft, golden promise. It was supposed to be the most beautiful day of your life, the kind of day people wrote songs about, the kind of day you had spent months planning down to the last petal and place card. Instead, it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried.

You had barely slept. After slipping back into your own suite last night, you had curled up on the cold floor by the door for what felt like hours, sobbing until your chest ached and your eyes burned raw. Eventually exhaustion had pulled you into the bed, but the sheets still smelled faintly of the hotel laundry and nothing like home. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, the raw desperation in his voice when he whispered “Don’t marry him,” the way his lips had moved against yours in that final, devastating kiss. The memory played on repeat, mixing with flashes of the supply closet yesterday, the storm night a year ago, every stolen moment that had led you here.

Now you sat in a high-backed velvet chair in front of a large vanity mirror, the room buzzing with excited energy all around you. The bridal suite was a whirlwind of satin, lace, laughter, and the sweet scent of fresh peonies overflowing from every available surface. Your mother flitted between the racks of dresses and the champagne station, chatting animatedly with the wedding planner. Jennie and the other bridesmaids lounged on the cream-colored sofas, sipping mimosas and scrolling through their phones, occasionally bursting into giggles. A photographer darted around capturing “candid” moments, someone adjusting a veil, someone else helping zip a bridesmaid dress. Soft classical music played from a speaker in the corner, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it happen to someone else through fogged glass.

Chaewon stood behind you, her fingers gentle but precise as she worked through your hair. She had insisted on doing your makeup and hair herself, “No one knows your face like I do,” she had said with a wink this morning, but right now her usual bright energy felt like it was pressing against a bruise you couldn’t hide. She had already curled and pinned half your hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face exactly the way you had pictured it months ago when you’d chosen the style. The makeup artist had already done the base, flawless, glowing skin, subtle contour, the perfect neutral lip, but Chaewon was handling the finishing touches: the smoky eye that made your eyes look bigger, the highlighter that caught the light just right.

You stared at your reflection and hated what you saw.

The woman in the mirror looked beautiful. The silk robe with your new initials embroidered on the pocket, the diamond studs in your ears that Taehyung had given you last Christmas, the faint flush on your cheeks that could almost pass for bridal excitement. But your eyes were dull. The smile you kept trying to force felt plastic and wrong, like a mask that kept slipping no matter how hard you held it in place.

“Hold still, babe,” Chaewon murmured, carefully sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbone with setting powder. “You’re going to look insane when I’m done. Taehyung’s jaw is going to hit the floor the second he sees you.”

You tried to laugh. It came out small and hollow. “Yeah… I hope so.”

Chaewon paused, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. She tilted her head, studying you the way only your best friend could, like she could see straight through the carefully constructed walls you had spent the last year building. The room’s chatter continued around you, but for a moment it felt like the two of you were in a bubble.

She set the brush down and leaned in closer, resting her forearms on the back of your chair so her face was level with yours. Her voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear over the background noise. “Hey… are you okay?”

You nodded immediately, plastering on the brightest fake smile you could manage. The muscles in your cheeks protested. “I’m fine. Really. Just… wedding day nerves, you know?”

Chaewon didn’t smile back. She searched your face for another long second, her perfectly winged liner making her eyes look even sharper. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Like, too quiet. And your smile keeps doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you fake it through finals week, through that horrible breakup in college, through every single time you tried to convince me you were okay when you weren’t.”

Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears from last night threatening to resurface, stinging behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing them back. “I’m just nervous,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Overthinking everything, like always. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if the flowers aren’t right? What if I forget my vows?” The excuses tumbled out easily, practiced from months of hiding the truth.

Chaewon’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice even more, almost a whisper now. “Is it cold feet? Like… actual cold feet? Because if it is, you can tell me. I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you through this shit, even if it’s messy. We can slow everything down. We can talk to Taehyung. We can—”

“No,” you cut her off quickly, shaking your head so hard that one of the pinned curls almost slipped. You reached up and caught her wrist gently, squeezing it. “No cold feet. I swear. I love Taehyung. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s safe. He’s everything I’m supposed to want.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Safe. The same word you had used in your own head a thousand times. Safe, but not the one who made your heart feel like it was on fire. Not the one who had looked you in the eyes last night and begged you, in the softest voice imaginable, not to go through with this.

You forced another smile, wider this time, even though it hurt. “I’m just overthinking. The last year has been a lot, planning this whole thing, work, everything with Taehyung’s schedule. It’s all hitting me at once. But I’m happy. I promise.”

Chaewon studied you for another beat, clearly not convinced. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand where it still held her wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if it’s scary. Even if it changes things. I’ve got your back no matter what.”

The sincerity in her voice nearly broke you. For one wild second you considered it, telling her everything. The affair. The way Jungkook had fallen to his knees last night and whispered those three words that had shattered your entire world. Don’t marry him. How you had kissed him like your life depended on it and then run away like a coward. How you were sitting here in a wedding dress about to promise forever to the wrong man because the right one was standing on the other side of the aisle as his best man.

But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. You couldn’t destroy everything. Not today. Not when your mother was already tearing up in the corner watching you. Not when two hundred people were already seated in the garden waiting for you. Not when Taehyung was probably pacing in his own suite right now, smiling that bright, hopeful smile you had fallen for years ago.

“I know,” you whispered instead, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go. “Thank you. I really am okay. Just… help me finish my makeup so I don’t look like I cried all night?”

Chaewon hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly wanted to push more, but the wedding planner chose that exact moment to clap her hands loudly from across the room.

“Ten minutes until we need the bride in the dress, ladies! Let’s get that veil on and do the final touch-ups!”

The bubble popped. Chaewon gave you one last searching look, then straightened up with a forced bright smile of her own. “You heard her. Time to make you the most beautiful bride this venue has ever seen.”

She went back to work, dabbing at your under eyes with a cool sponge to hide any remaining redness, then carefully placing the delicate lace veil into your updo. The fabric fluttered down around your shoulders like a cloud. Your mother came over, eyes already misty, and adjusted the veil with trembling fingers. “My baby girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “You look like a dream.”

You smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the same fake smile you had been wearing all morning. “Thanks, Mom.”

Jennie popped up beside you, holding up a glass of champagne. “One last sip for courage? Or is it bad luck before the aisle?”

You took the glass, mostly to give your hands something to do. The bubbles tickled your throat as you sipped, but it tasted like nothing. The room continued its happy chaos around you—bridesmaids zipping into their matching dresses, the photographer snapping more photos, your mother fussing over the hem of your gown as it was finally brought out on a rolling rack. The dress was everything you had once dreamed of: soft ivory silk, a fitted bodice with delicate beading, a long train that whispered against the carpet. It should have made you feel like a princess.

Instead, it felt like armor you were putting on for a battle you didn’t want to fight.

As Chaewon helped you step into the gown and began buttoning the long row of tiny pearls up your back, your mind drifted again. Last night’s kiss burned behind your eyelids. The way Jungkook’s hands had gripped your waist like he was drowning. The broken sound of his voice. What about what you want? You hadn’t answered him then, and you still couldn’t answer yourself now. Because the truth was too terrifying: what you wanted was him. All of him. The stolen nights, the laughter in the dark, the way he saw every broken piece of you and loved them anyway.

But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when it would ruin so many lives. “Almost done,” Chaewon murmured behind you, her voice soft again. She fastened the last button and stepped back to admire her work. “There. You’re perfect.”

The entire room turned to look at you. Gasps and soft cheers filled the air. Your mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free. Jennie raised her phone to take a video. The photographer clicked away furiously.

You stood there in the center of it all, the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen, and felt absolutely nothing but dread. Before Chaewon could pull you aside for one more private question, you could see it in her eyes that she was about to try, the wedding planner appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a bright, efficient smile on her face.

“It’s time, everyone! The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Bride, we need you in position for the processional. Let’s get you to the garden entrance.” The words landed like a final bell.

Chaewon squeezed your hand one last time, her expression still worried but resigned. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. “I love you.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Love you too.”

As the bridesmaids lined up in front of you, as your mother gave you one last tearful hug, as the veil was lowered gently over your face, you felt the mountain of everything you had been carrying finally settle into place.

This was it.

The best day of your life.

And all you could think about was the man waiting at the end of the aisle, not as your husband, but as the best man who had begged you, just last night, not to walk toward anyone else. The doors to the garden opened. Music swelled. Everyone turned to look. And you took the first step.

The first step down the aisle felt like stepping off solid ground into open air. Hundreds of eyes watched you, warm and adoring, but your own gaze kept betraying you. It flickered forward to Taehyung, standing tall at the altar in his perfectly tailored black tux, eyes already glistening with happy tears, that bright, boyish smile lighting up his entire face. Then, helplessly, it slid to the left.

To Jungkook.

He stood just behind Taehyung as best man, posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in front of him. The black suit fit him like it had been made for this exact moment of torment. His hair was styled neatly, jaw clean-shaven, but none of that hid the devastation carved into his features. His eyes, dark, red-rimmed, utterly shattered, locked onto yours the second you looked at him and refused to let go. A sinking feeling twisted deep in your stomach, heavy as lead.

Every step brought you closer. Your heels sank slightly into the white runner. The guests murmured how beautiful you looked, how radiant, how perfect. But all you could see was Jungkook’s face, the way his lips pressed into a thin, pained line, the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes glistened like he was barely holding himself together. He looked at you like you were killing him. Like every step you took toward Taehyung was a knife sliding between his ribs.

You tried to look away. You really did. But your eyes kept returning to him, drawn like magnets. Flashbacks assaulted you with every heartbeat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, forcing a soft, trembling smile for the guests. Your father mistook it for emotion and patted your hand proudly.

Closer now. Ten steps. Five. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell faster. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. For one heartbeat, as you passed the front row, his eyes met yours fully and the pain in them was so raw, so open, that your knees nearly buckled. I love you, his gaze seemed to scream. Please don’t do this.

You reached the altar.

Your father kissed your cheek, then placed your hand in Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s fingers were warm, steady, loving. He squeezed gently and mouthed, “You look breathtaking.” His smile was so full of pure joy it hurt to look at.

Jungkook stood directly behind him, only a few feet away. You could feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face like a brand.

The officiant began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Kim Taehyung and…”

The words blurred. You stood facing Taehyung, bouquet lowered, veil soft over your vision, while every nerve in your body remained hyper-aware of the man standing just over his shoulder. Jungkook’s presence was a storm at your back. You could hear his shallow breathing, could almost feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Taehyung looked at you like you were his entire universe. He mouthed “I love you” during the opening remarks. You tried to say it back. The words came out, but they felt hollow.

The ceremony moved forward, readings, a short sermon on love and commitment, the sharing of memories from friends. Laughter rippled through the guests at funny stories. You smiled when you were supposed to. Nodded. Squeezed Taehyung’s hands. But your mind kept screaming.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. Then came the moment. The officiant smiled warmly at the crowd. “If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A respectful, anticipatory silence fell over the garden.

For three full heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then Jungkook moved.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice cutting through the quiet like thunder.

“I do.”

Gasps erupted everywhere. Heads whipped around. A wave of horrified murmurs swept through the guests. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Chaewon’s eyes widened in shock beside the other bridesmaids. Taehyung’s smile froze, then slowly fell as he turned toward his best friend.

Jungkook didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes were locked on you, burning, desperate, filled with months of suppressed love finally breaking free. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking but growing stronger with every word. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tae. But I can’t stand here and watch this happen without saying something. I’ve been in love with her for over a year.”

The crowd’s murmurs turned into outright shock. Someone dropped a phone. A few people stood up. Jungkook took another step closer, eyes never leaving yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, unchecked. The veil did nothing to hide them. “From that first night she showed up at my door in the rain, broken from a fight with you… I tried to fight it. I swear I did. But every stolen moment after that only made me fall harder. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The way she looks at me like I actually see her. The way she makes me want to be better. I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. Deep. All-consuming. The kind of love that ruins you.” His voice broke completely. “I know this destroys everything. I know I’m the worst friend in the world. But I can’t let her marry you while pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t forever hold my peace when my heart is screaming her name.”

Silence. Absolute, horrified silence. You stared at him, tears streaming freely now, chest heaving. The love in his eyes was devastating. Raw. Real. Everything you had been too scared to admit you wanted. Taehyung’s hand dropped yours. He looked between you and Jungkook, confusion melting into dawning horror, then white-hot anger and heartbreak all at once. His face crumpled. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked you, voice low and trembling. “Baby… what is this?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. “Taehyung, I—”

Jungkook stepped forward again, reaching toward his best friend. “Tae, please. This is my fault. I—”

Taehyung’s fist flew before Jungkook could finish.

The punch landed hard, right against Jungkook’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the garden. Jungkook stumbled back, hand flying to his face. Blood instantly trickled from the corner of his mouth. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. Chaos erupted. Taehyung stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with betrayal and pain. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice breaking. "How long?"

Jungkook didn’t fight back. He just stood there, blood on his lips, eyes still locked on you even as tears mixed with the red on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but the words were lost in the growing uproar. You stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress, bouquet long forgotten on the ground, tears pouring down your face as the perfect day shattered around you in front of everyone you loved. The man you were supposed to marry had just punched his best friend. The man you were in love with had just torn everything apart in the most public, devastating way possible.

But Taehyung wasn’t done. Rage and heartbreak twisted his usually gentle features into something unrecognizable as he grabbed the front of Jungkook’s suit jacket with both hands and shoved him again, snarling through gritted teeth. “You fucking traitor—”

You moved without thinking, silk gown tangling around your legs as you surged between them. “Taehyung, stop! Please!” Your voice cracked, raw from hours of suppressed tears. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but he was stronger than you in his fury. His elbow jerked back sharply, shoving you hard.

You stumbled, heels catching in the runner. The world tilted. Strong arms caught you from behind— Jungkook’s arms— pulling you against his chest to keep you upright. His blood smeared across the shoulder of your pristine ivory gown as you gripped his suit jacket, breathing hard.

Every single person in the garden was staring at you now. Hundreds of eyes. Phones still recording. Gasps and horrified whispers rippling outward like shockwaves. Your mother looked faint. Jennie had her hands over her mouth. The officiant stood frozen with the bible clutched to his chest. And Chaewon… Chaewon stared at you like she didn’t even recognize you anymore.

Taehyung’s chest heaved as he looked at the two of you, his fiancée clinging to his best man, blood staining her wedding dress. His eyes were glassy with betrayal, pain, and fury so deep it looked like it might break him. “Is it true?” he demanded, voice low and trembling. “Everything he just said… all of it. Is it fucking true?”

You turned slowly in Jungkook’s arms, still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you standing. Your veil clung to your wet cheeks. The bouquet you’d been holding lay forgotten on the ground, petals crushed under panicked feet.

You met Taehyung’s eyes, those warm, loving eyes that had looked at you with nothing but devotion for years, and felt your heart splinter. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely carrying but loud enough in the deadly silence. “It’s true.”

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone cried out. Phones lowered slightly, then rose higher as people realized they were witnessing something historic in the worst way possible.

Taehyung’s face crumpled further, like you had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out in front of everyone. “Do you love him?” he asked, the question raw, desperate, almost begging you to deny it even though the truth was written all over your tear-streaked face.

You looked at Jungkook first, his split lip, the rapidly swelling bruise on his jaw, blood mixing with tears on his chin. His eyes were locked on you, full of love and terror and regret. Then you looked back at Taehyung.

“Yes,” you said again, the word trembling but clear. “I love him. I’m so sorry, Taehyung… I never wanted this. I tried to stop it so many times, but I do. I love him.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chaewon stood frozen near the altar, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide with pure shock and dawning disgust. Your mother sobbed openly. Taehyung’s mother looked like she might faint. The entire wedding party stared at you like you were a stranger.

You took one shaky step toward Taehyung, reaching out with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I tried to end it, I swear on everything, I—”

Taehyung spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the white petals at your feet. The red stain bloomed obscenely against the pristine aisle like an accusation that would never wash away. His eyes were cold now, filled with nothing but disgust and heartbreak. “Go to hell,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the aisle, shoving past groomsmen who tried to reach for him, disappearing toward the venue building as guests parted in stunned silence.

You stood there shaking violently, the weight of what you had just admitted crashing down on you. The perfect day you had spent months planning lay in ruins, scattered flowers, overturned chairs, horrified faces everywhere. Chaewon moved next. She walked up to you slowly, her beautiful maid of honor dress suddenly looking too cheerful, too out of place. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and deep, cutting betrayal.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, voice shaking. “All those times I asked if you were okay this morning… every late-night conversation we had about the wedding… you were fucking his best friend behind his back? For how long?”

“I… I didn’t know how,” you stammered, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “It started after a fight with him… it was supposed to be one time and it just… it got so out of control. I was scared, Chaewon. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose everyone. I tried to end it, I swear I did, but I—”

She looked at you with such raw disgust that it felt like a slap across the face. Her eyes, which had always held nothing but love for you, were now ice cold. “You deserve every single bad thing that’s coming for you,” she said quietly, voice trembling with betrayal. “All of it. Every bit of pain. You did this to yourself.”

“Chaewon, please—” You reached for her arm, sobbing openly now, fresh tears pouring down your face.

She jerked away from your touch like it burned. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then she turned and walked away, following the same path Taehyung had taken, leaving you standing alone at the ruined altar in your bloodstained wedding dress.

A broken sob tore from your chest. The world spun. You felt like you might collapse right there in front of everyone. Jungkook stepped closer, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just couldn’t let you marry him without—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, and pulled him urgently through the staring, whispering crowd. Guests parted like the sea, murmurs rising into a roar. You didn’t care. You needed to get away from the eyes, from the judgment, from the wreckage you had caused.

You dragged him toward a side entrance of the main venue building, heart pounding so violently you thought it might explode. The first door you found was a small, secluded preparation room used earlier for photos. You shoved it open and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. Jungkook opened his mouth immediately. “I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, I—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

It was hard. Deep. Desperate. Your hands fisted in his bloody suit jacket as you poured every ounce of fear, relief, heartbreak, and overwhelming love into it. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Blood from his lip smeared between you, but neither of you cared. The kiss tasted like copper, salt, and the end of everything you had known, and the terrifying beginning of something new.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, your veil tangled around his fingers. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered against his lips, voice hoarse and shaking. “So fucking stupid for doing that in front of everyone.”

Jungkook looked confused, eyes searching yours, still glistening with tears and uncertainty. “I know. I destroyed your life, your reputation, everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off again. Your hands moved up to cup his bruised, bloody jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “I love you,” you said, the words finally free and ringing with truth. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like I was drowning. Our lives… they’re utterly destroyed right now. Everything we knew is gone. But at least we have each other. At least I finally have you.”

A broken, relieved sound escaped his throat. He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and veil as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You clung to him just as tightly, fingers digging into his back, wedding dress torn and bloodstained, both of you crying and holding each other like the world outside no longer existed.

For the first time in over a year, there were no more secrets.

Only the two of you.

And whatever came next.

At first, it was subtle, his fingers grazing the back of your palm as he handed you a glass of wine, the press of his knee against yours under the table. But then he started running his palm down the curve of your spine absentmindedly, his touch dainty yet burning, his fingertips tracing circles on your lower back as he spoke to his father.

But you were too busy fighting for your life trying to act unaffected to think of anything else.

“You know,” you murmur as you lean into his side, fingers outlining idle patterns on his forearm, “you’re actually pretty decent at this whole ‘pretend boyfriend’ thing.”

Jungkook chuckles, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Decent?” he repeats, feigning offense. “I’d say I’m excelling. You haven’t been able to keep your hands off me all night.”

You scoff, but your grip on his bicep betrays you. “That’s the champagne talking.”

“Mm.” He hums in amusement, his free hand landing on the small of your back, fingers barely pressing against the fabric of your gown. “I think you just like touching me.”

You shoot him a glare, but the warmth pooling in your stomach tells another story.

Before you can formulate a sharp retort, the sound of a spoon clinking against glass silences the room. All eyes turn toward your parents, standing at the front of the ballroom with glowing smiles.

Your mother beams. “We just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being here tonight. It means the world to us to see so many familiar faces supporting such a wonderful cause.”

Your father nods, lifting his glass. “And, of course, we can’t let the night go by without acknowledging how proud we are of our daughter and her soon-to-be—” He pauses for dramatic effect, eyes twinkling. “Well, let’s just say, we couldn’t be happier.”

Your stomach does that funny flip, like when you hit the first drop on a rollercoaster. Like someone just yanked the rug right out from under you, or like your elevator just decided to take a nosedive, plummeting 300 floors straight down into a purgatory where Jeon Jungkook is your husband.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, his fingers flexing against your back. You freeze, heat rushing to your face. Soon-to-be what? No, no, no. They can’t be implying—

“Oh?” Jungkook murmurs, clearly entertained. “Didn’t realize we were making things official-official.”

You force a laugh while your heart hammers. “They’re just getting ahead of themselves.”

“Right,” he drawls, but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he tugs you closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “You’re not running, though.”

You should be. You should be laughing this off, shoving him away, rolling your eyes like you always do. But you don’t. You can’t. Because some ridiculous, champagne-drunk part of you isn’t completely horrified at the idea.

Jungkook doesn’t look horrified either. Actually, he looks like he finds this quite comical.

He turns his head slightly, breath warm against your ear as he leans in. “Didn’t realize you wanted to marry me so bad,” he murmurs.

You turn to glare at him, ignoring how mousy you sound. “Shut up.”

He grins, entirely too pleased with himself, but the way he’s holding you feels different now. Less for show, more like he’s testing the waters. He doesn’t let go, even as the evening carries on, even as you find yourself more hyper-aware of every touch, every brush of his fingers, every lingering glance.

At some point, it becomes too much. You need air.

You excuse yourself quietly, slipping away from the ballroom and stepping onto the terrace, where the cool night air greets you in a much-needed embrace. You rest your hands on the railing, inhaling deeply, willing your heartbeat to settle.

“Running away from me?”

You close your eyes briefly before turning to find Jungkook leaning against the doorway, watching you. He’s loosened his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white button down, showing off his array of tattoos (which you swear he’s doing on purpose.)

“Just needed a moment,” you reply.

He steps closer, and you don’t move away. “Big night,” he muses. “Lots of champagne.”

“And unwanted proposals, apparently.”

He smirks. “Come on, you’re not completely horrified by the idea.”

You scoff. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

Jungkook tilts his head, smirk widening as he takes another step toward you. “Then why are you blushing?”

You open your mouth to counter, but he lifts a hand before you can, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. His touch is featherlight as he fixes the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his gaze flickering to yours as he smoothes it back into place.

You should take a step back, create some distance between the two of you. Break the moment before it spirals. But you don’t. Your feet remain planted to the ground.

You watch him, heart in your throat, as his fingers linger just a second too long. And for the first time, you don’t know if you’d stop him if he decided to close the distance between you.

But thank god, he doesn’t do anything rash.

Instead, he lets his hand drop, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “Better?”

You swallow hard. “Fine.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers over your face, as if committing this moment to memory. And then, finally, he steps back.

“Good,” he says. But the way he looks at you before he turns to head back inside tells you this is far from over.

You watch his silhouette disappear back into the ballroom, and an exhale you didn’t know you were holding frees itself from your mouth. Normally, you’re the composed one, the golden child, the girl boss. Now you’ve just dwindled yourself down to some lovesick girl who can’t even handle a simple fixing of a dress strap. It’s all too much, really.

All this to say — you need another drink.

You waltz back inside, beelining. You don’t even look for Jungkook; there's no use in continuing your torture for the night. Maybe a break is what you need. You’re entitled to one.

It’s no surprise to anyone you get approached by some man within a few minutes, who under normal circumstances, you would say is your type. You’re standing near the bar, champagne glass in hand, listening to whatever the man in front of you is saying. He’s charming, the kind of man your mother would nudge you toward with an encouraging smile. But you’re barely hearing a word.

Because once you finally do a quick scan across the room, Jungkook is smiling at her.

Ara.

She’s always been around, floating within your circles like a perfectly poised ghost. She has a beauty that feels effortless, with a gentle charm that makes you want to be near her. There’s something about her soft smile and the way she carries herself that pulls people in, making guys lean in closer just to catch every word she says.

She’s got a hand on Jungkook’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails resting there like they belong, and worst of all — he isn’t pulling away.

Your grip tightens around the stem of your glass, nails pressing little crescents into your palm.

You’ve seen him with girls before. You’ve watched him charm, flirt, entertain. And it never mattered. It never made your stomach churn like this, never made your skin prickle.

You take a sip of your champagne, trying to drown out the feeling, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you. The man — Seojun, maybe? — says something that makes you laugh politely, and yet, even as you force the sound out, your gaze flickers back to Jungkook like a magnet.

And that’s when it happens.

Ara tilts her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she leans in closer. Jungkook says something that makes her laugh, and then she touches him, a light brush over his forearm.

You've got to be fucking kidding.

It’s irrational. You know it is. This isn’t real. None of it is real. And yet your body betrays you, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape the confines of your ribs.

"Are you even listening to me?" Seojun — yes, that’s his name — tilts his head at you.

You blink, pulling yourself back into the present, forcing a ridiculous smile onto your features. "Of course," you lie.

But your eyes backstab you, flickering back to Jungkook.

And that’s when you catch him looking.

He isn’t focused on Ara anymore. No, his gaze is locked onto you, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand.

Your champagne glass is empty before you even realize it. The bubbles fizz down your throat, but they do nothing to cool the simmering heat in your stomach.

You barely hear Seojun’s next words. You barely feel the polite, empty smile you throw in his direction. All you can focus on is Jungkook and the way he’s still standing there with Ara, letting her touch him, letting her laugh.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you set your empty glass down on the nearest table, murmur something that vaguely sounds like an excuse to Seojun, and turn on your heel. Your steps aren’t exactly steady — whether from the champagne or the heat in your veins, you’re not sure — but you don’t care.

Jungkook needs to be reminded of something.

He is yours. Even if it’s pretend. Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s just for the public.

You reach them as Ara tilts her chin, her glossy lips parting, ready to say something that you really don’t care to hear. But she never gets the chance.

You step between them, seamlessly sliding into Jungkook’s space as if you belong there — which, for what it's worth, you do. Your hands find his lapels, smoothing over the fabric of his suit with a familiarity that feels as natural as breathing. Your body presses against his side, nimble fingers sliding down his chest like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Jungkook tenses slightly, his hand instinctively coming to rest on your waist.

“Baby,” you purr, loud enough for Ara to hear, voice dripping with affection that would, under normal circumstances, make you cringe. “Are you done entertaining?”

Jungkook blinks before his lips curl upwards. You can feel the chuckle rumble in his chest before he even speaks. “Was I entertaining?”

You tilt your head, fingers idly playing with the collar of his shirt. “Not really,” you say, scrunching your nose. “It was getting boring, so I came to save you.”

Ara shifts beside you, her eyes bouncing between you and Jungkook. “I was just catching up with—”

“Hmm?” You hum distractedly, finally turning your gaze to her, blinking like you hadn’t noticed her standing there this whole time. “Oh. Sorry, Ara, what were you saying?”

Ara falters, eyes narrowing slightly, but you’re already nuzzling your cheek against Jungkook’s shoulder. The minute you do, his grip on your waist tightens and the flip in your stomach returns.

“Nothing important,” Ara finally replies.

“Didn’t think so,” you say sweetly, letting your fingers trail down Jungkook’s arm before lacing them with his.

“Anyway, we should go. Right, baby?” You blink up at him through your lashes, giving his fingers a light squeeze.

Jungkook is silent for a moment, as if processing what the hell just happened. And then, to your surprise, his smirk mellows. He looks down at you, his grip on your waist constricting you of oxygen for just a second before his free hand lifts, knuckles brushing along your jaw.

This situation has taken a nosedive that’s far beyond what you ever signed up for, kind of like when you discovered your aunt's secret diary at a family reunion when you were nine.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs into you.

Ara clears her throat, as if to say I'm standing right the fuck here. “Well. It was nice seeing you, Jungkook.”

“You too,” he says absently, but his gaze never leaves yours.

You tug at his hand, ready to make a grand exit, but Jungkook resists. He leans in and mumbles against the shell of your ear, “That was hot.”

You scoff, ignoring the way your stomach toss and turns at the warmth of his breath. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, follows you without hesitation. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

“I was not jealous.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, “Whatever you say.”

You shake off the nagging warmth of Jungkook’s touch, pushing away the ridiculous notion that you had anything to be jealous about. Twentieth reminder of the night: this isn’t real. It never was. And if he wants to flirt with Ara, or any other socialite, then what does it matter to you?

“Come on,” you say briskly, tugging at his wrist as you weave through the ballroom. “We have a reputation to maintain.”

Jungkook allows himself to be dragged, a smirk playing upon his lips. “Oh? So now you care about appearances?”

You ignore him, leading him toward the grander part of the hall where drunken voices ring out.Just as you expected, you stumble upon your family members — drunk, loud, and way too comfortable for the lavish setting. Some elders are seated, glasses of wine half-empty, while a few uncles and aunts chatter excitedly, their faces flushed.

“Ah! Look who it is!” your uncle exclaims as he waves you over. “Our beautiful couple. The stars of the night.”

You offer a polite smile, but Jungkook, ever the charmer, leans in and bows his head slightly. “Always a pleasure.”

One of the elders, an older gentleman with decades of power woven into the deep wrinkles of his face, chuckles as he swirls his drink. “You two certainly look the part,” he muses, raising a brow. “But tell me, have any of us actually seen you kiss?”

Oh god fucking damnit. Why does he need to see you kiss? Does he enjoy light voyeurism with his liquor or something?

You feel it immediately, the way Jungkook stiffens beside you, the way your breath ceases mid-inhale. A sudden, sinking feeling pools in your stomach, flush creeping up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Oh, we don’t—” you start, forcing out a laugh, but your aunt cuts you off.

“Ah, come now, it’s just a little kiss! Nothing we haven’t all done in our youth,” she teases, nudging the woman beside her. “You two are in love, aren’t you?”

Jungkook clears his throat. “Of course. But you know how it is.. she’s a little shy.”

Your head whips toward him, eyes narrowing. Shy?

You're many things, but shy is not one of them.

The elders laugh like he's doing some stand-up comedy routine. “A little kiss won’t hurt, dear,” one of the women chimes in. “Give the people what they want!”

Your palms grow clammy. The entire table is watching, eyes alight with expectation, and your heartbeat drums a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This was never part of the deal. A public kiss? In front of your entire family?

Jungkook turns to you slightly, reading your expression in an instant. And for once, he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t provoke.

He leans in ever so slightly, dropping his voice so that only you can hear. “We don’t have to,” he murmurs. “Just say the word.”

The words ghosts over your cheek, and suddenly, you’re aware of how close he is, how his fingers are still splayed protectively along your spine.

You swallow hard, mind racing for an escape. Then, in a last-ditch effort, you tilt your chin as you lightly pat his chest. “Please. If they want a show, they’re going to have to wait until we’re somewhere more private.”

When you dare glance up at him, his gaze is already on you.

You don’t know what’s worse — the fact that you almost let him kiss you, or the fact that, for a split second, you kind of wanted him to.

The table erupts in hoots and shouts, satisfied with your answer, taking it as a cheeky refusal rather than outright rejection.

Jungkook chuckles. “You heard her,” he drawls, “Guess you’ll just have to keep wondering.”

And you think you've gotten away with it, you really do. But even though the laughter at the table settles into a hum, the teasing doesn’t.

“Come on now, just one little kiss,” an older woman coos, her wine glass swaying in her hand. “We’re old, humor us.”

“Exactly,” your uncle agrees, leaning forward. “A quick peck, and we’ll let you two lovebirds go.”

You feel your stomach twist, and your fingers clench against the fabric of your dress. The entire table watches, waiting; their amused smiles only make your pulse quicken. You glance at Jungkook, hoping he’ll throw out another clever remark to dodge the situation, but to your horror—

He turns to you.

Okay, pause. Are you in a nightmare sequence?

Your breath catches in your vocal cords as his hand slides from your back to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. Your heart is thrashing now, doing its best impression of a desperate drummer trying to keep up with a wild beat, and you barely have time to process what’s happening before his lips press against yours.

It’s soft at first. A gentle touch, like he’s giving you time to pull away. But you don’t. It’s like someone flicked a switch, and suddenly your entire being is on high alert.

The second your body realizes what’s happening, a spark ignites, and everything as you know it tilts. The warmth of his mouth melts into yours, fingers tightening slightly at your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. The world around you starts to fade into a blurry haze, as if someone pressed the 'soft-focus' button on your reality.

You let yourself taste the champagne on his lips, let yourself feel the cool metal of his lip piercing, let yourself drown in the scent of him — warm spice and inherently Jungkook.

And then, as suddenly as it started, he pulls away.

The entire table erupts in cheers and whistles, but you can barely hear them over the blood whooshing in your ears. Your lips still tingle, your entire body still caught in the aftershocks.

Meanwhile, Jungkook is completely unbothered.

“Happy now?” he pronounces, glancing at the elders, who are positively delighted.

You can barely look at him. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, mouth somehow immensely dry. Rule number one — no kissing — just shattered like glass, and he’s just... there, as if he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down.

You completely ignore the way Jungkook laughs beside you.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he whispers.

You turn to him sharply. “What the hell was that?”

He raises a brow innocently, “What? They asked for a kiss.”

“That was not just a kiss,” you hiss, your hands gripping your dress so hard it might tear. “You—”

“Relax.” His fingers toy with the stem of his glass. “It’s all for show, right?”

You hate him. You hate him so much.

You cannot believe how badly you want to kiss him again.

The night drags on, an endless cycle of goodbyes, firm handshakes, and air kisses. You stand near the entrance of the venue, your parents beside you, Jungkook effortlessly charming the last few guests overstaying their welcome. His hand is in his pocket, but you know him well enough to notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drum idly against his thigh.

You haven't spoken since the kiss.

The moment burns in your mind. Every time you glance at Jungkook, your lips tingle with the phantom memory of his, and it infuriates you. Because this was never supposed to happen. He’s acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

Finally, thankfully, the last of the guests trickle out. Your parents squeeze your shoulder, still beaming, oblivious to the storm raging beneath your skin. Then at last, you and Jungkook step outside, your car already waiting.

When you two clamber into the backseat, you kick off what could be a very convincing impersonation of the Cold War.

The chauffeur drives smoothly through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, but neither of you speaks. There’s no teasing remark from Jungkook, no sideways glances. He’s staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping languidly against his knee.

You just need to let it go. Leave it be.

“You broke rule number one.”

Jungkook’s head tilts slightly in your direction, “Excuse me?”

You grip the edge of your dress, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady but it's an uphill battle. “Rule number one,” you repeat. “No kissing. And you—”

You exhale sharply, staring out the window, shaking your head. “You just did it, like it was nothing.”

“What else was I supposed to do? They weren’t going to let it go. It was the easiest way out.”

You scoff, “Anything but that.”

Jungkook frowns, not understanding your reaction. “Why does it matter? It was just a kiss.”

Your heart twists violently in your chest. Just a kiss.

Biggest understatement of the decade.

“It wasn’t part of the contract,” you snap, finally turning to face him. “We had rules. We agreed on them. You—”

You swallow the lump down in your throat. “You don’t get to just change them whenever you feel like it.”

His jaw tenses. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Overthinking?” The laugh you exhale is void of humor.

“Yes,” he says, exasperation creeping into his voice now. “It was one kiss, in front of a crowd, to keep up appearances. You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“Stop it,” you burst out. “Stop acting like this is nothing. Like we can just go back to how things were before.”

Jungkook stares at you, caught offguard. He's looking at you in a way he hasn't in all the years you've known him, and you're starting to think you've made a massive mistake.

Two weeks. That’s all that’s left. Two weeks before this ends, before you both walk away, before everything you’ve built — fake or not — disappears.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to look away. “Just—” Your shoulders sag slightly. “Just stop.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. His hands twist into tiny fists in his lap.

The car slows to a stop in front of his house. Without another word, the driver unlocks the door.

Jungkook hesitates for a splintering second. Then, with a slow exhale, he steps out.

The second the door closes behind him, you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your fingers against your temples.

Rule number one is broken. You’re not sure if you’ll survive the fallout.

The next two weeks pass in a blur of long workdays and sleepless nights. You throw yourself into your job, bury yourself in meetings, in paperwork, in anything that keeps your mind from wandering back to him. You ignore his texts, let his calls go to voicemail, pretend you don’t notice when he loiters outside family events you used to attend together.

But no matter how much distance you try to put between you, it doesn’t change the fact that the stupid kiss is all you can think about. It’s there when you wake up, a phantom sensation lingering on your lips. It’s there when you try to eat, when you push food around your plate without appetite. It’s there when you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep because every time you close your eyes, you see him.

But soon enough, you get your wish.

You’re standing in Jungkook’s mother’s office. Your parents are also there, seated beside you. Across from you, Jungkook sits with his back straight, his hands clasped together as he listens. He looks composed — calm, even — but you know him far too well to see the tension in his jaw.

His mother folds her hands neatly on the desk. “[Y/N], thank you so much, darling. You both did great. And honestly, these three months flew by. The press reaction from this was amazing, both of you sold it,” she praises, “Effective immediately, you’re both free.”

Free.

The word lands like a stone in your stomach.

Your wish has been granted. The contract is voided. No more appearances, no more pretending.

You should feel relieved. Victorious.

But the ground has just disappeared beneath your feet and you’re falling down a 100-foot abyss with no one to catch you.

Jungkook is silent beside you, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t say a word. Not when your mother thanks his. Not when the papers are slid across the desk. Not when the pens are handed to you both, waiting for signatures to make it official.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the pen, hovering over the paper. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for.

Why do you feel like you’re about to sign away something you can’t ever get back?

The moment the ink dries on the contract, you push back your chair and stand. The silence in the room suffocates you, pressing down on your chest, on your throat, making it impossible to breathe. Your heart is pounding, your hands feel cold, and you're trying to wrap your brain around the fact that this feels more like a loss than a victory.

“Thank god,” you mutter to no one. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out.

No one stops you. Not your parents or Jungkook’s mother or even Jungkook.

You don’t slow down until you reach the crisp outside breeze. It bites at your skin, grounding you just enough to keep your expression neutral. You march toward your car, heels clicking against the pavement, jaw locked so tightly you might break it.

This is good. This is what you wanted.

But it feels like you’re falling apart, like your body is crumbling into itty bitty pieces, and someone will have to come pick up your residue tomorrow.

Your fingers fumble with the car keys, desperate to get inside before anyone can question why your breath is unsteady, the way your chest is too tight, the way everything feels wrong.

But before you can open the door, you hear it—

“Wait.”

Jungkook.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a fraction of a second before turning around. He’s jogging toward you, shirt slightly rumpled.

“What?” you say, forcing out a sigh.

He stops a few feet away, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in eons. His chest rises and falls, and you hate that you already know that whatever he's got hiding behind his tongue is going to hurt.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?” His voice isn’t accusing. It's more desperate than you anticipated. “You cut me off like I was nothing. I—I don’t understand.”

You clench your jaw, turning back to your car. “There was nothing left to say.”

Jungkook takes a step closer. “Bullshit.”

You flinch. He never speaks to you like that. He knows better.

“I miss you,” he says lowly like it’s a confession. “I miss my best friend. I miss you calling me at midnight just to complain about a meeting you have the next day. I miss you showing up at my house and stealing my food like you own the place. I miss you annoying me, because even when you were driving me insane, you were still there.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry about the kiss. If that’s what ruined this, then, I don’t fucking know, let’s just forget it happened. I’ll do anything to go back.”

For a second, all you can do is whip around and stare at him, your hands gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping you standing. And then before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, like vomit that splatters on the driveway. You know it’s coming out before you can even halt it.

“It’s not the kiss.”

Jungkook’s brows knit together. “Then what is it?”

You exhale shakily, “It’s me.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “What?”

“I’m losing my mind,” you admit, shaking your head, a breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“At some point along the way, something changed, and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.” You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your ears. “I wanted it to be real.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, but no words come out. And that silence — it’s all the confirmation you need.

You let out a bitter chuckle, dropping your gaze. “But you don’t. And I already knew that.”

You nod once, as if settling something within yourself. Like telling yourself it’s done, that’s enough now. Then you turn, open the car door, and slide inside.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

The moment you step inside your apartment, it all crashes down on you like a tidal wave. You barely make it past the front door before your vision blurs, breath hitching as the sobs come hard and fast.

You don’t cry over guys. You never have. You’re the one who walks away first, the one who keeps her heart locked away behind an untouchable exterior. You make men cry, not the other way around.

But it’s Jungkook. Somewhere along the way, between fake dates you two stopped planning because you just wanted to go on them, between the touching and the way he looked at you when no one else was watching, you fell. Hard.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will away the ache in your chest, but it’s no use. The tears won’t stop. They pour down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, until your shoulders shake and your knees threaten to give out beneath you.

Desperate for anything to calm yourself, you stumble into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine. Your hands are trembling so badly that some of it spills onto the counter, but you don’t care. You take a deep sip, throat burning, but the liquid does nothing to dull the pain lodged deep in your ribs.

A choked sob slips from your lips as you sink onto the couch, glass clutched between shaking fingers. Your apartment is eerily quiet, but inside, your heart is a storm, unraveling piece by piece.

Abruptly, there's a knock at the door.

You freeze, heart falling down to your ass. For a moment, you consider ignoring it. Maybe it’s your neighbor, maybe they heard you, maybe—

Another knock, louder this time.

You groan, wiping at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand before stumbling toward the door. You swing it open, expecting concern, expecting pity—

But Jeon Jungkook is standing there with the same face from when he was sat in his family home three months ago getting yelled at.

He’s breathless, chest rising and falling like he just ran all the way from his parents’ house to your apartment. Sweat beads at his forehead, shirt sleeves crumpled, his hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes — god, his eyes — are filled with desperation.

Your heart lurches, but you shove the feeling down, force the pain into anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse, but you steel yourself, gripping the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut.

His gaze locks onto yours, and just as you move to close the door, his hand flies out, palm flat against the wood, stopping you.

“Do you really think this was ever fake for me?”

The air crackles like a live wire. Your fingers tighten around the doorframe. Your throat feels impossibly tight.

“What?” you whisper.

Jungkook swallows hard, his jaw clenching for a brief moment before he exhales sharply.

“Tell me you didn’t feel it, too,” he pleads. “Tell me you didn’t fall for this, for us, just as hard as I did.”

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, Jungkook’s words ringing in your ears.

Do you really think this was ever fake for me?

Your grip on the doorframe tightens, heart pumping so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Finally, you find your voice. “Don’t do this, Jungkook.”

His brows furrow. “Do what?”

You shake your head, stepping back. “Say things you don’t mean. Try to make this something it’s not.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Are you serious? You think I don’t mean it?”

His voice is tense, with disbelief evident in every syllable. “You think I came all the way here just to lie to you?”

You don’t answer. Mostly because the truth is too big and terrifying.

Jungkook steps forward into your space, refusing to let you shut him out. “I meant it,” he doubles down. “Every second of it. Every touch, every look. It wasn’t fake for me. It was never fake.”

Your breath shudders, hands trembling at your sides. “That’s not fair.”

His eyes search yours, “What’s not fair?”

“That you get to say this now,” you whisper, “After everything. After I’ve spent weeks convincing myself that you never felt the same.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit. You know I felt it. You know I wanted this just as much as you did.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “If you wanted this, Jungkook, you wouldn’t have played it off like it was nothing. You wouldn’t have acted like that kiss meant nothing to you.”

“I was scared,” he admits, tone almost hesitant. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I made it a joke, it would be easier. That maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, you wouldn’t walk away.”

“I had to walk away.”

The space between you is small, but it feels like an entire universe.

Jungkook reaches for you then, his fingers grazing your wrist, “I miss you,” he murmurs like it’s the only thing he knows for sure. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know how to fix this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threaten to spill. “You can’t.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his grip tightening a tad. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to go back to being just your best friend."

So softly, like he’s afraid of breaking you completely—

“What if we don’t… go back to that?”

Your eyes snap open, your pulse skittering wildly. But Jungkook is just looking at you, waiting with his heart in his hands, waiting to see if you’ll take it.

Jungkook pushes past you before you can stop him, stepping inside your apartment with a forcefulness you’re not used to. You barely register the door closing behind you, fingers narrowing around your wine glass as you turn to face him.

“You don’t get to just walk in here like you own the place,” you snap, hoping you sound sharp to mask the tremor beneath.

He turns, chest still rising and falling from the run. “I don’t? I don’t get to fight for you? Because that’s what I’m doing, in case you haven’t noticed.

“Fight for what, Jungkook? A fantasy? We’re being delusional. You and me... we’ll never work.”

You know this much: it won't work. You tell yourself this repeatedly because if you allow yourself to believe, even for a moment, that you can have him, you'll crumble before him.

His jaw clenches, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Why the hell not?”

“Because we’re different.” You take a step back, gesturing vaguely as if that could encompass all the reasons why this is impossible. “Because I have my life figured out. Because I have a career, responsibilities—”

“And what?” Jungkook cuts you off, stepping closer. “I don’t? Just because I’m not working twenty hour days, just because I don’t run around like I have to control everything? That means I don’t have my life together?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean,” he challenges.

You swallow, looking away. “You don’t take things seriously. You never have.”

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. You think I don’t take this seriously?”

He gestures between you two. “You think I don’t—” he exhales, “You want to know when I fell in love with you?”

You're not sure if you want to know. If you know, it makes everything real. If you know, you'll have to confront the very real possibility that you have let him pass you by all these years.

“I was eleven,” he continues. “We were at some stupid family event. I was the only other kid there, and I remember looking at you. This girl who was already so sure of herself. And I asked who you were, ready to say something cocky, and you just looked at me and said, ‘Your worst nightmare if you get in my way.’”

He lets out a solemn laugh, “And I thought, Wow. She's beautiful. And this thought came later but.. I knew I was royally fucked."

Your fingers tremble around the stem of your wine glass. You recall that day, though the details are hazy. Jungkook was just so annoying and arrogant, always talking and getting on your nerves. Even at his young age, he was pissing you off. You never thought that, all this time, that moment meant something to him. That you meant something to him.

“I’ve loved you since then,” he admits, “I accepted being your best friend just to have you in my life. Even if it killed me. Even when I had to watch you pretend like none of this mattered.”

He shakes his head, “But it does. You do.”

Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, the heaviness of his words sitting on you like an avalanche.

“You act like I’m some reckless idiot who doesn’t care,” Jungkook barrels on. “Like I don’t think about the future, about where I fit into your life. The truth is, I’ve been fitting myself into your life since the day I met you. I’ve been waiting. Hoping. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

He’s right. He’s always been there, no matter how idiotic he acted out. He let you push him away, let you pull him back, let you dictate the terms of your relationship because he thought that’s all you would give him.

But that’s not true. That’s never been true.

You set your wine glass down on the counter with a shaky breath. “I put you in my life because I want you in it.”

Taking a step toward him, your voice is steadier. “Fine, maybe I haven’t always been in love with you. Maybe I didn’t wake up one day knowing like you did. But you’ve changed. You’ve grown up. And I don’t know if it’s because of me or not, but I love who you're growing into.”

“And I love you,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “I love you, Jungkook.”

For the first time since this argument started, the fight leaves his body. His shoulders sag, his breath shudders, and then like two magnets with their ends facing each other—

He’s kissing you.

A collision of years of wanting and waiting, of stubbornness and frustration and aching affection. His hands cup your face, fingers threading through your hair, and you melt into him, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

Not anymore, though. He's made it clear he's here to stay.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours, “Say it again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “I love you.”

Jungkook kisses you again, making up for lost time. He’s spent years holding himself back and now he never wants to stop. His pink, luscious lips are firm against yours, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You lose yourself in it, in him, in the way he tastes.

Between kisses, he mumbles, “Jump.”

Your eyes flap open, breath wavering. “What?”

His hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips. “Jump,” he repeats, “I’ve got you.”

There’s no hesitation or second-guessing. You push up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and as soon as you do, his strong hands lift you effortlessly, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. He holds you up like you weigh nothing, which is both impressively hot and slightly alarming. You always knew he hit the gym, but he must bench press small cars or something.

“Damn,” you murmur against his jaw, letting your lips trail along his skin. “Since when did you get so strong?”

Jungkook chuckles, shifting his hold on you as he starts walking, “Have you seen me?” he teases. “I practically live in the gym.”

You hum, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Mmm. So you’ve been working out just to impress me?”

He scoffs while turning the corner toward your bedroom with ease. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to impress you, I’d be carrying you with one arm.”

“Show off.”

Jungkook grins, fingers flexing against your thighs as he kicks open the bedroom door. “Only for you.”

He lowers you gently onto the bed, his body hovering above you. His hands frame your face, and for the first time since he passed the threshold of your front door, he hesitates, as if soaking in the moment, as if memorizing every detail of you beneath him.

“You’re mine now,” he announces.

“Am I?” You joke, and he gives you a look that makes you squirm and regret your words.

You press your lips to his again, pulling him in as much as you physically can. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to feel as much of him as you need, ache for.

With his body pressing into yours, heat radiating from him like a fire you never want to put out, you’re on cloud nine. His fingers move down and grip your waist, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your lips, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You barely have time to think your next thought before his lips trail down your jaw, your neck, leaving a searing path of heat in their wake.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, head tilting back as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

He pushes your body back, lets your head rest on the pillows. He figures he’ll need it for what he’s about to do to you. He reaches up, sits you up a little so he can take off your top. His eyes rest on your chest for a few good seconds, mesmerized by it, by the fact he’s seeing you, all of you. “Are you just gonna stare all night?” You taunt him.

He narrows his eyes at you before diving back in, kissing down your neck, to your collarbones, in between the valley of your breasts, unclipping your bra with one hand as the other reaches up to knead your tit. A low whimper exits you, and you’re almost embarrassed at how open, how willing you are for his touch. The bra gets flung somewhere in the room; you don’t even care.

Jungkook cups your breasts together, groans into your warm skin, smells so angelic and divine and unreal. You can feel his erection grind against your thigh. The idea that he’s craving you the way you’ve been craving him as your legs shaking in anticipation, mouth watering for him.

His lips move down your stomach, peppering light kisses. You barely have time to realize where he’s going before your pants are getting unzipped, thrown across the room hastily, revealing your light pink panties that have a bow on it. He’s sure this must be his present. You prop your elbows up to look at him, to watch his next move, his eyes glazed over.

He presses a light kiss to your core, and you bite your lip to suppress some pathetic noise that threatens to leave you. “Tell me what you want,” He whispers against you, breath hot against your soaking wet cunt.

“You,” Your voice is submissive. It almost makes him cream his pants. “Please, Kook. Your mouth..”

He does not have to be told twice. In fact, he barely needed to be told once. The panties are ripped off your body, and you gasp at the force but you barely have time to register it before he’s on you in seconds.

His tongue flattens out against your folds, and it has you jolting up, your hands reaching out to clutch onto his dark hair. He doesn’t move much, just lets his tongue roam around, lets you get a taste of what’s to come.

You writher underneath him, craving more. His arms come around your thighs, spreading your legs widely in front of him, hands snugly holding on.

He becomes a man who’s starving, like he hasn’t eaten in days and this is his first meal. His tongue runs over your clit, flicks up and down repeatedly with a level of expertise you know is from his partying days. It has you screaming, moaning, nearly convulsing into him.

“Fuck — ah, Jungkook!” Your head lulls back, eyes squeezed so tight as he continues with the same consistency. He pulls back, looks up at you, but you’re already looking down at him as if to question why he stopped. And when you look at him, really look at him, and see your juices on him, the way his lips are coated with your slick, you feel weak.

Maintaining eye contact, he inserts two fingers, letting the wetness get all around him. You feel it everywhere, dripping down your legs onto the bed. “Baby, you are so wet, god,” He’s in disbelief, like he can’t believe you’re this needy for him.

“Yeah?” Is all you can gather as his fingers pump in and out of you. There’s not many coherent thoughts you can muster right now.

“Been wanting this for years,” He murmurs, dangerously close again to your clit, like he’s speaking to it. “Been needing you.”

His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, sucking and slurping and it’s all too much for you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you want to scream at whoever has had him like this before you. You hear your pussy squelch with each movement of his fingers, his tongue there to collect every last drop. You feel it lingering, feel your impending orgasm.

You’re tugging on his hair so hard you’re certain you are going to pull it clean off, moving your hips in line with his mouth, riding him just a tad. “F-fuck, oh, just like that, I’m so fucking close, ah."

And you’re really just a mess of words.

Desperation washes over you, legs shaking in his firm grasp, hand running through his hair and grinding your hips up against his mouth. His eyes are hazy as he looks up at you and moans around your clit, the vibration alone enough to push you over.

He’s never seen you like this, the composed businesswoman who never lets herself falter for more than two seconds. Now you’re here, in front of him, crumbling piece by piece. “Want you to cum for me,” He replaces his mouth with his other hand, rubbing circles on your clit.

“Want to taste you when you finish,” He’s looking up at you with a gaze that makes you nearly cream yourself.

“You gonna clean up my mess?” You ask, bottom lip tucked under your top teeth, biting so hard you think you taste the familiar metal of blood.

“Fuck, gonna lick you clean, baby,” He curls his fingers up inside you, and that just about triggers the floodgates and you’re convulsing, moaning, tugging his hair, screaming his name over and over like you don’t know how to say anything else. There's about a 90% chance you don't.

His fingers slow, feeling your walls clench around him. His cock is so hard in his pants he thinks he might combust.

You knew he would be good, but not this good. You’re still recovering, still trying to stop breathing manually, until he removes his fingers from you and replaces it with his tongue to swallow your cum.

“Oh!—ah,” You lay your head on the pillows, chest heaving. You need him inside of you so bad it’s not even a question. But he seems to have the same thought as you, rushing to unzip his pants, flinging his shirt across the room.

You look up at him as you watch him pump his cock a few times, dangerously close to your entrance. You’re a bit in awe of what you see, of how big he really is, and it makes so much sense why he’s so cocky. “I need you inside of me right now,” you whine.

“I know, baby,” He moves on top of you, his bicep flexing. You run a hand down his chest, feel his abs that you’ve seen before once or twice.

“Please, Kook,” The nickname you called him since you were eleven rolls off your tongue with ease. “Please fill me up.”

And he does just that — his cock slides into you with such ease it’s laughable. There’s a collective gasp from both of you, him reacting to the feeling of your tight, warm walls, and you feeling like you’re being split in half. You feel every inch, every vein stretch you out, and for a second you think you’ll have to tap out, still stimulated from your orgasm. “You’re so big—ah!—feels so fucking good, Kook.”

Your moans are borderline obnoxious. You’re taking him so well, better than he thought, with the lubrication from your slick covering his cock from the base to his tip. He buries himself in you, trying to feel every crevice, every wall sucking him in.

“Taking me so well, baby,” He kisses your forehead, then your lips, “Look at me.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed, so focused on regaining your strength. When you open them, you look right into his dark brown eyes, catch his gaze. He thrusts, slowly, agonizingly slow, in and out of you, feeling every inch of him before he slides back in. Your hands latch onto his biceps, gripping the flex of his muscle. “So fucking big,” you moan out.

“God, you are so tight,” His hand moves down to push your leg back higher and loop it around his waist. “When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?”

“N-not since before we started t-the contract,” You look up at him, struggling to keep it together as your fingernails dig into his bicep. “Haven’t wanted anyone but you.”

“Gonna cum so quick with the way you feel,” He mutters, probably mostly to himself but it still sends a shiver down your spine. He starts to pick it up, starts to push your leg even higher.

“Riiiiight there,” you say, hand traveling down to play with your clit, just a mess of him and you. You can’t stop looking at him, making eye contact as he fucks you so good, so well, enough to make you forget your name, just that you’re his.

“Never gonna let you fuck anyone else again,” he babbles, clearly pussydrunk. “Fuck, this is all mine.”

And you have nothing else to really say to that besides yesyesyesbabyplease, because before you know it, he’s propping one of your legs on his shoulder and the stretch has you screaming so loud your neighbors are going to call the police. The headboard slams repeatedly against the wall, bed creaking with each thrust. He throws his head back, and you watch as he lets out an animalistic moan, “Feels so good, so fucking good,” His thrusts are speeding up even more, chasing a release he’s been waiting on for so long.

“Yeah?” You ask, fingernails scratching down his arms as your walls familiarly begin to clench around with him, stomach coiling and heat bubbles within you.

Just when you think it can’t get any better, can’t feel any better, he props your other leg on his shoulder, holding them tight to his broad chest, and at that point you’re really just putty in his hands. “O-ohmygod, yes,” You claw at the bedsheets, feel him so deep in your stomach you think he might be fucking your lungs.

“So close, baby,” His breaths are coming out fast, body shaking a little. “Where can I cum?”

You’re not even thinking when you’re speaking, just words tumbling, trying to sound coherent, “Fuck, cum inside of me, baby, pleaseplease, need you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he asks, “That’s what you need?”

“Please,” You look up at him, pleading, begging for all of it.

And when you fall, he’s right there with you, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, his seed coating your walls, his own breathless curses mingling with yours in the dimly lit room.

Afterward, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you pressed against him, his fingers drawing stupid little circles on your back, his lips pressing kisses to your temple.

The room is draped in the golden hush of night air leaking in from your blinds. You lie tangled in the sheets, your body still thrumming from him, from the way he knows you now in ways no one else ever has.

“You know,” Jungkook muses, “you really stood no chance after that kiss at the charity gala.”

You scoff softly, dragging your fingers along the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. “Oh, please. If I recall, you were the one looking at me like I hung the stars that night.”

“I looked at you like that because I’ve always looked at you like that.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with a smirk, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “So what you’re saying is, you were down bad for me way before I even noticed?”

Jungkook grins, flipping onto his side so he can properly look at you, his fingers never ceasing their movement on your skin. “Down horrendously,” he admits, no hesitation. “It was honestly kind of tragic.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you let your nails lightly scratch his skin, “I think I fell for you somewhere along the way, too.”

“Somewhere along the way?” he echoes. “Not when I kissed you breathless in front of all of our elders?”

You hum in mock thoughtfulness. “That was… persuasive, I’ll admit.”

His fingers dip lower, trailing along the curve of your spine, “Persuasive enough to make you fall in love with me?”

You tilt your chin up defiantly, but your body is already reacting to him. “Maybe.”

“I think I can be more persuasive,” he murmurs, lips tracing your jaw.

You shiver, cocking your head enough to brush your own swollen lips against his. “Is that so?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

In this moment, with his warmth pressed against you, his fingers (and mouth) traveling down to where you need him most, you have never felt lighter. None of the accolades, the titles, the deals sealed in glass towers ever felt this monumental. For years, you built a life of power, of accomplishment, of certainty, but none of it ever made your heart feel like this. Full. Whole. Right.

Your stupid heart had been right all along. You surrender to it completely.

epilogue!

You never thought loving Jungkook would feel this easy, this effortless, like something you were always meant to do. He is a fire and a comfort all at once, challenging you in ways no one else can while grounding you in the kind of love that feels like home. And God, does he know how to pleasure a woman. He worships you in ways you never even knew you needed, unraveling you with his hands, his lips, the hushed words he murmurs against your skin late into the night. You had always been in control, always the one calling the shots, but with him, you find yourself melting, yielding, letting go in the best way possible.

But, sometimes, under all his nonchalance, he really is exactly like you.

Jungkook is pacing. Pacing. Like a man about to face a firing squad. You sit on the couch, watching him with mild amusement, sipping your coffee as he mutters to himself, hands running through his already-messy hair.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles. “This is insane. They’re going to kill me. Your dad’s probably got a security team on standby.”

You snort. “My dad loves you.”

“That’s because he thinks I’m your best friend,” Jungkook hisses, spinning on his heel to face you. “This is different. This is me telling him that I’ve been secretly in love with his daughter since I was a kid and that I have, in fact, touched her in very non-friendly ways.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. That’s a way to phrase it.”

He groans, throwing himself down onto the couch beside you, burying his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

You roll your eyes, setting your coffee down. “Jungkook, you are not doomed. Our parents are going to be thrilled.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.”

And you do. Because, thirty minutes later, when you both sit across from both of your parents in the grand dining room, hands intertwined under the table, your mother and his mother barely let you finish saying we’re dating before they clap their hands together in delight, hugging each other.

“Well, finally,” your mother sighs, sipping her wine. “I was wondering when you two would get it together.”

Jungkook blinks. “Excuse me?”

Your father chuckles, shaking his head. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open slightly. “You—what?”

Your mother waves a hand. “Oh, sweetheart, please. We planned this since you were eleven.”

There is a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook looks at you, then back at them, completely shell-shocked. “You what?!”

His father leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, not planned exactly. But we knew.”

Your mother nods sagely. “It was inevitable.”

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, and you—oh, you are relishing this. You squeeze his hand under the table, biting back a grin.

“So let me get this straight,” Jungkook says slowly. “This whole time I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you, how to break the news, and you already knew?”

His father pats his shoulder. “We were just waiting for you to catch up, son.”

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face, while you dissolve into laughter beside him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite in his words. Just the kind of exasperated acceptance that comes with realizing his fate had been sealed long before he even knew it.

And when you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “Told you so,” he simply sighs, utterly defeated. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips, because as much as he protests, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering food to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Yup. Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should I call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

‘Shit fuck cuntbucket,’ hisses Min Yoongi, running a hand through his already dishevelled, wavy, thick, hair, calling your attention to it. Like his stunning face isn’t enough.

You level a glance at him. ‘What’s got your boxers in a twist, Yoongi?’

‘Kim Seokjin’s on his way in. Right now.’

Yoongi’s already tucking in his shirt that he put on just over 24 hours ago, running a hand through his hair again, straightening his tie.

You brush his hands off, they’re jittery from the gallons of straight black he’s consumed since this time yesterday anyway.

‘Holy shit, sound the bat signal, he’s here,’ you murmur, dropping your hands.

Kim Seokjin strides into your office, a vision of stylish perfection in bespoke Savile Row, hair beautifully coiffed.

Behind him, a man you’ve never seen before. Younger. Facial piercings and tattoos peeking out from his sleeve. Gorgeous. 

‘Who’s the millennial biker?’ you ask, watching as both men head straight for the Secretary of State’s office.

‘I never have any interest in minions,’ Yoongi says, dismissive, already on his phone. ‘I’ve told Namjoon to straighten himself out, just in case.’

Namjoon is your boss, the Assistant Secretary of State, the youngest man ever to hold that position in 50 years. 

You doubt Namjoon needs to be told to ‘straighten himself out’. He’s political catnip. As Yoongi keeps telling you, he’ll be President in 15 years.

‘Also I don’t wear boxers,’ Yoongi says, brewing himself another coffee he really doesn’t need.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Have you been freeballing in front of the Secretary of State, Yoongi?’

Yoongi gulps his coffee and doesn’t answer.

‘Jesus we met the goddamn war widows committee this morning Yoongi,’ you say, mildly scandalised. ‘You irreverent fuck.’

You’re still marvelling over Yoongi’s nihilism when Namjoon emerges from his office. 

‘I heard Kim Seokjin was here.’

‘I just texted you that,’ Yoongi mutters, not looking up from his phone.

Namjoon catches you gaping at him and nods like he’s satisfied.

‘I use your reactions to me as a barometer of how I look,’ he says.

You close your mouth. 

‘You look very smart, Namjoon.’

Namjoon smooths back his hair, forearms flexing under his rolled-back shirtsleeves. The waistcoat he’s got on over his shirt shows off his trim waist, the broadness of his shoulders.

‘Incoming,’ Yoongi says, smirking at you.

You turn to see Kim Seokjin heading straight for you, his minion trailing a little behind him.

‘Mr Kim,’ says Namjoon politely. ‘What an honour.’

Kim Seokjin’s official title is aide to the president, but he’s much more than that. He’s the president’s enforcer, with the entire cabinet at his mercy.

He wields his power like he wields his beauty - sharp and deadly.

‘Choi is out. You’re Secretary of State,’ says Kim Seokjin, without preamble.

Namjoon takes this in his stride. 

‘It would be my pleasure to serve the president,’ he says, without missing a beat.

You flick your eyes to the minion only to find he’s looking back at you.

He smiles at you, and with the silver ring threaded through his lower lip it shouldn’t look as sweet as it does.

The sincerity in his eyes makes you think he can’t have been working for Kim Seokjin long. He’s still got humanity in him instead of being a crusted over shell.

You’re smiling back when Yoongi clears his throat, loudly. 

‘Stop eye fucking the minion,’ Yoongi says, not bothering to keep his voice down. He glances at you. ‘That applies to both of you.’

Thankfully, Kim Seokjin and Namjoon have gone into his office to talk details.

‘My name’s Jeon Jungkook,’ the minion says, stepping forward, holding out his hand.

‘Y/N L/N,’ you say, returning his handshake. His palms are smooth and dry.

‘This is Min Yoongi,’ you say. ‘He has social communication difficulties.’

Yoongi snorts, still typing furiously on his phone. 

‘While you children are playing happy families, I’m putting out a press release about Namjoon’s promotion.’

Jungkook holds up his phone. ‘The president’s releasing a statement of congratulations.’

You unlock your phone. ‘I’ll get Namjoon an interview on the 6pm main news.’

When Namjoon and Kim Seokjin emerge, your new friend steps forward so quickly you get whiplash.

‘Mr Kim,’ he says, shaking his hand. ‘Jeon Jungkook. I’m with the president’s office, I’ve got ideas for your new youth policy if you’ve got the time?’

Kim Seokjin steps back, lips quirking at Jungkook’s boldness.

Namjoon takes in Jungkook’s lip ring, his tattoos and his pretty face, and nods. ‘Sure. I’m free now.’

Yoongi laughs to himself as he watches Namjoon and Jungkook go back into the office. 

‘The minion has ambition,’ he says, looking at you.

You’re staring bitterly at Jungkook’s back as the office door closes.

‘Didn’t see that coming,’ you mutter.

‘He’s the most ruthless intern I’ve ever had,’ Kim Seokjin says.

You’d forgotten he was still there.

‘They call him the barracuda,’ Kim Seokjin says.

‘What do they call you?’ you ask, curious. 

‘Oh me? I’m a great white. We eat barracudas,’ explains Kim Seokjin, smooth as silk. He gives you an angelic smile and walks out.

‘Why don’t we have aggressive animal nicknames?’ you grumble to Yoongi.

Yoongi barely misses a beat. ‘We do. Namjoon and I call you the possum.’

You glare at him. ‘Shut up.’

‘We even have a symbol for you in the groupchat,’ Yoongi goads.

You sweep in and steal the coffee out of his hand. 

***

You’re waiting at the youth centre, for Namjoon to meet a group of teens as part of a focus group for his youth campaign. 

‘Where’s Namjoon?’ you ask, sighing with relief when you see Yoongi. ‘These teens are getting restless.’ 

‘Yeah, you’re gonna need to find something to distract them for another hour. Namjoon got pulled into a cabinet meeting.’ 

‘Wait. Why me?’ 

‘Because you are a teen?’ Yoongi suggests, deadly serious. 

‘Fuck you, Yoongi.’ 

‘Just take your top off,’ he suggests. 

You step forward, ready to tear him off a piece of your mind, when a familiar voice says, ‘I can take them through a warm up.’ 

Both you and Yoongi turn to gape at Jeon Jungkook. 

‘Why are you even getting involved with this?’ you ask, huffing in annoyance. ‘Also why are you here?’ 

‘Namjoon wanted me to be involved in this campaign,’ says Jungkook, smoothly. 

Both you and Yoongi watch as Jungkook slips his suit jacket off and rolls up his sleeves. 

The tattoos you’ve noticed on his right hand carry on up his forearm. His very muscular, veiny forearm. 

He laughs softly, and you realise he’s watching you stare at him. 

‘I’d love to show you where my tattoos go up to, but we have a gymful of teenagers to entertain, so close your mouth and let’s do it,’ he says, so cocky your right hand itches to slap him. 

Yoongi snorts. ‘Have fun, kids. I have a journalist to distract.’ He’s off, walking in the opposite direction down the school corridor, before you have a chance to reply. 

When you turn back to Jungkook, he’s pulled his long-ish hair into a man bun. 

Shit why is he so fine? 

You remind yourself he’s not called the barracuda for nothing. 

‘Come on, let’s go,’ you say, feigning impatience. 

He laughs softly again and follows you to the gym. 

There’s a silence as Jungkook arrives at the gym, as the teenagers clock how pretty he is. 

‘I’m going to show you how to do some basic self-defense until the Secretary of State gets here,’ he says, clear, authoritative, to the group. 

‘Y/N here is going to be my assistant.’ 

Your eyes fly to his. ‘Jungkook I really don’t think —’

He ignores you. ‘So if you’re walking along, and someone tries to grab you from behind —’

He stops, stepping close. ‘I’m going to put my arms around you,’ he says, quietly so only you can hear. ‘Is this ok? If not, just say.’ 

‘As long as you don’t mind me kneeing you in the balls,’ you reply sweetly. 

Jungkook laughs. Then his arms close around you, one around your neck, the other across your breasts and upper arms. 

In an instant you’ve turned in his arms and angled your shoulder into his chest and your hip into his, hard, in a throw you perfected doing judo growing up. 

Jungkook lands on the floor with a grunt, and stares up at you, wide-eyed and winded. 

‘Does anyone else want to learn this throw?’ you ask. ‘I’m sure Jungkook won’t mind being thrown.’ 

The entire class looks at Jungkook, then, tentatively, a girl with space balls in her hair steps up. ‘I’d like to learn.’ 

‘Perfect,’ you purr. ‘Come on up. Jungkook, ready for another one?’ 

By the time Namjoon arrives, most of the group have had a go at throwing Jungkook. His man-bun’s long escaped from the tiny hair-tie he put it in, his shirt’s lost at least one button if not three, and he’s gleaming with sweat. 

His expression as he looks at you is murderous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he looks beautiful when he’s sweaty.

Namjoon and Yoongi eye both of you warily. 

‘Mr Secretary,’ you say, smoothing your hair back. ‘Jungkook and I were teaching these guys some judo whilst we waited.’ 

‘A useful skill,’ Namjoon says. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, a flash of dimple as he asks, ‘did you mention to Jungkook that you were once the state judo champion?’ 

‘Jungkook knows now,’ Jungkook says, rueful. 

Yoongi says, ‘why don’t you guys get going to the next venue? We’ll be right behind you.’ 

Once you’re outside the school you hand Jungkook his suit jacket. 

‘We’re going back downtown,’ you tell him. ‘It’s a meeting with Han Minseok from the press society.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Jungkook says. He shrugs his jacket back on, and you both look at the expanse of his chest bared by all the buttons he’s lost.

‘I’ve got a spare shirt,’ he says. ‘I’ll change on the way.’

Jungkook climbs into the car after you.

‘What’s Han Minseok’s angle?’ he asks, casual.

‘Well everyone knows he’s trying to push through the tender for redeveloping Samo Hills,’ you say, carelessly. You’re not telling him anything that isn’t common knowledge.

You turn to Jungkook, and stop dead. 

His shirt’s off, he’s unbuckling his belt. 

You turn back to the window, trying to get his washboard stomach and muscular shoulders out of your mind.

‘It’s fine, you can look,’ he offers. 

You can hear the smirk in his voice.

‘But what’s his angle, why is Namjoon even giving him the time of day?’ muses Jungkook.

‘He isn’t really, in fact after this meeting I’m going to suggest to Namjoon that he doesn’t meet him again,’ you say. ‘Are you done changing?’

‘I’m decent,’ Jungkook replies. You can hear him rebuckling his belt.

You turn back warily and turn away again. 

‘You’re not decent!’ you squeak.

‘It’s only a bit of nipple. You can show me yours if you want,’ Jungkook replies. 

He sounds amused. This fucking guy.

You stare pointedly out the window the rest of the way.

By the time Namjoon and Yoongi arrive, you’ve read every single notice on the posterboard outside the press society meeting room, have answered all your emails and are drafting Namjoon’s speech for the media address tomorrow.

Jungkook’s mainly been taking selfies of himself, as far as you know.

He spots Namjoon and Yoongi before you do, getting up to greet them. ‘I think there are quite limited returns to meeting Han Minseok,’ he says to Namjoon. ‘I think it would be prudent to not schedule any further meetings.’

The bastard stole your suggestion!

Even worse, Namjoon’s nodding agreement. ‘I thought the same on the way over,’ he says, low voice thoughtful. 

Jungkook blinks at you after Namjoon and Yoongi go in, feigning innocence.

‘That’s for getting all the teenagers of this community to throw me onto the floor for an hour,’ he says, smug.

You burn with the fiery rage of a thousand suns, but you do your best to wipe your face of all expression.

‘Oh Jungkook,’ you say, voice dripping with honey. ‘Is that all you got?’

He stares at you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Oh it’s on. 

***

After the success of Namjoon’s youth campaign, Jungkook was hired to be on Namjoon’s permanent staff. 

You’ve grown used to seeing him opposite your desk every fucking day, but so far you haven’t butted heads again.

You’re sitting across from him at a meeting, trying not to stare at the way his sky blue shirt strains across his chest and shoulders, when Namjoon clears his throat. 

‘The clean energy bill’s causing a bit of a stir. We need Ramona Lee to sign off on the panel for the water amendment,’ Yoongi says.

‘We know Ramona Lee is oil, right?’ Jungkook asks, raising his brows in confusion.

‘Thanks Captain Obvious,’ you say. 

‘I’m more of a Captain Korea.’

‘Captain Crunch?’ you suggest.

Yoongi snickers but hides it in an exaggerated clearing of his throat. 

‘We’ve got to find something she wants,’ Namjoon says. ‘Come back to me with solutions before panel tomorrow.’

You file out of his office. 

‘Should I order something in? We’re gonna be here all night,’ Jungkook says, over your shoulder.

‘I have a date,’ you reply, briskly.

‘Wow. Is it a cousin?’

‘Ha.Ha. Ha,’ you say, sourly.

‘Text me so I know where to send the police if you go missing,’ Yoongi says, already heading out the door.

‘It’s like he cares,’ marvels Jungkook. 

‘He just wants to know in advance before he calls my replacement in,’ you say, absently, as you straighten your dress. 

‘See ya tomorrow, JK.’

***

You swipe your badge on the door and blink blearily as the green light flashes.

The office is dark, but you spend so much time here you don’t need to see to make it to your desk.

You’re fumbling with the light on your phone when you sense movement out of the corner of your eye.

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook!’ you yelp.

‘I’ve been told I make women see God,’ Jungkook agrees. He pats his hand on his desk, turning his lamp on.

You stare at each other in the pale light.

‘What are you doing sitting here in the dark?’ you ask. 

He yawns. ‘I fell asleep trying to solve the Ramona Lee problem. I thought you had a date?’

‘He was a douche. Remind me to never date anyone who works for finance ever again,’ you reply. 

There’s a pause. 

‘You must be pretty good at dealing with douchebags,’ Jungkook observes. He smiles at you. ‘You deal with me pretty well.’

‘You’re level zero douche,’ you tell him. 

He laughs. ‘Level zero?’

‘Yoongi trained me. He’s mastered the douchebag game. Killed the big boss. Conquered all the levels, even the bonus ones.’

You smile. ‘He’s a sperm whale.’

Jungkook laughs. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘He’s not scared of a barracuda. Or a great white.’

You pluck your apartment keys off your desk. ‘See you tomorrow JK.’

‘Wait. Let me give you a lift,’ Jungkook says. 

You look at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’re tipsy,’ Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You frown at it for so long he laughs. ‘Because you’re cute and because I’m only a level zero douche.’

‘If you give me a lift you’ll fall even further down the douche scale,’ you say, worried.

‘I can stare at your tits the whole way if you want,’ Jungkook offers.

‘There you are,’ you say, affectionate. ‘Sure, give me a lift in your chariot, douchebag.’

Jungkook’s car is flashy, kind of how he looks but with wheels on.

He turns on the underseat heating and sets the gps to your address.

You stare out the window as he drives.

‘She has a son around our age,’ you say, thoughtfully, as the car glides though the darkened streets.