Kpop Writings

“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”

Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.

You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.

Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.

He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”

Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.

The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.

"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.

When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.

He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.

Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.

He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.

You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.”

Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.

“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.

You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”

There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.

The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.

A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.

When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.

You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.

But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.

“Are you okay?”

You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.

The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.

He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.

When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.

He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.

You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.

“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.

Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.

In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.

“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.

You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.

Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.

You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.

It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.

Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.

If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.

One day, you get the chance.

Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.

When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.

Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.

You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.

Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.

You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”

He almost looks offended at that statement.

“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.

You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.

To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.

When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.

A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”

The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.

“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.

Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.

He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”

You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.

“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”

That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.

More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.

Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.

Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.

A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.

When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.

Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.

You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.

“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”

Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.

He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”

Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.

“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”

“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.

“Yeah.”

“I, um—I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.

He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.

Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.

“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.

“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”

“I don’t care about Owen.”

He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.

Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.

“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”

“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.

“Do I…do I make you nervous?”

For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.

The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.

You shake your head rapidly.

“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”

A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.

You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.

Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”

“….No.”

He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.

Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”

“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”

Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.

Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”

Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”

“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.

And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.

“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.

“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”

You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.

“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”

“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.

Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.

You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.

“Do you want to kiss someone?”

The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.

“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.

"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”

He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.

Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.

When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.

Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.

So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.

“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.

Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.

You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.

Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.

Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.

Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.

She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.

It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.

Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.

“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”

The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.

For now.

Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.

“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.

Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.

Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”

The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.

“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”

And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.

Your head snaps up.

It is him.

The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.

“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.

The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”

“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.

At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.

He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.

This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.

He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.

You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.

Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.

You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.

“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”

He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.

From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.

Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.

You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.

Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.

He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.

Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”

Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.

He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”

In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.

Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.

Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.

Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.

“That is has.”

You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.

Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.

You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.

Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.

“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.

When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.

She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.

Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.

“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”

“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.

Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.

He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.

Still, your heart stutters all the same.

-

Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.

So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.

He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.

You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.

During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.

He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.

Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.

Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”

Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.

Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.

For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.

By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.

He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.

By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.

When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.

Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.

Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.

He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.

Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.

The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.

“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.

Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.

“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”

“Weren’t you at the bar?”

“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.

Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.

You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.

Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.

Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.

“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”

Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.

Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.

Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.

When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.

He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.

Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.

“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.

He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.

Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.

When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.

You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.

A mistake, you realize.

When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.

Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.

Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.

Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.

Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.

Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.

“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.

By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.

“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”

You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.

He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.

“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.

“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”

It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”

But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”

Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.

At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”

Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.

Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.

“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”

Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.

That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.

The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.

Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.

“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.

He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”

You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”

“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”

Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.

Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.

You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”

The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.

Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.

“So…how’d the move go?”

“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.

He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”

“Pft, you’re barely there.”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.

Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”

When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.

He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”

The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.

Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”

Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”

He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.

Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.

It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.

“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”

“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.

“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”

A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.

However, you still join Yoongi each time.

Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.

“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.

You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.

“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”

“I have Aya!”

“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”

Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”

“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”

From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.

On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.

Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.

“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”

Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.

He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.

“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”

Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.

Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.

However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.

“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”

He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”

You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.

“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.

“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”

Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”

All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.

Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”

For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.

There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.

Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.

“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”

You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.

“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”

Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure.”

What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.

yoongi: how was your interview today you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me yoongi: yikes thats fucked yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life yoongi: touche yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though

When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.

Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.

The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.

“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”

You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.

Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.

Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.

When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.

One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.

Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.

When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.

“Yoongi?” you murmur.

The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.

“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.

You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.

He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.

The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.

“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.

“Did not.”

“Definitely did.”

You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.

Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.

You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.

Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.

“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”

You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.

Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.

Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.

The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.

That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.

“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.

“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.

“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”

“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.

You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.

“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”

"I know, it’s on my list.”

“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”

Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.

The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.

Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.

Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.

He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.

“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”

The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.

You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.

His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.

A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.

You clear your throat. “I had that.”

He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.

You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.

Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.

Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.

He thinks he’s fucked for that.

When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.

You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.

The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.

He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.

He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.

“And you’re cute.”

That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.

Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.

At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.

Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.

Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”

The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.

Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.

He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.

When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.

“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”

“—Everything okay around here?”

Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.

A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.

Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.

“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.

Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.

Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.

Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.

“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.

“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.

Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.

At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.

If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”

You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.

Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.

He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.

“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.

Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.

Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.

You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.

That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.

You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.

“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”

“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.

Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.

He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”

“What, me thinking?”

“Exactly.”

You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.

Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”

Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.

He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”

Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.

“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”

In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.

Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.

“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”

He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.

Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”

The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.

Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.

“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”

Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.

You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.

“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”

The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.

Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.

An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.

So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.

He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.

“Nah. No kid.”

Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.

Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.

A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.

“You’re bailing tonight?”

“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”

Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.

Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.

Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.

He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.

You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.

Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.

A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.

“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.

You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.

“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.

He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.

A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.

“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.

“Mhm.”

You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.

Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.

His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.

“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.

You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.

“You liked it a little too much.”

That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.

Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.

Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.

“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”

A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”

As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.

Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.

You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.

“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.

Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”

When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.

“I can wait it out.”

“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”

Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.

When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.

You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”

“I, uh, are you sure?”

He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”

Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.

You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.

“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”

Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.

Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”

You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.

Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.

There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.

If there’s anything you need, just tell me.

Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.

He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.

“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.

You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”

He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.

“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.

“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.

Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.

The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.

“Well, goodnight—”

“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”

He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.

Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.

Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.

He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.

So, you do it.

You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.

Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.

A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.

You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.

Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.

“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.

You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.

For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.

You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.

“I need you.”

Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.

He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.

“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.

“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.

As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.

“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”

Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.

“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.

He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.

Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.

The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.

It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.

“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.

You know it’s not going to last long.

Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.

Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.

He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.

He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.

“Want you to ride my face.”

You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.

A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”

“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”

As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.

“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.

“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”

You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.

He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.

Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”

Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.

He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.

Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.

“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.

When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.

You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..

Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”

At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”

He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”

“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”

You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t be gentle—”

“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.

Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.

“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.

“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.

Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.

“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”

You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.

Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.

“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.

You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.

Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.

Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.

“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”

He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.

Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.

The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.

“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.

It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.

Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.

When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.

Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.

Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.

You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.

He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.

Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.

Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.

"I don’t do hookups.”

The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.

“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”

Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.

“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.

So, you bite.

“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.

Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.

You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”

“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”

“Liar.”

“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.

"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”

“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”

Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.

It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.

“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.

You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.

He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Now, what?”

Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.

He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”

A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.

You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.

It began with small things. Little things that you had first brushed off as coincidences. Gestures that had never been there before.

The way his gaze lingered when you spoke during meetings. The brief touch of his hand when passing you a file, and the gentle brushes of his shoulder when he came to speak with you in group discussions. The way he always seemed to choose the seat beside you in the office or in the conference room. His quiet offers to drive you home after late nights at the office.

Even the tone of his voice softened when he spoke to you.

The staff noticed.

Everyone noticed.

Rumors spread quickly through the office. Some whispered that he was only trying to gain favor with your father by treating you well. Others insisted that he had simply learned to respect you after seeing how well you handled your work.

Instead of feeling flattered by the attention, however, you only found yourself growing more suspicious.

“What are you up to now?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

You were on your way to meet a new investor when Jinyoung insisted on walking you to the conference room—something he had begun doing far too often lately.

He stopped beside you, looking amused.

“Must you always question my intentions?”

“All the time,” you replied dryly.

He chuckled softly. “All I wanted was to keep you company,” he said. “I told you before—I enjoy helping you, and it should be normal for a team leader to escort a member of his team to an important meeting such as this one. Is that really so terrible for me to do something like this?”

You muttered under your breath, “It feels suspicious when you're being this nice.”

“Suspicious?” he repeated, raising a brow. “Does that mean kindness only earns your distrust?”

Yes.

It always had.

Because that was how you were raised—to always question someone’s goals when they approach you. Because people never show what their true intentions are right in front of you.

“Everybody has secrets. People don’t always show you their true selves or what they are after, so always question what’s lying underneath their smile.”

That was the one thing that your father had taught you growing up, to toughen you up so you would always be ready to face anything thrown at you. And from what you’ve learned so far, Park Jinyoung was one of those people you should be most wary of.

Meeting Jinyoung’s gaze, you said simply, “It just means you want something.”

A slow smile curved across his lips. For a moment, something in his expression shifted—something softer, yet more deliberate.

He stepped a little closer. “Maybe I do want something from you.”

You folded your arms. “I knew it.”

He laughed quietly at your reaction. “All I want,” he said, “is a chance to prove that I’m sincere when I say I want to help you. That I genuinely want us to get along.”

Your brows lifted. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering, “One dinner.”

You blinked. What?

“No assumptions. No rivalry. Just dinner,” he continued, “I won’t ask for more.”

Silence stretched between you. That had not been the answer you expected, and you weren’t sure how to respond.

Jinyoung seemed to sense your hesitation. “I know I made things difficult for you when you first joined the team,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time since you had met him, there was no arrogance in his voice. It made you want to believe him. When you looked at him, you realized that you already did.

“I wasn’t trying to undermine you,” he continued. “I just needed to know if you were really capable of what your father believed you could do.”

You considered his words carefully, before asking, “And what have you decided?”

His smile returned—gentler this time. “I’d have to say….that you’ve exceeded my expectations,” he finally said. The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks warm unexpectedly, forcing you to glance away.

“And if I’m being honest,” he added, “I’ve come to admire you. As a colleague… and as a person.”

His words sounded convincing. Yet still, you hesitated. You told yourself not to be swayed by sweet words and excessive praise. Especially not from someone as persuasive as him.

But you would be lying if you said you had never been affected by his charm. You had to admit that you’ve come to admire him as well. It was hard not to. Watching the way he handled the team, the way problems seemed to unravel under his calm leadership, was quite inspirational, that you often found yourself being drawn to him.

You took a breath as he waited patiently for your answer.

“Fine,” you said at last. Mustering the courage to look at him, you continued, “One dinner. No hidden motives.”

His smile widened, though he raised both hands in mock surrender. “I promise to behave.”

You turned and continued walking.

“Text me the details,” you said. “I’ll be there.”

“I will,” he replied, hurrying to catch up. “And I promise you won’t regret it.”

You had agreed to one dinner.

One evening without the presence of your past rivalry. No prejudice. No labels.

And you were given the chance to see each other without the constant tension that had followed you since the beginning.

That night, Jinyoung showed you a side of himself you had never seen before.

Maybe it was the quiet restaurant he chose. The warm glow of candlelight reflecting against the wine glasses. The way conversation flowed easily once the guarded edges between you softened.

Or maybe it was simply the way he looked at you—without challenge, without any sign of discord.

By the time he draped his jacket over your shoulders while walking you back to the car, you realized your guard had lowered without you noticing.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said as he parked outside your home.

You stood beside his car, still wrapped in his suit jacket. The warmth of it lingered around you. It settled deep inside your chest, fluttering like the wind. You couldn’t put into words what you were feeling, when everything felt so…new.

“No, I should be the one to say it,” you said softly after a moment passed. “Thank you for the lovely evening.”

When he smiled, he didn’t bother to hide the joy he was feeling. Then, unexpectedly, he began to look nervous.

“Would it be alright,” he asked slowly, “if I ask you out again in the future?”

His offer surprised you, yet the answer came more easily than you expected.

“I’d like that.”

And that was how one dinner became another.

And another.

Weeks passed, and the distance that once separated you slowly disappeared. What began as curiosity deepened into something far more intimate than either of you had anticipated. It was a progress that you had never expected to happen. Yet your family welcomed it without hesitation.

Perhaps too easily.

“You knew this would happen.”

You said this to your father the day after Jinyoung asked for his blessing to marry you.

Your father only smiled. He didn’t even look surprised, which only made you question his actions, the work of mind.

“I have no idea what you mean, princess,” your father said in return, feigning innocence.

You narrowed your eyes. As if you would believe him when he acted this way. “Was this your plan from the beginning?”

He chuckled. “I planned for the two of you to work well together, to keep the balance so the company could survive,” he admitted. “But marriage was never part of it.”

“Then why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

Your father leaned back thoughtfully. “I simply think it’s fortunate,” he said, almost to himself. “And maybe you can say that it’s the best possible outcome that we could gain from asking you to work with him.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you.

“Winning your trust is already quite an achievement. But winning your heart as well?” He shook his head with quiet admiration. “That’s something else entirely.”

Then he added, almost casually—

“And it might solve more problems than you realize.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” he said gently. “If he becomes your husband, he can take your place within the company without question. And once everything stabilizes, you’ll be free to pursue your own business again. I’m sure he’ll have an open mind to support you through it.”

For a moment, it truly felt as if everything had fallen perfectly into place.

But that fragile sense of hope didn’t last long.

Because that night happened.

No matter how much you wished it had only been a nightmare, reality refused to fade.

You would never forget that night.

The small argument you had with Jinyoung earlier that evening felt painfully trivial when things unravelled hours later. You had planned to call him later, to settle things between you the way you always did.

Instead, you waited.

And waited.

When your phone finally rang close to midnight, relief washed over you. You reached for it without hesitation, expecting to hear his voice.

But the voice on the other end was unfamiliar. Calm. Professional.

“Does this number belong to a relative of Park Jinyoung?”

A pause. Brief, but it felt like time simply stood still, right before your entire world turned upside down.

“I’m afraid we have some terrible news—”

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense.

They reached you, but they refused to settle anywhere inside your mind.

Your fingers tightened around the phone as the deep voice spoke; his words almost sounded like a different language. “I’m sorry… what did you say?”

The voice on the other end repeated itself, slower this time. Careful. Polished. As if the caller had done this multiple times before. Each word landed heavier than the last.

Something about an accident.

Something about his name.

Something about how they needed someone to come to the hospital.

The room around you seemed to fall into a strange, suffocating silence. You couldn’t hear the ticking of the clock on the wall anymore, nor the distant noise from the street outside, nor the pitter-patter of the rain that comforted your anger earlier after the fight. All you could hear was the sound of your own breathing—shallow, uneven.

“No,” you murmured. You didn’t even realize you had spoken. “That… that can’t be right.”

You had just spoken to him earlier that evening. You had just listened to the voice message he left behind while you were stuck working late in the office.

You could still remember the sound of his voice, low and teasing, yet deeply regretful, as he spoke through the phone when he promised he would make it up to you for missing the date he had set up for the night.

Tomorrow, he had said.

Let me make it up to you tomorrow.

The voice on the other end of the line continued speaking, but the words blurred together now.

You didn’t want to hear them.

Because if you listened—if you truly listened—then it would make everything real.

Your hand trembled.

“Is he…?” The question caught in your throat, refusing to come out whole. “Is he alright?”

There was a pause. One that lasted for too long. And in that silence, something deep inside you began to collapse.

“We’re very sorry.”

The words were quiet.

Gentle.

But they struck harder than anything else that had been said.

You couldn’t remember when the phone slipped from your hand. Or how long you stood there in the middle of the room, staring at nothing while the world around you continued moving as if nothing had changed.

Because everything had.

Just hours ago, you had still been thinking about the future.

About the life you were planning to build together.

And now—

Now all that remained was the echo of a voice that would never call you again.

You kept telling yourself that this couldn’t be real.

That if you just waited long enough, your phone would ring again, and you would hear his voice on the other end—warm, teasing, apologizing for being late like he always did.

But the night stretched on in merciless silence.

And the phone never rang again.

— One week after Jinyoung’s funeral —

A week had passed since you buried Park Jinyoung.

People often said that time would make things easier. That grief would soften, little by little, until its sharp edges no longer cut quite so deeply.

You had yet to see any proof of that.

The days since the funeral had passed in a blur of quiet condolences, sympathetic looks, and conversations you barely remembered having. Faces came and went. Words were spoken that you knew were meant to comfort you, yet none of them truly reached you.

Everything felt distant, as though you were watching someone else’s life unfold from far away.

And through it all, the silence remained.

It followed you everywhere—in the empty passenger seat beside you on the drive home, in the quiet halls of your house, in the long hours of the night when sleep refused to come. Every corner of your life seemed to echo with the absence he had left behind.

You told yourself that this must be what grief felt like. A slow, hollow ache that refused to leave.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments when your mind wandered where it shouldn’t, another thought crept in—one that made the silence feel heavier than it already was.

Because even now, a part of you still expected the phone to ring.

Expected to hear his voice on the other side, warm and familiar, apologizing for being late like he always did.

And every time the silence answered instead, the truth settled a little deeper into your chest.

Park Jinyoung was gone. And the life you had once imagined with him had vanished with him.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Your father’s voice—low, gentle, and careful—broke through the quiet. You looked up to find him standing at the doorway to your office. Grief lingered in his eyes, mirroring your own. But there was something else there too.

Exhaustion. Worry etched into the lines of his face.

You weren’t the only one losing sleep.

Of course not. He had just lost someone who had been almost like a son to him.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” you asked quietly. “This is my office.” You tried to put on a brave face, to hide the strain you’ve been feeling inside, yet your voice betrayed you.

Your father sighed as he stepped further inside. “That’s exactly my point. You should be at home, resting. You don’t look well enough to work.”

“I’ve done enough resting.”

Rest.

Had you truly rested at all?

How many days had you spent locked inside your room, hiding from the world—hiding from reality?

The long nights you spent awake, crying until your tears dried. Feeling as though something inside your chest had cracked open and refused to mend.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing the words out. “It’s better to keep my mind busy than sit at home doing nothing.”

Alone.

Surrounded by memories. By all the things that reminded you of him. Waiting for the sound of his keys at the door.

“Very well.” Your father’s resistance softened. With a quiet sigh, he stepped closer and rested his hand briefly on the top of your head—a gesture from your childhood that he rarely used now.

You kept your eyes lowered, afraid that if you looked up, he might see the tears gathering there.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard,” he said gently. “I had the staff cover most of your responsibilities while you were gone. Start with something simple.”

You took a steady breath and nodded.

“I will.”

It took hours before your mind finally settled.

At first, your thoughts kept drifting—toward memories, toward silence, toward the spaces where Jinyoung used to be. Most of the staff kept their distance, offering quiet nods or sympathetic glances when you passed them in the hallway. Then you locked yourself in your office again, letting the silence take away the noises in your head as you drowned yourself with the tasks your father left behind.

By noon, you called Mandy through the intercom. “Could you bring me the files Jinyoung was working on recently?”

“Of course,” she answered. “I’ll ask Miss Ahn to bring the copies.”

A few minutes later, Mandy stepped into your office with a stack of documents, a cup of steaming coffee, and a small plate of snacks she probably hoped might lift your mood. The gesture made your chest tighten.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

The door closed again, leaving you alone with the files.

You spent the rest of the day combing through them—numbers, spreadsheets, production reports, sales projections. Old projects. New initiatives. Endless rows of data that blurred together the longer you stared at them.

Memories crept in despite your efforts to keep them away.

Late nights at the office with Jinyoung. The two of you sitting across from each other, arguing over figures, exchanging notes, comparing calculations before entering them into the system you had built together.

Back then, the work had felt easier because you were never doing it alone.

Doing this on your own now was wearing you out. But that was exactly what you needed. Keeping your mind occupied left no space for you to think of anything else.

Soon the silence pressed in again, heavier than before. But it wasn’t memories that made you feel hopeless. It felt like the data you’ve been working with refused to work with you.

The numbers refused to make sense, and there was no one left beside you to compare your calculations with.

By the time evening arrived, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones.

“Maybe I shouldn’t push myself this hard,” you muttered to yourself.

Let’s do this again tomorrow.

And so you did.

The next day, you returned to the same files. The same reports. The same endless lines of data.

Hours passed, and yet again, you found yourself stuck on the same thing. And that problem persisted for the next few days.

Still, you tried, thinking that perhaps you were doing things wrong without Jinyoung guiding you through it, or maybe the new system wasn’t working like it was supposed to.

Days slipped by in the same frustrating cycle. You expanded your search, digging deeper into past sales records, production logs, and departmental reports. You compared everything—old numbers against new, projections against actual results.

Still, something refused to line up.

Until one night, as you stared at the figures yet again, a quiet realization settled into your mind.

Something wasn’t just wrong.

Something was off.

It took several more attempts before you finally saw it.

“The numbers don’t match.”

— Two weeks after Jinyoung’s funeral —

Time kept moving, even when it felt as though you were standing still.

Grief still clung to you like a shadow. But now it was tangled together with something else.

Questions that were left unanswered. Puzzles that you just couldn’t complete. Suspicions grew, yet you kept yourself in denial while you looked for answers. You kept things to yourself, worried that perhaps you were the one making the mistakes, and you’d be pointing fingers at the wrong people.

You kept trying, yet every attempt led you back to the same dead end.

The numbers. The reports. The discrepancies that refused to resolve themselves.

Until one rainy afternoon changed everything.

You hadn’t expected the encounter with Detective Jeon.

In truth, you had known nothing about the man before that day. But the things he told you—about Jinyoung, about the accident—left a strange unease lingering in your mind long after you parted ways.

“Have you ever found or noticed any suspicious activity happening in your father’s company lately, or back when Jinyoung was still alive?”  he had asked.

At the time, the question had only confused you. But it planted a seed of doubt you could no longer ignore.

The next morning, you returned to your office with a quiet determination.

You opened the files again. This time, you forced yourself to stop thinking like someone searching for a mistake. Instead, you asked a different question.

What if there had never been a mistake at all?

Minutes passed, then your breath caught when you finally saw everything clearly.

“There’s no way…”

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it was enough to make you feel like there was a deep fissure growing beneath your feet, pulling you down with the weight of truth. You leaned back slowly in your chair, heart pounding harder with every second.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Why the inconsistencies had always seemed impossible to track.

Why the profit reports rose and fell without reason despite stable sales and production numbers.

Why the discrepancies between internal data and the reports given to upper management had never aligned.

And most importantly—

Why Jinyoung kept facing failure after failure over the months he spent combing through all the data, unable to find the source of the problem that kept the company’s fate hanging by a thread.

Your fingers trembled against the desk.

Because now you finally understood something you had never once considered before.

Park Jinyoung was never trying to fix the problem from the start.

He had been covering it.

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The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray you’d make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.

“Shit,” you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.

Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god it’s only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.

“In 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,” your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You don’t want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.

You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money you’re going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. There’s what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all that’s missing is a damn banjo.

What comes to your mind immediately is the horror movie cliché of a car breaking down in some rural backwater town and what happens after. You’ve watched countless of them - Wrong Turn, House of Wax, The Hills have Eyes. You don’t have any plans to end up as a final girl to a clan of inbred hillbilly psychos. Hopefully, whatever is wrong with your Buick is fixed quickly so you can be on your way.

You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.

“Hello?” you ask into the empty space. There’s a front desk, but it’s unoccupied.  Please, don’t let this place be actually closed down already for the day.

“Back here,” you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.

You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you don’t see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.

“Um, hi?” you address the jeans-clad legs.

“One sec,” a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.

And, well, he’s really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. It’s not the outfit either, he’s just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.

Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didn’t ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.

He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.

But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, it’s dead.

The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. “Doesn’t start huh?”, he correctly assesses. “Put it in neutral, I can just push it inside.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesn’t budge without the engine being on.

You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. “Ah, automatic,” he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.

Without warning, he’s suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You would’ve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.

You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. “I didn’t get dirt on you, did I?” He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. “Shit,” he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.

“It’s good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?” he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You can’t help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.

His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as he’s pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that you’ve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.

“Little to the left,” he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.

You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once you’re in a good spot.

“I’ll pay to get your jeans cleaned,” he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.

“Let’s take a look at your baby,” he says as he yanks open the hood. “I already have a suspicion.”

While he’s checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.

On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe he’s just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.

When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.

“Yup, I was right,” he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. “Alternator’s shot.”

“That sounds … bad?” you reluctantly more so ask than state.

“It just needs to be replaced. Good news first, it’s not a lot of work so I’ll be done in like an hour,” he lets you know. “Bad news - I need to order it in.”

You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least it’s not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.

He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.

“Are there any hotels or something close by?” you ask him once he’s done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.

He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. “The closest motel is like two towns over. And it’s a bit of a shit hole.”

That doesn’t sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?

“Can you give me the address? I’ll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.”

“Good luck on finding any Ubers out here. We’re basically out of their operating zone.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.

“I’ll take you,” he offers, already on his way to your Buick. “Get your bag.”

You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Wouldn’t advise accepting rides from strangers, but I can’t have you stay on the street,” he speaks up. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. I’ll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.”

This won’t help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.

Apparently it’s time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since he’s the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You won’t question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.

“Where’s your car?” you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.

Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.

“Pretty, huh?” he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. “It’s a Fat Bob 114.”

Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He can’t seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.

“I don’t even have a helmet,” you try to weasel your way out.

To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. “Good thing I keep a spare around.”

He’s already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. You’ve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.

You hear Jungkook’s muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.

“Lemme help,” he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.

The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet “Thank you.” Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.

“All set,” he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.

“Just hold on to me,” he tells you.

You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist. 

He pulls off into the street and soon you’re leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.

Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure he’s not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. You’re not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what you’re learning right now.

After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.

Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.

“This must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?” you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.

“Not usually.”

Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues. 

“Can I just..?” you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette. 

He seems to be confused but doesn’t stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue. 

“That’s better,” you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment. 

With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk you’ve seen in your life.

“Hello,” you address him. “I need a room, please.”

“Really?” he responds in a mocking tone. “Who would’ve guessed that?”

Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.

“Mind checking if you have any available?” he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasn’t for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint. 

Woah. Apparently he’s not one to mess around with. It’s kind of hot.

“Alright, alright,” the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.

“Seems like you’re out of luck, everything’s booked,” he shrugs his shoulders. “There’s some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.”

Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really don’t want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.

“Ah, wait,” the clerk suddenly perks up. “There’s someone checking out in a bit. Once we’ve cleaned up the room, it’s yours.”

Oh, thank god. You couldn’t care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. You’ll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesn’t really matter, unless you’ll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.

“We have a bar,” the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest he’s ever had to work. “You can wait there. It’s gonna be like 2 hours max.”

You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.

“Uhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda don’t have a ride.” The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.

He looks at you, quizzically.

“I’m not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,” he shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you until the room’s ready.”

Before you can even start arguing that you don’t need an escort, he’s already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. You’re a grown woman, you don’t need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since he’s also nice to look at, why shouldn’t you indulge a bit longer.

The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather.  The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.

There’s two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it it’s not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.

Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when you’re only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.

“What do you want to drink?” he asks from beside you.

You take out your phone, checking the time. It’s 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.

You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesn’t seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.

Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. He’s coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.

“Sorry, but I’m not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that you’re here by yourself, no chance,” he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.

The fact that he’s doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. It’s not because he’s making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.

“How much was it?” you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.

“Take it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,” he smiles at you.

For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.

“So,” Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. “Judging by your plates, you’ve been on the road for a while, huh?”

You hum in agreement. “Just a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.”

“I can tell,” he laughs.

“And you?” you proceed to ask. “Have you ever been out of these parts?”

Jungkook’s fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks. 

“Not really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.”

“So you like living here then?”

He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t really have an opinion on it.

“It’s just, you don’t seem like a small town kinda guy,” you continue when he stays silent.

“Now, why’s that?” he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.

You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. It’s his home after all.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.

“You know, the next city is just like an hour’s drive away,” he lets you know between laughs. “We’re not cut off from civilization. Not totally.”

You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that you’re in between jobs right now.

You’re laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.

“Room’s ready,” he lets you know before he trudges away again.

“Before you try to argue - I’m walking you to the room.”

You figured.

So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesn’t feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. It’s not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesn’t catch on the floor. Yikes.

Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.

“What a nice view,” you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that it’s two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.

Jungkook turns to you. “Look,” he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.

“Thank you for everything, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jungkook shakes his head and doesn’t move even an inch.

“I can’t let you stay here,” he says, decidedly. “Not by yourself. You’ve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!”

You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.

“I’m not some damsel in distress in need of saving,” you scoff and walk to the door. “I’ll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.” You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing it’s almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesn’t bode well with you.

Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.

Then there’s suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now you’re actually hoping Jungkook’s offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry,” he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.

“Thanks,” you mumble while looking around the room. There’s exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.

Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.

“I’ll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.”

The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room that’s worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like it’s been in heavy use. Ew. At least you’re not the one having to sit in it.

To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as it’s still hot out.

“I could never get used to this heat,” you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. “Don’t think I can even sleep while it’s this hot,” you add, groaning.

Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that you’re sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and it’s sticking to him. No wonder - he’s been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.

It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like you’re being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but you’re not about to strip in front of Jungkook, who’s also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.

“Hey, you want to get some more beer?” you ask him, sure that you’ll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.

“Sure,” he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. “We can get some from the bar.”

You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. It’s a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.

Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.

The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.

Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.

“It’s been in the family for a few generations,” he lets you know. “I’ve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfather’s still.”

“Did you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?” you wonder.

Jungkook laughs at the idea. “I’m way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.”

You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off what’s been troubling you. Could’ve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe you’re dumb too.

Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.

“I quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasn’t that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.”

You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.

“You alright?” Jungkook’s voice chimes up.

“Yeah,” you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. You’re in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so you’re not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that you’re judging, you probably wouldn’t opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.

“Thank you again,” you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. “For staying with me. I’m sorry for all the troubles.”

Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. “I didn’t have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.”

He’d probably have air conditioning though and wouldn’t have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is … really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all he’s done for you. Can’t be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe it’s the beer finding its way to your brain or you’re just really not better than a man.

Your body doesn’t feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesn’t look even half as attractive on you.

While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.

The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while he’s suffering in the cuck chair.

“You know you could just come sit on the bed, right?” you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.

He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. “Nah, I’m stinky from working, don’t want to make it all gross.”

“Please, I don’t want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,” you joke. “Sounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, who’s gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?”

“I might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,” he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.

“But I’ll take a shower first, if that’s alright with you,” he finally gives in.

“Sure,” you nod. “Go ahead. Haven’t checked out the bathroom - hope you won’t come out dirtier than before.”

Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.

While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.

Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.

“My shirt is soaked,” he tells you with an apologetic smile. “I’ll air it out and put it back on, yeah?”

His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.

“Jungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, I’ve seen it all. Now don’t be stupid and come sit with me.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.

“Which side are you gonna sleep on?” he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,” he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. “This bed is probably already gross enough.”

You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. “It’s actually not so bad,” you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.

So, in this incredible turn of events, you’re now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.

Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.

“I love Gillian Anderson,” you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.

“I love David Duchovny,” Jungkook replies with a sigh. “Gillian’s not bad either.”

His remark doesn’t surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.

You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man that’s hiding in vents to eat people’s livers. Mulder has just foiled the abomination’s attempt to murder some family when Jungkook’s head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.

You can tell he’s asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?

His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. “Did I drool on you?”

You assure him it’s fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.

The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.

“I think we can keep this open now,” Jungkook decides. “It has cooled down like… at least 1 degree.”

You agree, even if it won’t help with the warmth, some fresh air won’t hurt.

“You should try and get some sleep,” he proposes. “I’m guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.”

He’s probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.

Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently he’s not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.

You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since you’re still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.

“Good girl,” Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.

The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. You’re uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places you’ve tried to outrun with your road trip.

Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you don’t dig sitting around in complete darkness. You’re in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.

You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.

“I’m taking this as a Yes,” Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.

Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.

Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.

“You plan on staying in your town forever?” you ask him. “Like, just keep the garage going until you’re too old to work anymore?”

He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.

“I like the mechanic work,” he starts. “But I’m not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.”

“I knew you weren’t the type.”

“Yeah. But I just can’t let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.”

“He’d want you to be happy, no?”

He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since there’s not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.

Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesn’t return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.

His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.

“I didn’t really quit my job for the trip,” you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. “Just couldn’t do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.

Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.

“’M driving through the whole country to my friend’s place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.”

“Must be a fucking idiot,” Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.

He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame.  After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and you’re locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.

It’s like time freezes and then you’re suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if you’re letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasn’t pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkook’s close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. He’s not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.

“Want to give sleep another shot?” he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.

“Mhm,” you nod. “I’m gonna take a shower first though.”

“Good idea,” Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.

Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.

You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you can’t rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, that’s how riled up the kiss has gotten you.

When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding it’s clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you don’t look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.

Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. He’s reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. He’s so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.

And he’s looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didn’t leave him unaffected either.

“Are you not hot in this?” he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.

“Are you not hot in your jeans?” you tease in response, making him chuckle.

“C’mere,” he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.

Once you’re in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when there’s no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and you’re already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. There’s just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didn’t think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.

“Your skin is so soft,” he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.

Finally, he’s had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.

With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.

“Wow,” he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.

You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.

You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.

“You sure?” he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.

Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. “Like silk,” he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.

“Dripping for me already,” he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. “So fucking hot.”

His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him.  After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.

When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.

His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.

With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.

He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.

Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until you’re flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice strained. “You feel amazing.”

That’s enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.

His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. He’s not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.

The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you can’t get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.

You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and it’s making your head swim with need.

You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. He’s too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.

The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.

Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.

“So damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.

The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. You’re sure though it’s not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.

After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.

This time it’s him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.

“You smell like heaven,” you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but it’s enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you weren’t aware of before, because he’s driving you insane.

The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. He’s really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.

He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.

With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.

“Fuck, I could eat you out forever,” he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy. So sweet.”

You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. “Yeah, I could tell.”

He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesn’t crush you.

His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when you’re done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you can’t resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.

On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. There’s no slow start, you’re not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like it’s trying to rip it off.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.

Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he can’t help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.

“Damn,” he presses out, his dick pumping into you. “You’re the best fucking ride of my life.”

With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesn’t take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.

When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.

With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care that he’s not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like you’re getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.

It doesn’t take long for his movements to go choppy.

“Fuck, how are you still so tight… so… perfect,” he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he can’t hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.

With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkook’s weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.

“Are you okay?” he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.

“Better than the bed,” you giggle sleepily.

Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.

“I’ll be right back,” you let him know.

You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.

“I’m taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,” he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.

Masterlist

Jungkook does not know what time it is, neither does he care what time it is. He just guesses that it’s quite late. He’s too absorbed by his monitor to be bothered by anything else. Well, of course he is. He loves video games, they’re his escape, his therapy.

Today he’s decided to play Apex Legends. His favourite one. It wasn’t just about the immaculate graphics, the realism of the game or the wondrous challenges. It was about you, Y/N. The main character of the game. The bossy, adventurous and drop-dead gorgeous commander who leads the elite team through battles.

You’re everything he isn’t – confident, brave and so, so dominant. He salivates over the way you’re so effortlessly beautiful, the way your uniform accentuates your perfect curves, how your hair tied into a messy ponytail makes you look even sexier. And your voice, your sweet, seductive voice could bring him to his knees. He loves the way you bark orders at your team, the way you portray your lines with such conviction. He wishes you were real so you could demand things from him and tell him what to do.

Every time he was free, he’d be on the game. Playing the story mode and the side missions, watching you. And yeah, sometimes he’d lean back in his gaming chair, slipping his hand under his sweatpants and jerking off to you. It isn’t weird, right? Even though you’re just pixels, you’re perfect. Not a single woman has ever made him feel the things you do – not that he’s been with many girls. No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t even had sex yet. He’s just an inexperienced loser obsessed with a fictional character.

The game loads like normal. He selects his usual loadout and joins the story mode. The game starts with your intro. You confidently stride, eyeing your men and their forms, then your eyes flicker to the screen, speaking to the player.

“Listen up, rookies. This isn’t a playground. One wrong move and you’re dead. Follow my lead or get left behind.”

Jungkook admires you, thinking about how hot you are. He could stare at you forever. But for now, he decides to start playing. At first, it’s the same as always – he gets in headshots, kills enemies and keeps up with you and your squad.

But after a few minutes, something starts to feel very off. The screen flickers unusually, like an awful glitch. The audio becomes louder and everything brighter. Then suddenly he’s levitating and getting pulled toward the screen. His stomach drops and he tries to stand but his legs won’t work.

“What the– wait, no–”

He feels as if he’s falling forward, but there’s no floor. Everything starts to feel otherworldly and disorientated. Before everything goes black, he hears what  must be your voice.

When Jungkook opens his eyes again, the world is spinning. He’s laying on his back on cold, hard concrete, staring up at a dark, smoky and gloomy sky. His head is pounding. He groans, rubbing his temples as if it might help him make sense of what’s going on.

Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his elbows. His heart is beating way too fast in his chest. This isn’t his room… this is the video game. He knows this place well. This is where your squad stays and where all the missions begin. He spawns here all the time. But this time, he isn’t analysing it through a screen.

He looks down at himself and freezes. His normal clothes are gone and replaced by the recruit uniform from the game. The perfect attire for a soldier from your squad – black tactical pants, a long sleeve compression shirt under a military vest and combat boots.

“What the fuck…” he whispers in pure disbelief.

He gets up to his feet with shaky legs and looks around. He sees people moving around and soldiers. They have to be the NPCs from the game. They’re all wearing the same attire as him, except they look a bit different. Most of them are bigger than him, they look rough and rather scary. A couple of them glance his way, probably wondering who he is.

Jungkook gulps hard. He shoves his hand in his pockets and keeps his head down, walking around and trying to look like he’s from around here. He walks toward the barracks, his brain over working as he thinks. Jungkook’s a smart guy, probably the smartest in the country. He always has an explanation for things, but right now, he cannot comprehend what’s happened to him.

He walks into the barracks, seeing many more soldiers here. They all look so much stronger than him, like they could wipe him out in thirty seconds max. He finds an empty bunk in the corner and takes a seat, burying his face in his hands, still in deep thought. How is he going to survive here? He doesn’t know how to shoot. He’s never really thrown a punch in his life. And now he’s in a warzone with people who must’ve been training for it their whole lives.

All of the scenarios that Jungkook thinks might have led to this doesn’t make sense. Nothing could make this make sense. He’s not going to make it here. He’s just an introverted loser who prefers virtual reality over real life and a fictional woman over real women.

His thoughts shatter when he hears your voice. His heart drops to his feet and feels goosebumps on his arms. He whips his head so fast to look at you that it makes him dizzy.

“New recruit?” you ask, standing by the doorway.

The real version looks even more devastating than the pixels, perfect in a way he cannot comprehend. You’re standing there with a hand on your hip, looking at him expectedly. You aren't rough like everyone else here. Sure, you’re intimidating as the rest of them, maybe even more. But you’re beautiful and precious.

You tilt your head, scanning him up and down. “Well?” you take a step closer to him, causing his heart rate to spike once again. “You gonna sit there and stare at me, or are you going to talk?”

Jungkook’s mouth goes too dry. He tries to open it to say something, but nothing comes out. He stands up from the bed too quick, almost stumbling forward but he catches himself before any further embarrassment. You cross your arms now, watching his awkward display.

Now that he’s standing up, he towers over you so you have to tilt your head back to meet his nervous eyes. Jungkook continues to just stare at you. Even though his legs feel like jelly, he stands up from the bunk way too fast and immediately stumbles forward before balancing himself.

You stand with your arms crossed, watching Jungkook’s awkward display. You tilt your head up at him, meeting his very nervous eyes. Jungkook’s brain buffers as he takes you in from up close. You’re ethereal.

‘“Are you not going to talk?” you ask, sound annoyed now.

Jungkook swallows loudly. “Y–yeah. I’m…I’m a new recruit. Just got here, Y/N. Ma’am. Commander.” He wants to die.

You hum, thoughtful. “Can’t wait to see you in action. Hope you’re worth the space on my team.” you eye him up and down, assessing him. “Good news for you though. We’ve got a mission coming up soon. Try not to fall over your own feet.”

With that, you walk away. Jungkook can’t help himself. He watches you walk away, checking you out like some perverted freak. Watching the sway of your hips, the way your tactical clothes hug your perfect figure, accentuating your curves. Fuck, you’re so hot. Finer than anything he’d ever imagined.

He watches until you’re out of his sight. Before he can go back and take his seat, a slightly muscular, tall guy stands in front of him. Jungkook immediately realises who it is. He’s Taehyung. one of the elite soldiers under you. The cocky guy who’s stronger than everyone on the team, who’s widely admired, who never misses a shot. And who also happens to be your love interest.

Taehyung steps in close, invading Jungkook’s personal space as he speaks lowly. “New recruit, huh? I’m gonna warn you now before you get any funny ideas,” he sizes Jungkook up before continuing. “You better keep your eyes to yourself, off Y/N. She’s mine. Look at her like that again and we’re gonna have a problem.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to back down so easily, but he has no choice. This whole situation is too complicated. He can’t start a fight with a guy who could probably break him in half. So he chooses peace. He raises his hands and takes a step back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here to do the missions.” His voice comes out steadier than he expected.

Taehyung stares at him for a few more seconds before nodding and also stepping back. “Smart choice.”

Taehyung turns and walks away. Alone again, Jungkook sits back on the bunk and runs a hand through his hair. He’s going on a mission? Jungkook is all books and brains, he’s barely athletic. How is he supposed to survive this? Even as his mind spirals over getting himself hurt, his highest concern is not being able to impress you or to live up to your expectations.

“Everyone ready! Airship leaves in ten!” Taehyung shouts to the entire team.

Everyone begins to rush around, grabbing gear, checking weapons and going over plans. Jungkook follows the flow and his own weapon. His hands shake but he forces himself to keep moving. On the airship, everyone gets in. Jungkook finds a seat near the back.

Surprisingly he’s not as nervous as he expected to be. Instead he feels a strange sense of excitement. He wants to be brave, he wants to prove his worth to you. He wants to show you that even though he’s not like the rest of the guys on the team, he can be enough for you.

Someone sits in the seat next to him. Jungkook doesn’t need to look over to know who it is. He can tell it’s you by your sweet, addictive scent. It makes his brain fuzzy. He stiffens and grips his knees, staring straight ahead, not daring to look into your direction. You’re close to him, he can feel your body warmth.

“Jungkook.” you call his name.

Only then do his eyes snap toward your direction. But his eyebrows furrow in confusion when he realises that he hasn’t told you his name. He decides not to dwell on it, because nothing in here makes much sense anyway, so why would he start questioning it?

You’re looking at him with those big, observant eyes. Again, scanning him from head to toe, as if making mental notes about him. You lean in, your lips twitch to form a small, tiny smile.

“You don’t seem like the rest of the guys here,” you say softly in an almost intimate tone. “There’s something about you, Jungkook.” you pause, your eyes linger on his mouth before looking back into his eyes. “I like it.”

Jungkook’s breath audibly hitches. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re so close, you smell way too good. You look even better. Like you’re meant to ruin every fibre of his being.

You offer him a smile. “Try to keep up there, pretty boy.”

Jungkook barely feels the airship lifting off because all he can feel is you pressed against him and the exhilarating knowledge, knowing that you seem somewhat interested in him

The rest of the ride passes in silence. You don’t say another word to him, so he decides to stay silent as well and enjoy the close proximity between you. But every few minutes his eyes drift sideways to steal glances at your profile. He keeps telling himself to look away, to focus on anything else but you, but it’s near close to impossible when you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

At one point, he obviously turns his head and locks eyes with Taehyung. Taehyung is already glaring at him with his jaw clenched tight, looking as if he’s plotting Jungkook’s death. Oh shit. Jungkook quickly looks forward again, swallowing hard as Taehyung’s warning from earlier echoes in his head.

The airship soon begins its descent, dropping toward a smokey urban warzone, like the hard levels he usually plays, only now it’s more detailed and brutal. There is nowhere to run or hide here, he has to face whatever threat comes his way.

“Gear check!” you call out as you stand.

Everyone stands after you, checking their gear, making sure it’s all in place. Jungkook fumbles with his rifle, checking the magazine and safety. He takes two grenades in case, along with a pocket knife.

You lead the way down the ramp, with your own gear in check, ready for battle. The rest of the squad fall into formation behind you, Jungkook follows with his heart racing. 

 —⍟—

The mission kicked off, Jungkook finds it beautiful, yet extremely chaotic and terrifying. Enemy forces swarm from all directions, undead, zombie-like creatures hungry for blood. Your soldiers try their best to wipe them out, but they’re quick, too quick for most of them. Jungkook should be panicking, but he isn’t. He’s doing much more than most people on your team – getting in kill shots, protecting his teammates wherever he can. You bark orders at him, he carries them out with great efficiency

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel like the awkward, push-over nerd. No. He feels alive and so much more confident. And that’s because of his urge to please you.

After hours of battle, Jungkook, along with you and your squad are almost at the extraction point, almost at the end of the objective when it goes wrong… Jake, aggressive as always, decides that it’s a good idea to throw a grenade at a cluster of the last of the undead, near a large building. The explosion is deafening. Killing hundreds of the undead, but also causing the building to collapse, a massive chunk of concrete is about to fall toward where you’re standing.

Jungkook sees you standing there unmoving. He doesn’t give it much thought, he just runs over to you, sprinting toward you and slams into you with his full body weight, arms around your waist as he pushes the both of you sideways. You both hit the ground hard, rolling over away, just as the concrete crashes down.

Jungkook ends up hovering over you, an arm embracing you as he shields you. Your fingers tightly grip  into his vest but once knowing you’re safe, you open your eyes and stare up at him, with your mouth parted in genuine surprise  and awe. For once the bossy commander looks perplexed. Something electric passes between the two of you as you two look into each other’s eyes. The world seems to narrow to just you and him, amidst the chaos.

Then once you snap out of it and remember where you are, you shove Jungkook off you gently but firmly and stand up on your feet. You furiously walk over to Jake.

“What the fuck was that? You nearly got me killed, you idiot!”

Jake’s face pales, he steps forward, holding his hands together in front of you. “Y/N–Commander, I swear I didn’t see you there, I swear. It was aimed at the hostels. I’m sorry, I–”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it when it almost gets me killed.” you say in a cold tone. “You’re off the team, Jake.”

Jake’s face falls. This is his worst nightmare come true, being off your team and away from you. The cocky man falls to his knees in front of you. “Y/N, please. Don’t do this to me. I’ve been with you since the beginning–.”

“Drag him out of here.” you order two squad members

Without hesitation, they haul Jake up by his arms. He begs as they pull him to the airship.

“Y/N! Give me another chance! Please!” 

You don’t even glance back, you just signal the team to move. “Mission’s done.”

 —⍟—

During the ride back, your remaining squad talk to one another about their victory, making plans to celebrate properly when back at the barracks. Jungkook is still buzzing with adrenaline, but he feels warm and satisfied, glad to have been part of the victory and glad to have saved you.

Once everyone is properly strapped in their seats, you sit down beside Jungkook again, sitting even closer than the first time. You’re quiet for a moment, before you turn your head to look at him.

“Hey… Jungkook,” you begin, your voice soft due to all the noise, but Jungkook hears you. “Thank you for what you did back there. You didn’t hesitate, most guys would’ve.” a genuine smile forms on your lips. “You’re more than worthy of being by my side.”

Jungkook’s heart does a flip and before he can help it, a boyish smile breaks across his face. His cheeks heat up. “I… I couldn't let anything happen to you.”

You study him for a long moment, eyeing his handsome features, your gaze lingering on his lips. You lift your hand to place it on his thigh, running it slowly up and down, caressing him. Jungkook feels a shiver run down his spine. Oh fuck. You’re touching him. His breath hitches and his thuds wildly in his chest.

If that’s not enough, you lean in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear to whisper seductively, “meet me in my quarters an hour after we get back, okay?”

Jungkook gulps, his throat suddenly dry and nods jerkily, unable to form any coherent words. Sweat prickles on his forehead as he anticipates what might happen later on.

 —⍟—

Jungkook paces the small space of his assigned quarters like a caged animal. His heart is beating so fast, he’s sure it will jump out of his chest. You want him to come to your quarters. You want him to come to your quarters. You, the seductive, dominant woman he’s always fantasized about wants him in your space. All alone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

He needs to calm down, or at least look as if he’s not about to combust. He strips and steps into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over him. He scrubs himself with the soap provided, washing himself clean. He wants to be as presentable as possible to you.

When he steps out of the shower, with a towel around his waist, he opens his locker to find a black compression shirt, jeans and boots. He dresses before checking himself in the mirror. He looks clean, handsome, but he doesn’t feel as if it’d be enough for you.

After a few more moments, he walks over to your quarters, his palms sweaty and his mouth dry. When he finally reaches your door, he stands there for a long time before raising his fist with hesitation. What if this is some prank? What if he embarrasses himself? Before he can think of anything else, he forces himself to knock.

The door opens and Jungkook’s jaw nearly hits the floor. You’re standing there barely looking like the commander who leads her squad to wars. No, you look soft and so much more approachable, so devastatingly beautiful. You’re in a silky, pink robe that’s tied loosely, hinting your body underneath without revealing too much.

“H–hi,” Jungkook stutters embarrassingly.

You offer him a warm smile. “Come in, Jungkook.”

You step aside to let him in. He stumbles forward as he steps in but catches himself. You close the door after him. Your quarters are much bigger than the barracks, very feminine and luxurious. A large, soft bed dominating one side, a vanity with your toiletries, a kitchenette and an en suite bathroom.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say, gesturing toward your bed.

Jungkook nods and sits on the edge of the bed, keeping his hands on his knees and trying not to fidget.

“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking towards the kitchenette.

“Just water, please,” he manages to say.

He cannot look into your eyes, every time his eyes flicker, they check you out as subtly as possible – looking at the way the robe hugs your curves, shaping your breasts, hips and ass. He thinks of filthy things. He imagines untying it, letting the robe pool at your feet, kissing every inch of your body, burying his face between your thighs and worshipping you.

You pour him a glass of water and hand it to him. He takes it from you with both hands, thanking you softly. The water helps a little, calming him down as he feels your gaze on him the entire time. When he finishes, he sets the glass in the nightstand beside the bed. Only then does he dare look up. You’re even more ethereal up close like this. Definitely the most beautiful he could ever lay his eyes on.

You reach down, using a finger to gently lift his chin upward so he can look into your eyes. “You were so good today. So perfect” you say, honest and almost seductive. “I want you, Jungkook. Wanna reward you.” 

Jungkook nearly chokes on thin air, his eyes widening. Him? You want him? The inexperienced, nerdy guy who’s spent years only touching books and controllers? You bite your lip, watching him patiently.

“Are you okay with that?”

Jungkook’s heart is doing cartwheels. Nervous doesn’t begin to cover it, he feels like he might pass out or explode. But despite the panic, he feels the deep aching need he has for you. He nods, quick and extremely eager. 

“Y-yes. I want that. A lot.”

Satisfaction crosses your face. You lean down slowly, edging closer to him. Jungkook stares at your lips, his own parted, waiting for you to close the distance. You close the distance, kissing him. Jungkook kisses back instinctively, shy at first until he gets bold and hungry. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers threading into his hair to get him closer.

You notice that Jungkook is hesitant, even as he kisses you deeply, his hands hover awkwardly near his side, too shy to touch you. Without breaking the kiss, you take his hands and guide them to your hips. You kiss him harder then, even hungrier, your tongue slips into his mouth to taste him properly.

You moan into the kiss when he starts to get sloppier. You climb onto the bed and push him backward until he’s laying back on the mattress, and you’re straddling him. Jungkook groans, his grips on you tightens, feeling your soft curves. You grind down on him, making him dizzy. Jungkook’s hands tremble as they slide lower, cupping your ass through the robe. He squeezes gently at first, then harder when you don’t pull away.

You hum appreciatively into his mouth. The sound makes his cock twitch against you, knowing that you’re enjoying his touch. You keep kissing him, your tongue sliding against his. After a minute, you pull back and sit upright on his lap, your weight pressing deliciously against his growing erection.

Jungkook’s breath hitches when you reach for the belt of his pants. He lifts his hips to help you, his fingers fumbling alongside yours until the belt is loose. You both shove his pants down, he toes off his boots so he’s left in his shirt and boxers. His boxers do nothing to hide how rock hard he is. Your gaze lingers on it, making his stomach flip.

Looking back into his eyes, you reach for the tie of your robe and slowly pull it open, it slides down your shoulders, arms and waist. Jungkook realises that you’re completely naked underneath. His eyes nearly water at the sight. Every single inch of you is perfect to him. He cannot stop checking you out, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Take off your shirt, Jungkook.” you command once you discard your robe somewhere.

He sits up and pulls the compression shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He’s lean but defined. Hours of working out in the campus gym has given him a nice figure. He’s got muscle, but not too much – he’s just right.

Your eyes darken with appreciation. You reach out and feel his chest and abs, while rolling your hips again, grinding your bare pussy directly against his cock. You keep grinding against him, your wetness soaking through his boxers as you moan and pant softly. The pretty sounds you make drive Jungkook insane. His hands move up, sliding from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. Jungkook leans up, his mouth finding one of your nipples, he sucks on it and twirls his tongue around it. You gasp, your fingers tugging on his hair.

“Kookie…” the nickname slips out in a moan, breathy and affectionate.

Kookie? The thought flashes through his mind for a second, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Not when your breasts are in his mouth and when you’re grinding on his cock like you can’t get enough. He switches to your other breast, sucking hard and nipping on your nipple/

Your hands roam over his chest, over his abs and then lower, slipping into his boxers. “Take these off,” you whisper against the top of his head.

He obeys instantly. One hand grips your ass to hold you as he lifts his hips up, the other shoves his boxers down. His cock springs free, thick, long and already leaking at the tip. Your eyes widen, you salivate a little. This cute, shy nerd has all that?

You reach between your thighs and slip two fingers inside yourself, pumping them. Jungkook’s eyes widen, locked on the sight as if it’s the most mesmerising thing he’s ever seen. Your fingers wet with your own arousal, along with your soft sounds are too much. He might actually bust just from watching.

After a short while you pull your fingers out with a frustrated little huff. “They’re too short… doesn’t feel right.”

Before you can say anything else, Jungkook gently grabs your wrist and brings your wet fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, tasting you properly for the first time. 

“Mine will do the job,” he says, surprisingly confident.

You stare at him, speechless. He replaces your fingers with his own. His two long, thick fingers slide into you, fucking deep into you. Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tight as he pleasures you, his thumb rubbing your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

“Oh – Jungkook –” you moans, hips bucking into his hand,

His fingers are relentless, hitting your perfect spot until you’re shaking. It’s not long before you’re coming hard, clenching around his fingers. He finger you through your orgasm, until you’re oversensitive and whimpering. Finally he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his own mouth, sucking them with a groan, keeping eye contact with you. 

You crash your lips onto his, messy and needy. You sit up a little higher and reach down to position his cock at your entrance. Jungkook grips your hips again, holding you as you sink down. The stretch is intense. His cock is bigger than you expected, and it burns at first, but you take him slowly, until you’re completely seated against him.

Jungkook lays himself back, his head falling against a pillow as he groans loudly at the feeling of you enveloping him. He lets himself savour the feeling of finally being inside the woman he’s obsessed over for so long.

Your hands brace onto his chest as you lift yourself slowly, rising up until only his tip is left inside you, then you sink back down, taking all of his again. After that, the wet sounds of you riding him fill the room. Jungkook groans when you start riding him properly, sinking up and down on his length over and over again.

Jungkook watches you with half lidded eyes, bewitched by you. Your hands press harder into his chest for leverage as you pick up speed, your breasts bouncing beautifully. Jungkook pants beneath you. He caresses your hips, then lets his hands slide down to squeeze your ass again, kneading the flesh as you ride him.

Unable to control himself. Jungkook thrusts into you to meet your downward sink, burying himself deeper. He makes sure not to take over, letting you keep most of the control. Your movements grow a little sloppier, your pussy starts fluttering around his cock, making his grip on you tighten almost painfully. Fuck, are you gonna let him come inside you? He hopes so. He wants it so bad, he wants to fill you up.

You keep going, riding him harder until you’re releasing. Jungkook curses under his breath, groaning, jerking his hips up as he comes inside you, filling you up completely. You collapse forward onto his chest, and start pressing affectionate kisses along his neck and cheeks. Jungkook blinks, confused as to why you’re being so tender. You smile against his skin and peck the tip of his nose.

“Y/N–”

“You have to wake up now, Kookie.” you whisper against him.

His eyebrows furrow. What?

Jungkook’s eyes snap open. You’re hovering over him, pressing gentle kisses to his nose and cheeks, your hair tickling his skin. His hands are gripping your hips and ass extremely tight. And he’s rock hard, painfully hard, his cock is straining against his wet pants. He blinks rapidly, his brain is foggy and he snaps out of the deep slumber. It was just a dream…

When his vision clears properly, he’s met with the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend smiling down at him, eyes amused and affectionate. The real Y/N. His Y/N. Not the dominant commander from the game, but the woman he’s been dating for almost a year. The one he wakes up next, not quite believing that he actually pulled you.His pants are wet, a warm mess from the intense, vivid wet dream. You pull back slightly, still straddling his waist, giving him a little grin. 

“Good morning, baby. What were you dreaming about, hmm?” you ask, knowingly.

Jungkook's cheeks redden. He reaches for his glasses on the nightstand, putting them on so he can see his beautiful woman properly. Noticing your messy hair, the oversized of his that you’re wearing, the way you’re smiling down at him. You’re too perfect.

He swallows and speaks raspily. “I had the craziest dream about you.”

You hum, pleased. You love knowing that your shy, introverted boyfriend always has these vivid, filthy dreams about you. It makes you feel even more desired.

“You’re adorable, Kookie.” you lean down and peck his lips softly. “You can tell me all about it while I get ready, okay?”

You start to climb off him making Jungkook instantly frown. Before you can get too far, he sits up, grabs your waist and tugs you right down, so you’re straddling his hips again. You gasp softly, hands flying to his shoulders for balance and eyes widening in surprise at the sudden man handling from your usually gentle boyfriend. 

He pouts up at you. “Where are you going?”

You raise an eyebrow, still a little surprised by his boldness. “To work, baby.”

“On a Saturday?” Jungkook asks with a whine.

Jungkook hates when you have to work on weekends. You already put in long hours all week at your demanding job, and because he’d chosen a much harder course in college, he still has another year of studying ahead. So weekends are supposed to be your time spent together, lazy mornings in bed, him having gaming sessions with you perched on his lap while he tries to teach you how to pay.

You smile softly at him, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. “Yes, my boss asked me to come in today.”

“But I wanna spend the day with you.”

“I know, Kookie,” you say gently. “But I have to go in, she’ll be mad at me if I don’t. You need to get ready too so you can drop me off, okay?”

He sighs before looking at you pleadingly. “Fine… but can you at least help me first?”

His hands tighten on your hips as he glances down pointedly at the very obvious, very hard problem tenting his pants. “Please?”

You glance down, biting your lip. The way he’s looking at you makes it so hard for you to say no. “Jungkook, I’m gonna be late for work…”

“Please,” he whispers persuasively. “Just a little. I need you.”

You exhale, shaking your head at him. “Okay, okay. What do you want, baby?”

“I want you to ride me.” he says without hesitation.

Your eyebrow arches again, surprised and turned on by how direct he’s being. You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Alright, Kookie,” you murmur against his lips, already shifting to remove his pyjama pants. “But we have to be quick.”

——⍟——

The morning doesn’t stop with you just riding Jungkook. After you rode him, Jungkook flipped you over and ascended down your body until his mouth reached between your thighs. He ate you like was starved, licking your pussy before sucking your clit while inserting two fingers inside you. He didn’t stop until you were releasing hard for him, your thighs shaking around his ears as you coated his lips and chin.

You returned the favour eagerly, pushing him back onto his back and taking his long, thick cock into your mouth. As you sucked on him, Jungkook’s head tipped back in the pillows, glasses fogging as groaned. One hand tugged gently as possible on your hair while the other gripped the sheets. You sucked him pleasantly until he was coming down your throat.

Then you climbed on him again, this time in reverse cowgirl. Jungkook had the perfect view of your ass bouncing as you sank down on him, hands braced on his thighs for leverage. Jungkook watched himself disappear inside you over and over, hands gripping your hips and smacking your ass every now and then.

You finished the last round in the shower. The water cascaded over you both as he pressed you against the wall, lifting one of your legs so he could fuck into you deeply as you clung to his shoulders.

By the time you’re done, you’re deliciously sore. You move around the bedroom with a noticeable limp, legs trembling as you get ready for work. Jungkook, meanwhile, had thrown over some casual clothes and sat down in front of his gaming console while waiting for you to get ready. 

In every game that allows character customisation he very carefully tweaked the female leads and companions to look exactly like you. Every single feature of the characters is identical to yours. It’s been like this for years, ever since he had fallen in love with you.

You step out of the bedroom and pause into the living room doorway, watching him game, momentarily lost in his virtual world. He’s hunched forward, headphones on, meshing the buttons as he looks at the screen with a little furrow between his eyebrows. He’s so cute. You’ve always thought so, even back when you were just classmates in college. He was the quiet guy who sat in the back row and mostly kept to himself. You remember thinking that he was sweet, introverted and one heck of a genius. You never really guessed he harboured a fat ass crush on you the entire time. 

You limp behind his chair and lean down to press a kiss on his cheek. “I’m ready to go.”

Jungkook pauses his game, spins on his chair and pulls his headphones off. His eyes light up when they land on you then slowly look at you up and down, appreciatively. He sighs softly.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” he asks, his voice full of wonder. “How did I get so lucky?”

You giggle and reach for his hands to tug him out of the chair. He stands, towering over you. You look up at him with sparkling eyes.

“We’re both equally lucky, Kookie.”

He shakes his head, smiling down at you fondly as he pulls you against his chest. “No way. My girlfriend is the smartest, sweetest, most beautiful woman in the entire universe. I don’t know how I got you to be mine.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, beaming up at him. “And my boyfriend is the kindest, cutest, hottest man ever. My genius. I’m just as lucky.”

Jungkook huffs out a laugh, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. He leans down and kisses you softly at first, then deep and dirty, inserting his tongue into your mouth, trying for another heated make-out session.

You pull back and place your hand on his chest. “We have to get going, or I really will be late.”

You step away to grab your work bag from the couch, but after a few steps, you stop and wince, feeling a bit sore between your legs. You try to hide the limp, but Jungkook notices. He chuckles behind you. Before you move again, he slides one arm under your knees and lifts you off your feet as his other hand grabs your work bag. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck for balance.

“Jungkook!”

He grins and carries you toward the front door. “Can’t have you limping all the way to the car, can I?”

You rest your head against his shoulder, giggling softly. “You’re right. I’m thankful my job requires me to sit at a desk most the day instead of walking around too much. Otherwise I’d be in trouble.”

“Worth it though, right?” he asks, kissing your temple before walking you both out the door, and waiting for you to lock it.

“Very worth it,” you say, kissing his jaw. “My freaky nerd.”

The room is noisy with beginner-level chaos. Easels scrape against the floor while people awkwardly introduce themselves to strangers. A woman near the supply shelves is already panicking over everything she sees like she’s selecting surgical equipment. Someone in the back drops a pencil tin loud enough to make half the room jump.

And….

You want to run.

“Oh my god,” you whisper under your breath, clutching the strap of your bag tighter. “I hate this already.”

Beside you, Yura snorts.

“You think you hate this?” She mutters back. “I have an actual art degree and I still feel like I’m about to throw up.”

“What?” You blink at her.

“Y/N. Critiques permanently alter your brain chemistry. You never recover.” She gestures vaguely toward the room. “This place smells like academic trauma.”

A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. The tension in your shoulders loosens just slightly. Yura notices immediately, bumping her shoulder against yours as she guides you further inside.

“See? Humor is the best defense mechanism against the Ghost of Critiques Past,” Yura says, flashing a quick smirk before her eyes lock onto an empty pair of easels near the back corner. “There. Prime real estate. Close to the exit in case we need to make a strategic retreat, and far enough from the instructor that he won’t see me rolling my eyes when he explains what a shadow is.”

​You follow her lead, navigating the minefield of stray stools and oversized portfolios. The space feels alive with a nervous energy that is entirely different from the suffocating silence of your insurance cubicle. Here, the anxiety is loud, messy, and shared.

​As you set your bag down, your hands find the edges of the wooden easel. The surface is scarred and worn. You run your thumb over a particularly deep groove, wondering if a younger, past version of yourself had ever stood in a room exactly like this, feeling this exact feeling of terror.

​"Alright, folks, find a spot, settle in," the instructor calls out. He steps up to a central platform where a deceptively simple still life is arranged. You see a dented metal watering can, three green apples, and a draped piece of navy blue velvet.

​"I know some of you are looking at that watering can right now and thinking, 'I can't draw that, it's too complicated,'" the instructor says with easy warmth. "But today isn't about drawing a watering can. It's about breaking your brain of its bad habits. I don't want you to draw the object. I want you to draw the negative space around the object."

​A collective, anxious murmur ripples through the room. The woman who was panicking over supplies lets out a soft whimpering sound.

​Beside you, Yura mimics the instructor’s words silently with her mouth, rolling her eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. But when she reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick stick of charcoal, her posture changes. Her shoulders drop. Her chin lifts. The sarcastic friend vanishes, replaced instantly by someone who moves without thinking.

​With three fluid, sweeping motions of her wrist, she marks the boundaries of her paper. She isn't even looking at her hands. Her eyes are fixed entirely on the velvet drapery on the platform. It's pure, unfiltered muscle memory.

This is nothing for her.

​You look down at your own blank pad of paper. The white paper feels like it's practically begging you to ruin it. You pick up a piece of charcoal, your fingers instantly turning black from the dust. Your hand is trembling so hard the stick rattles against the wooden ledge of the easel.

​I don't know how, your inner voice whispers, the familiar, safe panic clawing at your throat. I don't remember the rules.

​Then, you look at the black smudge already transferring from your fingers onto the edge of the paper. You think of the bright, chaotic blue streak Jimin dragged across the studio wall. You think of Yoongi sitting on a tiny plastic chair, letting a six-year-old braid colorful pipe cleaners into his sleeve without a single complaint.

​“Get charcoal on your face, and fail miserably for a few weeks.”

​A quiet, shaky breath escapes your lips. You lift your hand, press the charcoal to the center of the page, and pull it downward.

The charcoal drags across the rough paper with a harsh, satisfying scritch.

It’s a terrible line. It’s shaky, uneven, and completely misses the contour of the watering can’s handle. But it is there. The pristine, intimidating whiteness of the paper is officially ruined, and with it, a fraction of your panic evaporates.

"Not bad," Yura murmurs, not looking away from her own page as her charcoal dances in swift, aggressive hatches. "At least you didn't poke yourself in the eye. I saw a guy do that first semester of art school. Had to wear a patch for a week."

A quiet snort escapes you, the tension in your jaw relaxing. You squint at the still life, trying to tune out the voice in your head that demands perfection, the voice that usually categorizes things into neat, orderly spreadsheets. Instead, you look at the empty space between the watering can's spout and the draped velvet.

“The negative space,” the instructor had said.

You press the side of the charcoal stick flat against the paper and begin to color in the darkness around the object. The dust coats your palm, embedding itself into the lines of your skin. It’s messy. It’s chaotic. It’s the exact opposite of your insurance cubicle, where a stray ink smudge on a document meant starting over. Here, the mess is the point.

As the class settles into a rhythm of scratching charcoal and heavy breathing, the initial terror transforms. You actually lose track of time. Your shoulder starts to ache from holding your arm out, and you’re pretty sure you just wiped sweat off your forehead with a hand covered in black dust, completely fulfilling Yoongi's prophecy.

"Alright, everyone, step back from your easels," the instructor’s voice suddenly breaks the trance. He claps his hands together, sending a tiny puff of chalk into the air. "Take a walk. Look at what your neighbors are doing. And remember…be kind. We're all re-learning how to see."

You blink, feeling like you’ve just surfaced from underwater. You drop your charcoal back onto the ledge and take two steps back to look at your creation.

It looks... vague. Like a ghostly, smudged silhouette of a watering can trapped in a heavy fog. But as you look at it, a sudden, fierce spark of pride flares up in your chest. You didn't run. You didn't freeze.

You made something.

"Well, look at you, Michelangelo," Yura says, stepping back to examine your work. She leans in closer, nodding approvingly. "Your proportions are totally warped, the perspective is deeply chaotic." She turns to you with a bright, genuine grin. "I love it. It has personality."

"Thanks. I think half of it is just pure adrenaline." You wipe your hands on your jeans, only succeeded in creating two dark handprints on your thighs.

"The best art usually is," Yura says, slinging an arm over your shoulder, entirely unbothered by the charcoal transferring onto her shirt. "Come on, let's go scope out the competition and feel superior about our messy hands."

As you follow her down the aisle, walking past a dozen different interpretations of the exact same three apples, the heavy weight that had been sitting on your chest for weeks finally feels manageable. You're failing miserably, just like you were supposed to and it feels incredible.

The parking lot is dimly lit, bathed in the orange glow of a few streetlamps, but it feels like the most open space you’ve been in all day.

You and Yura walk side by side, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers. You’re hyper-aware of the state of your clothes. How your jeans feature two prominent charcoal handprints on the thighs, and a quick check in your phone screen earlier confirmed a dark smudge slashed across your left cheekbone. You look like a disaster.

You feel absolutely alive.

"So," Yura starts, swinging her car keys around her index finger with a wicked little smirk. "First class officially in the books. Look at you, surviving the beginner-level chaos without a single tears-induced bathroom break."

"The night is still young," you joke, though a genuine smile tugs at your lips. "But yeah. I didn't run away. Even when the paper started staring back at me."

"And you shouldn't. For a first attempt at breaking your brain, that watering can showed real promise," she teases, bumping her shoulder against yours as you both stop between your parked cars. She leans against her driver's side door, crossing her arms and looking you up and down with an amused spark in her eyes. "This was a pretty massive first step, Y/N. Forcing yourself out of the cubicle, re-learning how to see, letting yourself be messy..."

She pauses, her smirk widening into something distinctly mischievous.

“If this class is your first step in rediscovering art... is your date with Yoongi your first step to rediscovering him?" She asks.

The sudden shift in conversation hits you out of nowhere. You freeze, your hand halting halfway to your car door handle.

"What?" You blink, your brain scrambling to catch up. "My... my what with Yoongi?"

"Your date," Yura says, pronouncing the word with exaggerated clarity.

"How do you even know about that?!" You exclaim, your voice dropping to a harsh, panicked whisper as you glance around the empty parking lot.

Yura bursts out laughing, a loud, triumphant sound that echoes off the brick facade of the art center. She holds up her hands in a mock surrender, though she doesn't look remotely guilty.

"Okay, okay, full disclosure," she chuckles, leaning in closer. "The guys have a ‘guys only group chat’. The Parking Lot Philosophers. They named it that because they think it makes them sound smart. But really, they named it that because they stand around gas station parking lots trying to figure mystery flavored candy. Anyway, Jungkook lets me read sometimes."

"He what?" You stare at her, horrified and deeply intrigued all at once.

"Apparently, the second Yoongi got home on Saturday, he panicked. Like, full-blown, existential crisis panic." Yura says, eyes full and bright.

"Why would he panic?" You ask, your heart doing a strange, fluttering flip-flop in your chest.

"Because he realized he used the word 'date' he thought he might have scared you off," Yura explains, shaking her head with a fond, exasperated roll of her eyes. "The group chat went absolutely nuclear for about twenty minutes. Yoongi drafted this massive, terrifyingly formal three-paragraph apology text to send you, trying to walk the word back."

"But he didn't send it," you say quickly, suddenly terrified that you missed a giant wall of text.

"No, thank god," Yura laughs. "Namjoon literally had to step in and stop him."

You lean your head against the roof of your car, a mix of pure embarrassment and a strange, bubbling warmth washing over you.

"I can't believe this," you mutter into the cool metal of your car, though you can't stop the massive grin spreading across your face. "We are just spending the day together. Just like I did with everyone else. "

"Everyone else isn't Yoongi.” She gives you a tight smile. “You weren't engaged to any of us.”

You absorb Yura’s words, the ambient hum of the distant highway suddenly feeling a little louder in the silence that stretches between you.

You weren't engaged to any of us.

​It’s the truth you’ve been keeping in your nightstand since you discovered the truth. ​You look down at your charcoal-stained fingers, tracing a line on the roof of your car before looking back up at her.

​"Yura," you say softly, the playful banter completely draining from your voice. You hesitate, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "Can I ask you something? And you have to be completely honest with me."

"Always, Y/N. What is it?" She asks, turning serious.

​"Did he..." You clear your throat, staring at the orange glow of the streetlamp reflecting off her windshield. "Did Yoongi ever date anyone else? While I was... ‘gone’?"

​Yura hesitates. It’s only a fraction of a second, but you catch the slight stillness in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart down to her keys before locking back onto yours.

​"He did," Yura says gently, her tone dropping into a quieter, more careful register. "I'm not going to lie to you and say he lived like a monk in a cave for years, Y/N. He’s human. He tried."

​Your heart does a strange, uncomfortable squeeze…not quite jealousy, but a sharp, hollow ache of reality. Of course he did. Years had passed. The world kept spinning, people kept living.

​"Anyone... serious?" You ask, hating how small your voice sounds in the cool night air.

​"No," Yura answers instantly, and this time there is zero hesitation in her voice. She steps away from her car door, crossing the small gap between your vehicles to stand closer to you. "He dated a few women over the years. A couple of casual setups through co-workers, one girl he saw for a few months who worked near his school. But it was never anything serious. At least, not on his end."

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“They were ….nice…. I guess.” She shrugs. “But…I don't think he could really ever let himself be open to others like that again. Not like how they needed him to be.”

“I shouldn't have asked that.” You shake your head. “I mean… I was going to get married to someone else.”

Yura doesn’t say anything right away. Slowly, she reaches out and takes your arm, her grip firm. She doesn't mind the charcoal smudging her sleeve.

"Yeah," Yura says softly, her voice entirely devoid of judgment. "You were. But there’s a difference, Y/N."

You look up at her, the orange streetlamp catching the serious, fiercely protective look in her eyes.

"You were building a life with someone else because you thought your past was completely erased. You were moving forward with the pieces you had left," she says gently. "Yoongi was trying to move forward because he thought his past was pretty much dead. Those are two completely different kinds of survival."

She gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, letting the words sink in.

"Neither of you did anything wrong," she continues. "You don't need to feel guilty for trying to live, and he doesn't either. But the point is... those other people? They were just chapters you both forced yourselves to write because you thought the book was already finished. But now? You're both standing in the same room again. The book is wide open."

You let out a long, shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding. She’s right. The guilt, the hesitation, the fear of what had happened during those missing years. It was all just negative space. The empty, messy darkness around the actual object.

And the object, standing right in front of you, was a Saturday with Min Yoongi.

"Now," Yura says, breaking the heavy mood with a sudden, sharp grin as she steps back toward her car. "Go home, scrub the charcoal off your face before you scare your neighbors, and stop overthinking this. He's panicking in a group chat because he thinks he used a scary word, Y/N. The man is entirely at your mercy. He always has been."

A genuine laugh escapes you, bright and clear, melting the last remnants of the tension.

"I'll see you next week, Michelangelo," she calls out, unlocking her car with a loud beep. "Don't wash your jeans too hard. I think the handprints give them character!"

As you watch her car back out of the lot and disappear down the street, you turn to your own reflection in the dark glass of your driver's side window. You really do look a mess. You're smudged, dusty, and completely unraveled from the neat, organized corporate shell you've been hiding in.

You pull out your phone, your thumb hovering over Yoongi's contact name. The text thread is quiet. No three-paragraph formal apologies. Just his last message confirming the time.

Your fingers leave a faint, gray smudge on the screen as you type out a quick response.

You: Just finished my first art class. I failed miserably and I have charcoal everywhere.

You: I'm still on for Saturday. Don't walk the word back.

You hit send before you can lose your nerve, slipping the phone into your pocket. As you start the engine and pull out of the art center parking lot, your heart is beating fast. Not with the suffocating panic of the insurance cubicle, but with the wild, unpredictable adrenaline of a blank page.

​"Outdoors? Brilliant! Spectacular! A visionary move, Y/N!" Hobi had cheered earlier, literally doing a little spin in the hallway when you proposed the idea.

​Your plan is deceptively simple but high-energy. The kids will lay down massive rolls of butcher paper on the grass, trace their outlines with thick markers, and then let them paint their giant, life-sized selves however they see fit.

​Currently, the courtyard is a glorious battlefield of creativity.

​"Hobi! Look! I have purple wings!" Minjun shrieks, pointing proudly at his paper double.

Hobi, who is currently wearing a bright yellow apron over a tie-dye shirt, gasps dramatically. He drops to his knees on the grass next to the boy's drawing, hands clutching his cheeks in pure, unadulterated awe.

"Minjun! A purple-winged superhero? The neighborhood is finally safe! But wait…do the wings have glitter capabilities? This is crucial information." Hobi smiles.

​"Yes!" Minjun laughs, instantly grabbing a handful of green sequins and tossing them wildly into the air.

​"Arts and crafts hazard!" Hobi yells playfully, shielding his face with a laugh that rings out across the lawn like a bell.

He looks over at you from across the courtyard, giving you a flashing, proud smile and a massive thumbs-up. ​You laugh, shaking your head as you turn back to the little girl lying at your feet.

"Alright, Hana, keep your arms out wide like a starfish. Ready?" You ask.

​"Ready!" She chirps, squeezing her eyes shut like the marker might tickle.

​You kneel on the grass, pressing your palm against the paper to steady it as you drag a thick black Sharpie around her tiny sneakers. Your hands are clean today at least, they were until ten minutes ago when a rogue blue paint explosion claimed your left forearm. But after surviving the watering can incident with Yura on Tuesday, a little acrylic paint doesn't scare you anymore.

​As you trace the curve of Hana's shoulders, a shadow falls over your workspace.

"Are you aiming to turn the entire youth of the neighborhood into abstract art?"

The voice is quiet, a low, gravelly rasp that cuts straight through the high-pitched screams of the children. Your heart does a sudden, violent acrobatics routine against your ribs.

You look up.

Yoongi is standing at the edge of your butcher paper.

"Don't you have students?" You ask, with a small smile.

"They're practicing scales. I told them if they could play a perfect C major five times in a row without looking, I'd give them a break," Yoongi says smoothly.

"Yoongi!" Hobi shouts, clapping a heavy, paint-smeared hand onto Yoongi’s pristine black shoulder.

Yoongi flinches slightly but doesn't pull away, merely sighing with a deeply practiced air of long-suffering patience.

"Hobs. You're getting yellow on me. I have to go back to the keyboards after this." Yoongi sighs.

"It adds character! Just ask Y/N!" Hobi beams, winking at you conspiratorially. He leans in closer to Yoongi, his voice dropping into a stage whisper. "So, the group chat was pretty wild the other night, huh?"

Yoongi’s ears instantly turn a vivid, violent shade of pink. He shoots Hoseok a glare that could melt steel.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Go back to your director duties. Don't you have a superhero with glitter to supervise?" Yoongi asks.

"Right! Duty calls!" Hobi winks at you.

Yoongi clears his throat, coughing into his fist as he looks anywhere but at you. The fierce, untouchable aura he usually carries completely evaporates, leaving behind the man who had panicked over a three-paragraph text.

"I can't believe him," Yoongi mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I think he's great," you counter, a massive grin breaking across your face. "And for the record, Yura told me everything. I would have loved to read that text."

"I am going to kick Jungkook out of that group chat." Yoongi closes his eyes for a brief, agonizing second.

When he opens his eyes, he steps closer to you. He looks down at your paint-stained arm, then back up to your eyes.

"You really aren't scared off?" He asks.

"At this point," you say softly. “I think it's going to take more than calling today a date to scare me off.”

He studies your face for a moment, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, before falling down to the grass.

"Good." He whispers.

"Y/N! I need more blue!" Hana interrupts, tugging aggressively on the hem of your shirt.

"Oh! Right, coming, Hana!" You smile at her and move to get up from the ground.

"I'll get it," Yoongi interrupts smoothly.

Before you can object, he walks over to the supply table, picks up a giant pump-bottle of blue acrylic paint, and returns to Hana’s paper outline. He drops down onto the grass once more, completely uncaring of his dark jeans meeting the dirt, and pours a neat dollop of blue right into the center of the drawing's head.

"Are you making my hair blue?" Hana asks, eyeing his beanie and his dark clothes suspiciously.

"Blue hair is cool," Yoongi says, his voice dropping into that quiet, gentle tone he uses when he's trying to coax a nervous kid to touch the piano keys. He picks up a thick foam brush and hands it to her. "Trust me. I've had it. It makes you run faster."

"Really?" Hana’s eyes go wide.

"Absolutely." Yoongi nods.

Hana doesn’t need to be told twice. She snatches the brush from Yoongi’s hand with a fierce nod of determination and immediately begins violently spreading the blue paint across her paper head, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in deep concentration.

​Yoongi watches her for a second, a soft, gummy smile gracing his features before he pushes himself back up to his feet. He brushes a stray blade of grass off his knee, though he completely misses a streak of blue paint that has managed to find a home on his thumb.

"Go go go!" Hana commands, completely dismissing both of you as she uses her entire forearm to smear the blue paint into a massive streak. "I'm going to be faster than a race car!"

​"Keep your eyes on the track, lightning," Yoongi murmurs, stepping backward out of her immediate splash zone. He catches your eye, the soft corners of his gummy smile still lingering before he clears his throat, slipping his hands back into his pockets. "I should... go make sure nobody has passed out from playing C major."

​"Right. Don't let them slack off," you laugh softly as you get up, adjusting the plastic apron around your waist. "I'll see you at two?"

​Yoongi halts his retreat for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a quiet, steady weight that makes the chaotic noise of the courtyard fade into a low, distant hum.

"Two o'clock. Don't wash the paint off your arm too quickly." He smirks.

​With a subtle, parting nod, he turns and disappears back through the double glass doors of the community center, leaving you with a racing pulse and a very impatient five-year-old demanding green sequins for her shoes.

By the time the parents arrive to collect their bright, multi-colored children, the lawn looks like an explosion at a crayon factory. You spend the next twenty minutes helping Hobi roll up the paint-soaked butcher paper.

"You are a lifesaver, Y/N!" Hobi says, hoisting a trash bag full of empty paint bottles over his shoulder. He looks at you, his eyes instantly tracking the blue smudge on your forearm and the rogue smear of green that had somehow migrated to your chin. "Look at you. A true artist."

"I'm just embracing the chaos, Hobi," you laugh, wiping your brow with the back of a relatively clean wrist.

"As you should!" He beams, giving you a quick, encouraging nudge with his elbow as you both head back inside. "Go on, get cleaned up. You've got places to be!"

Ten minutes later, you’re standing at the sink in the communal restroom, desperately trying to scrub the stubborn acrylic from your skin. You manage to save your face from looking like a watercolor painting, but your left forearm is still faintly stained a pale, robin's-egg blue.

When you step out into the main hallway, standing near the display cases of kids' pottery is Yoongi.

He’s staring intently at a deeply lopsided clay vase on a shelf, his expression so intensely serious you'd think he was analyzing a classic masterpiece. As if sensing your footsteps, his head turns. His eyes lock onto yours, and the heavy, contemplative crease between his brows instantly smooths out.

"You survived," he says, his voice a low, comforting rumble in the quiet hallway. He steps away from the display case, his eyes immediately dropping to your forearm. A tiny, almost imperceptible quirk touches the corner of his lips. "I see the blue paint won the battle."

"It's a tactical choice," you say, matching his stride as he reaches your side. "Heard it makes me move faster."

"Indeed it does," he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hey! Lovebirds!"

The loud, cheerful shout echoes down the corridor, making both of you halt. Hobi is jogging backward down the hallway toward the administrative offices, a stack of clipboards precariously balanced in his arms. He has a massive, mischievous grin plastered across his face.

"Have fun on your date!" Hobi yells, throwing in a dramatic wink.

Yoongi’s hand instantly flies out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, his head dropping as a distinct, rosy flush creeps up from his collar to the tips of his ears.

"Hoseok, I swear to god, go file some paperwork," he mutters, though there’s no real heat in it. Just the embarrassment of a man whose friends refuse to let him live in peace.

"Love you guys!" Hobi sings out, spinning on his heel and disappearing around the corner with a loud, echoing laugh.

You break first, a bright, helpless laugh escaping you. Yoongi looks over at you, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh that turns into a reluctant, quiet chuckle of his own.

"I’m kicking him out of group chat too," he mumbles, shaking his head as he guides you toward the heavy glass exit doors. "They’re like children. All of them."

"I think it’s sweet," you tease, pushing the door open and stepping out into the late afternoon air.

The parking lot is pretty much empty now as you stop between your two cars. You look down at your paint-stained arm, then up at Yoongi, who has stopped a few feet away.

"So," you say softly, your heart taking a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. "Where are you taking me, Yoongi?"

Yoongi takes his hands out of his pockets. He steps into the small space between you, the golden sunlight catching the dark, warm depths of his eyes. The nervous, group-chat-panicking man is gone, replaced entirely by the unmovable presence of the man who used to hold your world together.

"Somewhere quiet," he says, his voice dropping into a gentle, reassuring register that completely settles the butterflies in your stomach.

He extends his hand toward you, his fingers open, completely unbothered by the faint blue smudge still visible on his own thumb.

"Ready?" he asks.

You look out the passenger window, blinking at the brick archway and the immaculate, manicured green lawns stretching out under the campus lamps. A massive, brushed-bronze sign stands near the entrance pavilion, as Yoongi pulls his car into a secluded part of the parking lot.

​Your eyes trace the letters, and a strange, electric jolt goes straight down your spine.

​You know this name. It’s the exact same university stamped on the heavy, gold-embossed degree that Hoseok had handed back to you. The degree with your name on it. The degree you have absolutely no memory of earning.

​"Yoongi," you breathe, your throat suddenly feeling tight as you turn your head to look at him. "Why are we at our old college?"

​Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into the back seat and pulls forward a heavy brown paper bag. The scent of melted sharp cheddar, sourdough bread toasted to an absolute, buttery perfection, and a hint of garlic instantly fills the cabin of the car.

​Ten minutes ago, he had pulled up to a food stand on the corner of a busy avenue. He had told you to stay in the car before disappearing. He’d returned with this bag, completely refusing to tell you what was inside until now. He unrolls the top of the brown bag, pulling out two neatly wrapped squares of parchment paper.

​"Gourmet grilled cheese," Yoongi says softly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he hands one over to you. “That food stand stays open late for the college kids. You used to text me at one in the morning sometimes making me take you over there.”

The parchment paper is warm against your palms as you look from the wrapped sandwich to the sprawling brick campus outside.

You stare down at the parchment paper, the warmth radiating through your palms, before looking back up at the brick buildings of the campus. It’s strange how a place can look so entirely unfamiliar, yet feel so familiar at the same time.

Slowly, you peel back the layers of paper. The scent hits you first…sharp, comforting, and intensely familiar.

You take a bite.

The buttery taste of the sourdough crunches between your teeth, followed by the rich, sharp pull of the melted cheddar. It is spectacular, but as you chew, a sudden, sharp sensation pinches the back of your brain. It isn’t a thought. It’s a physical pull, like a hook catching onto a line buried deep underwater and dragging it violently to the surface.

Your eyes wide, your breath hitches, and the campus outside the window disappears.

The air is so biting and cold it burns your lungs with every breath. Huge, heavy flakes of snow are tumbling from a dark night sky, blanketing the campus in an unblemished, blinding white. You are walking down a paved path, laughing so hard your chest aches.

You’re drowning in a thick, oversized black hoodie that clearly doesn't belong to you. The sleeves completely swallow your hands, and you have to repeatedly bunch the fabric up at your wrists just to keep your fingers free.

"I am losing a toe. I am actively losing a toe to frostbite, and it's entirely your fault," a voice groans beside you.

You look over to see Yoongi, his nose and cheeks bright red. He has a black scarf pulled up to his chin, his shoulders hunched so high against the wind they’re practically touching his ears. He looks utterly miserable, but there’s a stubborn, protective way he keeps his body positioned on the outside of the path, blocking you from the worst of the freezing wind.

"You're fine, Yoongi! It's barely below freezing," another voice yells from a few paces ahead.

Taehyung is walking backward in the snow, a brilliant, boxy grin on his face. He’s wearing a ridiculous, fluffy trapper hat with the earflaps bouncing wildly as he steps. In his hands, he’s carefully balancing a steaming paper cup of tomato soup from the exact same food stand.

"Easy for you to say, you're wearing three coats!" Yoongi snaps back, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. He glances down at you, reaching out with a gloved hand to yank the oversized hood of the sweatshirt further down over your freezing ears. "And you. You're a thief. That's my favorite hoodie."

"It's mine now," your own voice laughs, muffled by the fabric. "And you love me, so you won't take it back."

"We will see about that," Yoongi mutters, but his hand lingers on your shoulder for a second, a quiet warmth cutting through the freezing air.

"Hey, watch this!" Taehyung calls out, attempting to do a dramatic pirouette in the snow while holding his soup. His boot catches on a hidden patch of ice. "Whoa…!"

Time seems to slow down. Taehyung’s arms flail wildly. The paper cup launches from his hands, turning upside down in mid-air. A massive, vibrant splash of red tomato soup paints a perfect, tragic arc across the pristine white snow.

Taehyung lands flat on his back with a soft, heavy thump.

The silence that follows lasts for three seconds. Then, Taehyung lets out a tragic, dramatic wail into the night sky, staring at the empty cup in his hand.

You and Yoongi burst out laughing. Yoongi’s laugh is loud. His eyes crinkling into tiny, happy slits as he doubles over, entirely forgetting about his frozen toes.

You blink rapidly, the dark interior of the car rushing back into focus.

The warmth of the grilled cheese is still in your hands, but your heart is hammering wildly against your ribs. The echo of Yoongi's young, unburdened laughter still feels loud in your ears. You look over at him, your chest tight with a mixture of awe and a lingering, phantom cold.

Yoongi is watching you intently. He hasn't even unwrapped his own sandwich yet. He’s leaning against the driver's side door, his dark eyes searching your face, tracking the sudden wideness of your eyes and the way your hand is trembling slightly against the parchment paper.

"Y/N?" He asks softly, his voice cutting through the remnants of the memory. "You okay?"

You swallow hard, clearing the sudden tightness in your throat.

"Taehyung," you whisper, turning your head to look out at the snowless, green campus lawns. "Taehyung dropped his soup. His tomato soup. In the snow."

A sudden, breathtaking silence fills the car.

Yoongi’s entire posture freezes. His eyes widen just a fraction, a profound, quiet awe washing over his features. He lets out a slow breath, his head tilting slightly as a soft, incredibly tender look replaces the tension in his face.

"You remember that?" He murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, reverent register.

"I... yeah," you say, a breathless, stunned laugh escaping your lips. "We were walking right out there, wasn't it? It was freezing. He tried to do a spin, and he spilled it everywhere. He looked so devastated." You turn back to look at Yoongi, your eyes scanning his face as the details of the memory solidify. "And you were complaining the entire time about losing a toe."

"Because it was negative ten degrees, and you insisted on walking across campus instead of taking the shuttle or driving," Yoongi defends himself, but there is zero heat in it. A beautiful, genuine gummy smile breaks across his face, the exact same one from the memory, instantly bridging the gap between the past and the present. "I had to give you my hoodie because you refused to wear a proper coat."

"I remember," you say softly. You look down at your hands, tracing the edge of the parchment paper.

The warmth of the memory settles into your chest, but with it comes a curious, lingering detail. You remember the easy, comfortable banter, the way his hand had lingered on your shoulder, the way you had teased him about loving you. But there hadn't been that feeling of being couple yet.

It had felt... lighter.

You look back up at him, gathering your courage.

"Yoongi... when did that happen?" You ask, your voice quiet and direct. "Were we... were we dating then?"

Yoongi’s smile softens, turning into something a bit more nostalgic, a bit more careful. He shifts slightly in his seat, resting his forearm on the steering wheel as he looks at you.

"No," he says gently, shaking his head. "We weren't. That was... three, maybe four months before I finally asked you out."

"Really?" You tilt your head, genuinely surprised. "But it felt so... close. The way we were talking."

"We were inseparable by then," Yoongi explains, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he looks down at his own sandwich and takes a bite. He chews, swallowed by his own thoughts for a moment, before looking back at you. "You were always in my space, and I was always in yours. We just hadn't put a label on it yet."

You take another bite of your grilled cheese, the sharp cheddar tasting even better now that it has a history attached to it. The warmth in your chest expands, making the car feel incredibly small and intimate. You look out the window at the manicured lawns and then back at him, a playful thought crossing your mind.

"Yoongi?" You ask, tilting your head. "Did you really bring me all the way to our old college campus just to get sandwiches?"

Yoongi lets out a low, amused huff, shaking his head as he sets his wrapped sandwich down on the center console.

"No," he says softly.

He turns in his seat, leaning his arm against the steering wheel, and points a finger through the windshield. His eyes guide yours past the main pavilion, toward an older, three-story brick building nestled beneath a canopy of large oak trees. It has a slightly weathered, classic collegiate look.

"That building right there," Yoongi murmurs, his voice dropping into a gentle, reminiscent register. "That's dorm rooms over there. That's where I first met you."

Your breath hitches slightly. You look at the building, trying to see if another hook will drag a memory to the surface, but this time, the canvas in your mind remains blank. You turn back to him, eager, your heart doing that familiar, expectant flip-flop.

"Tell me," you say and a soft, nostalgic smile touches Yoongi’s lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you.

"There was a party," he says, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "Some end-of-semester bash that the third floor threw together. It was loud, crowded, and entirely too hot inside. Jungkook had been harboring this massive, pathetic crush on Yura for months, and he was finally brave enough to ask her to come."

You can't help but smile, entirely able to picture a younger, panicked Jungkook trying to act cool.

"Yura showed up," Yoongi continues, his gaze locking onto yours, his dark eyes softening completely. "And she brought you. Her friend from art class."

He pauses, his smile widening into a faint, beautiful gummy grin as the details of the past wash over him.

"You had just come straight from the studio because Yura practically dragged you out by your wrist. You had a streak of blue paint dried right into your hair, near your temple that dragged down to your ends, and for some reason I still don't entirely understand. You were absolutely covered in glitter. It was on your arms, your clothes, your face."

"Glitter? Really?" A laugh escapes you.

"Seriously. You looked like a chaotic star," Yoongi murmurs, his voice incredibly tender. "I was standing by the kitchen counter, trying to avoid the crowd, and you walked over to grab something to drink. We both reached for the exact same red solo cup at the exact same time."

He takes his hand out of his pocket, holding his thumb up. The very same thumb that still bears a faint, pale smudge of robin's-egg blue from helping Hana in the courtyard earlier.

"Our fingers brushed," Yoongi says softly, his eyes tracing the lines of his own hand before looking back up to lock onto yours. "You pulled your hand back, apologized, and flashed me this bright, completely unbothered smile. And when I looked down at my hand... my thumb came away covered in green glitter."

He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating with a deep, enduring warmth.

"I spent three days trying to scrub that green glitter off my skin," he whispers, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had been marked by you from the very first second. "But the truth is, I think I knew right then, standing in that cramped dorm kitchen with glitter on my hands, that I was never really going to get rid of you."

You take a final bite of your grilled cheese, suddenly realizing you’ve been holding it halfway to your mouth for the last five minutes. You swallow, wiping your hands on napkins Yoongi hands you, and look out at the old brick dorm building. The warmth from the food and the sheer weight of his story make the car cabin feel entirely too small.

​"Come on," you say softly, reaching for your door handle. "Show me."

​Yoongi blinks, a little surprised by your sudden initiative, but a soft smile quickly follows. He packs the parchment wrappers back into the brown paper bag and sets it aside before stepping out into the evening air.

​The car doors click shut, and campus wraps around you both. You walk side by side across the empty asphalt and onto the manicured green lawn, the grass soft beneath your sneakers. Yoongi doesn't head toward the main entrance of the dorm, though. Instead, he guides you around the side of the building, navigating a stone pathway that cuts through a thick cluster of old, sprawling oak trees.

​You follow him closely, the golden glow of the campus lamps casting long, dancing shadows ahead of you. Just past the edge of the building's brick foundation, the path opens up into a hidden, architectural alcove. It’s a small, stone-paved courtyard tucked beneath a concrete overhang, shielded from the wind and completely invisible from the main quad. A concrete bench sits against the brick wall.

​Yoongi stops in the center of the alcove, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looks around the quiet space.

​"This is it," he says.

​"What did we do here?" You ask, stepping up beside him, your eyes tracing the worn concrete.

​"We worked," Yoongi explains, a nostalgic huff escaping him. "The dorms were always too loud, and the library was too sterile. So we came here. Even when it got a little chilly, we'd just bring jackets. I would lose myself in my music on my laptop, while you sat right there on that bench and drew in your sketchbooks."

"We spent hundreds of hours in this exact spot. We wouldn't even talk for three or four hours at a time. We didn't need to. We just shared the space." ​He looks over at you, his dark eyes reflecting the warm orange light of a nearby lamp.

​A visual tugs at your mind…not quite a full memory, but a feeling of absolute safety, the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard pairing perfectly with the harsh scritch of charcoal on paper.

​"Didn't the music distract me?" You ask softly.

​"No," Yoongi murmurs, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. "We used to wear matching headphones."

"Matching?" ​You blink at him.

​"Yeah." Yoongi reaches into the heavy black bag he had carried out of the car with him. He unzips the main compartment, his fingers searching for a moment before he pulls out a large, heavy pair of over-the-ear studio headphones.

​Your breath hitches in your throat.

​The headphones are scuffed and clearly well-loved, but what catches your eye…is the thick, slightly peeling strip of bright rainbow-patterned tape wrapped securely around the top arch of the headband. It's exactly what Yura had described to you.

​"They were yours," Yoongi says gently, holding them out to you. "I bought a pair to work with, and a week later, you bought the exact same model. We kept grabbing the wrong ones out of our bags, so I went into your art supplies, pulled out this ridiculous rainbow tape, and wrapped it around yours so we could tell them apart."

​You slowly reach out, your fingers brushing against the smooth plastic and the textured edge of the tape. The rainbow pattern is bright, loud, and entirely chaotic. The exact kind of mess you’re realizing you used to love.

​"They're still in perfect condition," you whisper, looking up from the headphones to his face.

​Yoongi doesn't look at you. His eyes are fixed on the scuffed plastic in your hands, his jaw tightening slightly. The soft, nostalgic warmth that had been carrying the conversation for the last hour suddenly shifts, dropping into a heavier, much more fragile territory.

“I need to apologize to you, Y/N." Yoongi whispers.

"Apologize? For what?" You blink, caught off guard.

​"For everything else," he says softly. He finally looks up, and the raw, vulnerable honesty in his dark eyes makes your breath catch. "Having you back... seeing you try so hard to piece everything together... It made me realize how much I took away from you by trying to protect myself."

​He steps a fraction closer, the orange lamp light catching the deep line of conflict between his brows.

​"When we... when the accident happened, and your parents took you away... I couldn't handle it," Yoongi confesses, his voice cracking just a bit before he forces it steady. "Every shelf in our apartment, it was all just a physical reminder of what I’d lost. Your extra sketchbooks, the coffee mugs you left behind, your old sweaters... it felt like living in a haunted house."

​You hold the headphones tighter against your chest, listening to the quiet agony of a past you weren't there to witness.

​"So, I gave it all away," Yoongi whispers, a look of profound regret washing over his face. "I packed up every single personal thing of yours that I had and I gave it to everyone. I told them to take it, hide it, burn it, do whatever they wanted with it. I just... it hurt too much to keep it. I was weak, Y/N. I forced myself to erase your presence from my life because I was trying to survive the ghost of you."

​He lets out a heavy, ragged sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

​"And now you're back. You're back, and you're looking for pieces of your old self, and I don't have them. I threw away your history because I couldn't handle the weight of it. I am so incredibly sorry. I'm just thankful that they kept it all."

You look down at the headphones in your hands. The single, solitary item he couldn't bring himself to part with. ​Slowly, you step toward him, bridging the small gap between you. You reach out and gently touch his forearm.

​"Yoongi," you say softly, waiting until he looks down at you. "Look at me."

​He raises his eyes, looking entirely exposed under the dim campus lamps of the alcove.

​"Yura told me something in the parking lot on Tuesday," you say, a gentle smile touching your lips. "She said that I was building a life with someone else because I thought my past was erased. And she said you were trying to move forward because you thought your past was dead."

​Yoongi’s shoulders drop a fraction as he absorbs your words.

​"You don't need to apologize for surviving," you tell him firmly. "You thought the book was finished. Anyone would have tried to close it. You kept my ring….and the fact that you kept these..." You lift the headphones slightly. "...means you didn't erase me. You just kept the pieces that mattered most. The part where we shared space."

Your fingers tighten slightly around the rainbow-taped headphones. The peeling edge of the tape catches against your thumb, and another strange ache moves through your chest…not painful exactly, just heavy with the shape of something missing. You look down at them for a long moment before glancing back up at Yoongi.

“Can I ask you something?” You say quietly.

“Anything.” Yoongi nods immediately.

“What was my favorite song?” You ask.

For a second, genuine confusion flickers across his face. His brows pull together slightly, like the answer should be obvious.

“You don’t even remember that?” He asks softly and you shake your head.

He doesn't hesitate. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. His fingers move across the screen, searching for a moment before he selects a track. ​He doesn’t turn the volume up to a blast. He holds the phone out between you both, letting the audio play in the quiet stone alcove.

"You used to hum this constantly," Yoongi’s voice drifts in over the intro. "You didn't even realize you were doing it. Half the time you were sketching on this exact bench, your foot would be tapping to this rhythm. There's an old video on my hard drive of you working on a canvas, completely lost in your own head, just softly humming this exact chorus under your breath."

​As the chorus hits, a strange sensation ripples across your skin.

It is familiar.

However, it's not familiar from your dream where it sounded like it was under water. It wasn't familiar from you humming it from your cracked phone. No…this was…real. You heard this in person.

The quiet room away from Hobi’s chaotic hallway. Walking away from Taehyung after handing back the scrapbook, taking that tentative, terrifying step into the room where Yoongi sat hunched over the exposed strings of the piano. Sitting right beside him on that worn wooden bench, watching his fingers press those exact notes.

​“Are you sure about that?” He had asked you then, his voice a low, knowing voice before he turned back to the ivory keys.

“You played it in the music room.” You look up at him as he nods at you.

“I always find myself playing it when I miss you,” he admits.

You look down at the rainbow tape on the headphones, then back up at the faint blue smudge on his thumb. The pieces of your past are scattered, and some are completely gone, thrown into the fire of a grief you never had to witness but are only now beginning to understand. You don't have the memories of the late-night laughs, the shared hoodies, or the exact moment you realized you were falling for him.

​But looking at him now, seeing the raw devotion in his eyes, the pink flush still lingering on his ears, and the steady, unmovable way he stands by your side…you realize you don't need a map of where you've been to know exactly where you are.

​"Yoongi," you say softly, your voice steady despite the rapid fluttering of your heart.

​He locks his eyes onto yours, completely attentive, waiting for whatever you have to say next.

​"I don't remember loving you," you whisper. Yoongi’s expression softens as you step closer, closing the final gap between your bodies. “But…I want to.”

​Yoongi’s breath hitches. His posture freezes, his eyes widening in a rare moment of complete, unscripted shock.

​Before he can overthink it, before he can draft a three-paragraph mental response or let the ghosts of the past crowd the room, you reach up. Your hand finds the collar of his shirt, and you pull yourself up, pressing your lips gently against his.

​He is entirely taken aback. For a fraction of a second, he doesn't move, his mind clearly scrambling to process the sudden, wild shift in the universe. But then, a low, ragged breath escapes him. The shock melts away, replaced instantly by a deep, instinctual surrender.

​Yoongi gives in.

​His hand comes out of his pocket, his palm sliding up to cradle the side of your waist with tentative care, as if he’s terrified you might vanish if he holds too tight. The kiss is soft, quiet, and completely devoid of urgency. It tastes like the lingering warmth of toasted sourdough, the crispness of cooling of the evening air, and a quiet promise stretching out into the dark.

​It isn't a dramatic, sweeping explosion. It's a gentle line pressed onto a completely blank page.

​When you slowly pull back, your breath fans across his lips. Yoongi’s eyes remain closed for a second longer, his forehead leaning gently against yours as he takes a slow breath. ​A faint, beautifully breathless gummy smile breaks across his face, his thumb softly brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

​"Well," Yoongi murmurs. "That definitely wasn't in the group chat."

​A bright, genuine laugh escapes you, the last remnants of the heavy silence evaporating into air. You lean into his touch, holding the scuffed headphones tight between you, ready to start writing the very next chapter.

<Next>

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Yoongi's day doesn't officially start until 9 am. That's his office hours, from 9 am to 5 pm; he goes through files, replies to emails, calls the maintenance crew for apartments that have requested it, and collects rent due from his tenants. It's not a hard job; it's honestly a little boring, but as a landlord, it has its benefits.

And one of those benefits comes from the security cameras he has placed around the complex. It's allowed him to charge rent for a higher price under the guise of security and protection, and it's a bonus for him when his day comes to a close.

By 5:15 pm, he's upstairs in his apartment, turning on his television as he sits on the couch. On his TV screen, he's got six cameras on display, all showing the inside of your apartment.

He had installed the cameras himself, personally selecting where to put them while you were away at work one day. And you had been none the wiser, the same goes for the few pairs of panties he had stolen after he finished setting up the last camera in your bedroom.

And it's like clockwork. 5:30 pm rolls by, and you enter his TV screen. His eyes focus on the way you toe off your shoes, dropping your keys onto the kitchen counter before you hang your bag on the back of one of your three bar stools. It's a routine he's learned you've had, and it still piques all of his interest while you make it further into your apartment.

Yoongi knows this is wrong. Installing the cameras without your consent and watching you in his free time, but he can't help himself.

His eyes flicker between all six cameras, following you as he leans back into his couch. You make your way through your living room, heading straight to your bedroom, and he watches as you leave a trail of clothes in your wake. This is another habit of yours.

You are completely naked by the time you make it to your bathroom, and his eyes snap to the camera that displays it all as you grab a fresh towel. He watches as you drag it back into your bedroom, and Yoongi's breaths deepen as he realizes what you're doing. His cock swells, straining against his pants as you climb onto your bed, and it's when you put a towel over one of your many pillows that he finally breaks from his trance and moves.

His fingers unbutton his slacks with ease, his eyes never leaving his television as he shoves them down. His cock is already hard, curving up to his stomach as you straddle your pillow, and when your head falls back, his cock weeps a fresh trickle of precum.

The first roll of your hips is a test. The friction you're craving is met when your pretty pussy drags along the towel-covered pillow just right. He can see your mouth drop, your eyes squeeze shut, and it's times like this that he wishes he had added audio to the cameras.

He's only talked to you a handful of times, always brief and polite, so he can only imagine how it would sound if you moaned his name. What noises would you wouuld make when your chubby cunt drools with arousal?

The thought of your pretty pussy glistening wet makes him groan out loud, his hand grabbing his cock to stroke from the base, up, until his thumb swipes his precum around the tip as your hips move with deeper rolls.

You're gorgeous, chasing your own pleasure all alone. He can see the way your body rocks, your tits moving with each hump, and he can't help but think about the first time he saw you.

-

Yoongi had first noticed you during the summer. You were already a tenant when he took over the apartment complex, and he hadn't formally introduced himself to anyone quite yet.

And to be honest, he didn't think anyone would be out this late. Summer brought the neighborhood kids to the pool from the moment the sun was up until it disappeared again. But now, it was close to midnight, no one should be awake, and yet here you were.

Yoongi had stepped out onto his balcony above the leasing office to smoke and to contemplate where his life was heading when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes flicked over to the pool that was lit up softly, giving the water a glow, and giving him enough light to see you step out of the water.

Yoongi had seen beauty before. Women who smiled with promises of more, who were wrapped up delicately like a neat bow. But it was nothing like this; his eyes landed on you, and time stopped - something inside him stirred, and all the noise in his head quieted.

His cigarette balances between two of his fingers as he watches you quietly grab your towel. Your oversized wet t-shirt clings to your body, hugging every curve and roll as you bend over to dry yourself off. He gets a perfect view of your ass, your legs, how the wet shirt rides up, and his cock twitches the longer he stares. But then you're covering up, stopping him from seeing anything more as you wrap the large beach towel around your shoulders to keep warm.

He doesn't light his cigarette; he waits, watching you lean down as he has an internal crisis. His heart stutters, his cock swells, and his other hand clutches onto the balcony rail for stability. He can barely hear you coo softly, and when Yoongi thinks he's having a heart attack, he sees a black cat saunter out from the darkness. It sits right in front of you, a little chirp coming from it as you rub its head affectionately, and Yoongi curses under his breath.

He's fucked.

-

The memory flashes quickly across his mind. His eyes are still watching you rock your hips back and forth, your pace building as the pleasure grows, and Yoongi is right there with you. He squeezes his cock, stroking to match your pace as dribbles of his precum stain his hand and roll down his shaft, filling his apartment with lewd 'schlick' noises as he tugs on his aching cock to the image of you.

This had been his routine of late. Watching you come home tense, stressed, and in need of relief. Sometimes you'd step in the shower, using the showerhead to find relief between your thighs, leaving Yoongi to stare at the outline of your figure that your shower curtain blurred. Other times, you'd bring out a pretty toy, set it up, use some lube, and give Yoongi a show (not that you knew he was watching), and Yoongi would stare captivated as you rocked back into the dildo like a cat in heat.

But this, with you humping a towel over a pillow, had been the most recent favored choice. You'd been coming home more pent up, and Yoongi was pretty sure most of your stress came financially. The inflation of the economy grew every year, but most people's income did not. It results in a lot of people living paycheck to paycheck, and it didn't help that people like Yoongi existed.

He knew the cost of living was tight. He knew that it wasn't just him but other landlords who were using the inflation of everything else to up their own prices. He knew he didn't need to; he had enough tenants to make the bills and then some, but it was all just greed in the end of the day.

And he was a greedy man.

It shows as his greedy eyes focused on the way your hips rolled erratically. The friction of the towel rubbing on your pretty clit leaves your thick thighs twitching, your head bowing as you shuddered through an orgasm alone.

Yoongi's eyes threaten to flutter closed the moment you reach your orgasm. His cock jerks as he fucks up into his fist, but he refuses to close his eyes; he doesn't want to miss a minute of you riding out your orgasm.

His legs were spread wide on his couch, his slacks shoved to mid thigh as his balls tensed up, and the first splurt of his cum landed on his stomach as he watched you. His mouth drops as he groans, rope after rope of his hot, creamy seed spilling from his mushroom tip, coating his hand and cock in white as he kept stroking.

He imagines how it would feel to cum inside you, to be the one to fuck your stress away. His cock twitches at the thought, and another splash of his cum squeezes out. And it's while he thinks about all the ways he wanted to have you, that you're getting up onto quivering legs. You grab the towel, throwing it in your laundry basket before slipping into your bathroom.

The shower switches on, and Yoongi's now watching camera four. The view inside your bathroom shows you waiting for the shower to warm up. You stare at yourself in the mirror, cupping your full breasts, turning to the side to look at your round stomach, your ass, and Yoongi might get hard again as you twist and turn to look at yourself.

But that's when he comes up with an idea.

-

Normally, when a tenant's lease is about to expire, he sends a notice to their doorstep. It's basic information regarding when their lease ends, how much it will cost to renew, how much it'll cost to go month-to-month, and that if you plan to move, he'll need a 30-day notice.

Your lease isn't due soon, but Yoongi chooses to show up personally at your doorstep on Saturday morning anyway. He knows you have it off, and he holds the folded piece of paper in one hand as he knocks on your door.

His heart races as he stands tall, and he knows this is wrong, but the depraved part of him yearns to see this flourish.

When you open the door, you don't expect it to be Yoongi on the other side. You recognize him from the leasing office, and it has you pulling your robe tighter around your soft body as you look up at him.

Yoongi was the type of handsome you'd conjure up when reading a dark romance book. His dark hair was cut in a shaggy wolf cut that grew longer in the back. He wore multiple rings on his lithe fingers, stacked silver bracelets on his wrists, and there was a noticeable scar that dragged over his right eyebrow down to his cheek.

He was devastatingly handsome, but in a way that you knew was dangerous.

And you proved yourself right when his lips curved up into a devilish grin. He doesn't say good morning or sorry for waking you up so early; instead, he lifts the folded white piece of paper up between two fingers like you had dropped it. "Just came by to give you this - new policies, inflation, we need to make sure each tenant is aware."

It sounds believable. And you ignore the tingles that race up your arm after your hand meets his. You grab the piece of paper, unfolding it in front of your landlord as you begin to read.

And Yoongi watches in real time how your mind races, your eyes rounding as you see the additional fees suddenly added onto your lease. You can barely afford rent, and if you add the new amount - you're fucked.

You can't afford to take time off from work to look for a new place, you probably couldn't find a decent place near enough to work anyway, and you definitely didn't have the money to move all your stuff either way. And you don't mean to let it slip, but your mouth moves faster than your mind as you tell him. "I-I can't afford this."

Your eyes meet dark brown ones, and you don't realize you are exactly how Yoongi wants you. Vulnerable, desperate, and looking to him for help. Fake empathy adorns his features with ease, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as your fingers crumble the paper in your hand unknowingly. "I know, it's not me, it's coming from the people above me."

Yoongi's lies come out easily. Almost like he practiced the sympathy smile before coming here. His mind swishes through multiple thoughts at once. You smell amazing up close. Your chubby thighs are on display with how your robe falls just above the middle of your thighs. And he can tell you're only wearing panties underneath that flimsy robe; it's a fact that he got from checking on his cameras before coming over.

The cold morning air blows, and your nipples peak against your silk robe as you stand frozen before him. Yoongi's mouth salivates from the sight while yours dries up at the sudden news.

Silence falls over you both as your mind reels for solutions that come up empty, and Yoongi is stepping closer. You can feel the heat that rolls off him as he runs a hand through his hair. He's acting like he is unsure, his eyes flickering from the glimpse of cleavage he gets to see from your robe before turning his head to see if anyone is outside or seeing this. Seeing him.

"I uh," his voice is softer, alluring, as he grabs your attention. You're barely registering that he is no longer outside your doorway but actually two feet inside your apartment. "I don't think I should be doing this-" he hums, and something heavy grows in your lower stomach. Your thighs rub, squeezing together as he looks you in the eye, and you catch the glint of something dark a little too late. "But maybe, maybe I could pay your fees for this month."

The air leaves your lungs all at once. If he did that, you'd be able to make rent. If he did that, you wouldn't have to worry about being evicted for at least another month.

"You-" Your lips part, your tongue wets them, and Yoongi tracks the movement with a keen eye. "You would do that? For me?" Your eyebrows furrow, your cheeks flush, and you mistake the twist in your heart as hope. "I- oh my, I would be so grateful! I don't know how I could ever repay you!"

And that's when Yoongi's lips pull up into a wolfish grin. This must be how predators feel when they catch their prey.

"Oh, well, I think we could figure something out."

-

Yoongi knew this was how it was always going to go. He has you lie on your back, your robe falling open, and giving him the perfect view of your full breasts and stomach. Your face is flushed up to your ears, your eyes all round, and innocent that it makes his cock strain against his slacks wantonly.

You were so easy to coax into showing him your bedroom. And you were so easy to agree to let him do this. He likes to think you are just as depraved as he was, selling your body to him just because he can help you with your lease.

And he's going to take good care of you. Get you to make such pretty noises as you let him do what he wants.

His palms grab your ankles, sliding up your legs until you spread your thick thighs for him. "So pretty," he hums, and your face flushes as he exposes your chubby cunt to his hungry gaze.

Your panties barely cover you, and the thin fabric is embarrassingly damp. Your panties are saturated with so much of your slick that it sticks to your puffy wet folds like a second skin. And if Yoongi were a better man, he'd take his time, give your pretty pussy a good inspection, and eat you through your panties until you were crying.

But he's too impatient.

He honestly didn't think he'd get this far, and he didn't think your body would respond to him so well. It feeds his ego, his cock throbbing with need as his fingers hook into your ruined panties. "Is this all for me?" He asks, dragging the scrap of fabric down your hips and legs until you are left in just your robe. "Fuck baby, you're dripping wet."

Yoongi's words make you hot. Your body is rising in temperature as you whimper. You don't see him shove your panties in his back pocket, but you do watch him unbuckle his belt, his fingers dragging his zipper down nice and slow for you.

"You just need a good fucking, huh? Your pretty head shouldn't have to worry about money. You shouldn't have to think about anything but cumming, huh?" Yoongi pushes his jeans down, smirking, his eyes focused on how your pussy flutters, agreeing with him.

You can see a prominent bulge in his boxers, the outline of his cock making your mouth water as he stands between your open legs. He pushes your plush thighs open wider, his multiple rings on his fingers cold on your heated skin.

Yoongi's thumbs part your wet folds, giving him an intimate view of your pretty pussy and making your eyes gloss over as he groans. "You're just perfect, aren't ya?" And before you could give him a reply, his fat thumb circles your clit, applying enough pressure to make your jaw drop in surprise.

The moan you let out is music to his ears. Your thighs are falling farther apart as his free hand squeezes your soft thigh in appreciation. He works on your sensitive clit like a toy, getting you from wet to gushing in mere minutes, your body arching and begging for more.

And again, if he were a better man, he'd prepare you. He'd have you cum first on his tongue and then his fingers a few times before he has you cream on his cock. But he's been wanting this for so long that the moment your arousal can be seen dripping onto your sheets, the last threads of his sanity are snapping.

You barely realize his hands slip away from you to shove his boxers down before you're feeling him guide his cock to your pretty pussy. There is no discussion, no time to really think about what you're allowing him to do before he's sinking the first few inches inside your chubby cunt with a low groan.

His cock is big, and he's bullying your gummy walls apart to take him deeper, inch by mouth-watering inch. The stretch makes your fingers curl into the bedsheets as he keeps pushing forward. "That's it, take all of me. So good f'me, baby." He praises, and your eyes roll back.

When he bottoms out, it's like you can feel him in your lungs. The tufts of hair at his base tickle your clit, and his balls rest on your ass as you try to adjust to his size. Drool forms on the corner of your mouth when his tip kisses the back of your cunt with ease, and your moan comes from the back of your throat. "Oh fuck," you curse, and Yoongi takes that as his cue to slide almost all the way out.

He leaves just his fat tip inside your quivering pussy, your walls spasm around the head of his cock greedily before he snaps forward. His thrust knocks the breath from your lungs and has your mind blanking as he smacks into your cervix like it was his to bruise.

And then he does it again, and again, slamming into you with enough force to make you forget everything but the shape of him he carves into your sopping cunt.

Yoongi holds your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you to meet his nasty thrusts until your eyes cross. The room fills with your cute little "ah!" and "ohs!" as he draws his name along your cervix with his tip. Your pussy squelches filthily with each deep thrust he gives, and it's better than he could have ever imagined.

Your pussy slurps his cock deeper, sucking him in like you don't want him to leave, and it's got his jaw clenching in restraint. If he doesn't focus, he'll cum too soon, and he wants to keep enjoying this. The tip of his cock smacks into the sweet spot inside you harder because of it. He builds your orgasm fast, alarmingly so, and you're scrambling to warn him or possibly run away, but he's having none of it.

"You tryin' to run, Baby?" He huffs with a lovesick grin. Your pussy is making him feel more delirious by the second as he drags you back. "No, don't do that. You can take it- want you to make a mess and cum on my cock. I can feel it, you're close. Are you going to show me how grateful you are f'me?"

Yoongi pulls your orgasm from you with a wicked grin. Your scream echoes as you cum hard. It brings tears to your eyes, your hands grabbing his wrists where he holds you by the hips to keep you in place.

And his pace never falters. He doesn't stop fucking you. Fucking you through your orgasm until it builds right back up again. He reduces you to babble, begging nonsense until you're creaming for the second time, his name the only thing you can cry out in salvation.

Yoongi won't mention that the fees are fake. That he made them up to get you just like this, teary-eyed and dumb off his cock. Instead, he plans to hold this over you. Because soon enough, you'll be all his, and you'll want to be his. It just might take a couple more orgasms until you get that through your pretty head.

But no worries, he'll take care of you.

대박 - you made it to the end.

Tell me about it.

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 🤪

“Come on, come on!” Luna nearly shrieked with excitement. She would’ve been a bunny if she wasn’t human. 

You sighed, tilting your head up to the sky and breathing out a deep sigh. May the Lord bless you with enough patience today. You let her pull you into the shelter as she told the receptionist, “Kim Luna. I have an appointment today.” 

You could see the eyes of the receptionist bulging out of her sockets as she looked between the both of you. The receptionist frantically searched for the appointment schedule before bowing. “Ah, Ms Kim.” Sweat was visibly beading down her neck. “A specialist will come for you soon. Please, take a seat!”

The both of you sat down as Luna gushed. “I actually can’t believe they finally - finally - let me come. Mom was always pushing for better, well-bred hybrids while Dad always was fine with anything - as usual. But when he heard I chose this shelter he was angry. He didn’t want ‘scum coming home’ was what he said.” She sighed. “Told him to piss off.” 

You snorted. You could never see her telling her Dad to ‘piss off’. The sentiment, probably, but she was too much of her father’s daughter to say that directly in his face. 

The both of you went silent as you heard hurried footsteps coming in your direction. A petite lady walked over to the both of you, nervous but stern. “There will be no overstimulation on the hybrids, grabbing, and harsh treatment towards the hybrids. No food will be allowed in the hybrid areas either. As we move on from different types of hybrids, please remember to stay thoroughly sanitised.” 

The both of you nodded at her instructions. “Ms Kim, this is your plus one today?” She pointed to you. 

“Yes.” Luna nodded. “Her name is in the appointment form I filled in.” 

It was?

The lady in white referred back to the papers she had in her arms. “Ah, yes. Ms L/N Y/N.” You nodded and the lady took a note down. “Alright ladies, my name is Jung Haneul, one of the main specialists in the facility. The brief has been gone through so we can proceed.” 

You were definitely going to question her later. 

She led both of you through a sanitation process while asking, “The form stated that you are interested in seeing domesticated hybrids, more specifically dogs, cats, and their smaller partners?” Luna nodded. “Do you have specific breeds in mind or any preference?” 

“No.” She replied and the lady - Haneul - nodded. 

“Through here would be the smaller hybrids, for example, hamsters, bunnies, guinea pigs, and more. As they are smaller and under the prey category, these hybrids tend to have frisky, scared characteristics. It takes a while for some of them to warm up.”

As the both of you walked into the room, it was obvious which group of hybrids were silent and which group was more energetic. A good half of the hybrids came bounding in your direction, grasping at your clothes to get a latch and pull themselves up. You kneeled down, giving them more access to you. The hybrids started to crowd you as you passed Luna a few of them. 

As the hybrids started losing attention towards you and went to Luna, figuring out that she was the one adopting, a pair of rabbit ears caught your eye. You turned to Haneul, asking, “What breed is he?” 

Haneul looked at the rabbit you were pointing at. “Ah, that’s Jungkook. He is a white mini rex rabbit.” You nodded. “But I recommend you to not approach him. He can be quite aggressive when approached.”

Well, duly noted. 

Once Luna figured out that these little ones weren’t what she would bring home, she got up, sticking out a hand for you. “Let’s go. I wanna see the rest of the hybrids before I make a decision and I know,” She stared you down with a look, “That your ass wants to go home.” 

You shrugged. Honestly, she was right. Your social battery had been at an all-time low after the company dinner a few days ago. You do not usually join those parties but your boss had phrased it in a very demanding way this year and therefore, you were all forced to go. 

You took her hand and the both of you proceeded. The system was the same from going to new rooms to meeting new hybrids and different breeds. They easily latched themselves onto the both of you, some more aggressive than the rest but living with animals, you were pretty used to their teeth and claws by now.  

You were a family of 6 and being the youngest child of four, you were very much doted on. However, your family loves pets. Whether they were stray or domestic, they were always taken in as a part of your little family. 

You were petting one of the sleeping hybrids in their animal counterpart forms when Luna bounced over to you, effectively waking up the sleeping dog. It whined and snuggled deeper between your legs. Your hands returned to stoke its ears. 

“Y/N, I think I found her.”

Your brows raised. Her?

“Her?” You questioned. 

Luna nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. My hybrid.”

You looked around, trying to detect the one your friend was talking about. You would like to meet this hybrid before she adopts it. 

You found your friend’s new little buddy huddled up in a ball at the edge of the room, under the pile of blankets and climbing wall. Its wiggly form peeked its head out of the blankets but upon seeing you, shot back in. 

Disappointed you were, but you understood. Luna carefully approached the hybrid and coxed her out of her shell. “Come on now, she’s my friend. She won’t hurt you. In fact, she works to save your kind and does a hella’ good job at it.” You kicked her side as she boasted to her soon-to-be-hybrid. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled. 

As much as it was a bit over the top, Luna managed to grab her out of the blankets, shoving her in your face. Your hands instinctively held the small Rottweiler puppy. She was very much full-grown by the looks of her human form but small for her breed. 

Haneul popped over saying, “Ah, you found Byeol!” She gave her a scratch behind her ears. “Due to certain mutations done in the laboratory, she is much smaller than her peers. She may be jumpy at first but after getting to know her, she is a very playful one.” Haneul patted the dog - Byeol’s head.  

“I’ll take her,” Luna said, suddenly getting up from the position she was sitting a few minutes ago. 

The puppy - Byeol - started barking in excitement and somehow, it aches your heart knowing that a simple thing such as giving them a home can make them so happy when simple things like shelter should be a given. 

As Haneul took the pup from your arms, the receptionist gave Luna some adoption papers to sign off. That left you with some free time on your hands. You walked back to the prey room, instantly locating the white rabbit. You gave him a little wave but he buried himself deeper under the blankets. 

You sighed and turned away, not wanting to agitate the bunny any further. By the time you went back to the living hall, Luna was holding the hand of an unknown hybrid. Oh, it’s Byeol. You took a good look at the hybrid. 

Just like Haneul had said, she sure is a lot smaller than the Rottweilers that you have encountered. Skinny, slightly malnourished, and very scared at this point in time. It was obvious that it had been a while since the poor hybrid had felt comfortable enough to shift into her human counterpart form. 

“You sure you don’t want one?” Luna asked as the both of you left the shelter with her hybrid in tow. It walked a few steps behind the both of you before Luna held her hand and pulled her between the both of you. 

You nodded. “Right now, I don’t think I have the capacity to take care of one.” Although, the white rabbit in the shelter kept coming to your mind. It had looked so sad when you were leaving as if it was hoping that you would give him a pet before leaving. It pulled at your heartstrings to see such sorrowful eyes from such a tiny hybrid. 

You shook your head. No, you truly have no time for this now. You weren’t even sure if you could properly take care of yourself, lest to take care of another life. 

“Okay…” Luna looked at you funny. “If you change your mind, we can always come back.” 

You nodded, thanking her for the sentiment. As the three of you settled into the car, Byeol suddenly whined, vigorously shaking her head at the offending vehicle. The two of you looked at her. 

“Byeol, please?” Luna begged her hybrid. “It’ll just be a short ride, I promise.” 

Byeol whined even louder, suddenly shifting into her animal counterpart and scurrying away. You were quick to grab her before she went too far. Like a baby, you cooed and carefully rocked her, walking in circles around the car. The act significantly calmed her down. You placed her in the front seat, tucked between mountains of blankets. 

She started shaking a little but did not seem as frantic as she did. Luna looked at you with grateful eyes. “I’ll have to learn that from you.” 

You laughed softly. “It comes with living with pets.”

The ride back home was silent, your brain constantly going back to the rabbit hybrid. Jungkook was his name. You sighed heavily. Getting out of the car, you gave Byeol a scratch behind her ears and thanked Luna for the ride. 

“Get home safe.” You nodded and waved at the retreating vehicle. You really didn’t know what to do. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

It wasn’t a few days later that you found yourself standing outside the same shelter but this time, you were going to adopt. 

You took a deep breath and walked in, steeling your nerves. 

“Hello, welcome to Homes for Springs! How can I help you?” It was a different receptionist this time, you noted.

“Hello,” You were glad your voice didn’t waver. “I have an appointment under Ms L/N.” As the receptionist handed you a set of forms, you sat down, waiting for the specialist to take you over. 

“As you have been here before and went through the briefing, you are free to enter.”

You nodded, grateful that you didn’t have to awkwardly stand there listening to the specialist talk. As you entered the room, your eyes immediately scanned the surroundings for a specific breed. As your eyes locked eyes with it, it jumped back. You cautiously manoeuvred around the hyperactive hybrids and made your way to him. 

The specialist realised where you were going and held out a hand. “I would suggest you don’t approach him. He can be quite aggressive.”

Right, nothing you haven’t already heard before. 

When you continued in the exact direction, the specialist didn’t say anything, however, the rest of the hybrids started to wander off. It seems that there was some sort of radius territory around this little dude. So you stood still and observed. You were now at the edge of his territory, where hardly any hybrids dared to venture close to. Most of them were very skittish to be this close. 

So you sat down, legs folded and palms facing up - welcoming. “Hey, heard you are one frisky one.” You smiled at him. “Hi Jungkook, I’m Y/N.” 

The rabbit bounced backwards as if it was shocked that you knew its name. However, it slowly hopped over, nose hard at work, sniffing cautiously as he neared you. You didn’t move - didn’t dare to move in case you scared him away. When he was arm’s length away, your fingers itched to stroke those long bunny ears. 

So soft and fluffy. 

You broke out of your trance when you felt something climbing onto your legs. Well, more like trying to. You slowly moved your hands, picking him up and placing him on your lap. His little paws moved around in your sweats, pawing at them before curling up. 

You almost cooed at how the oh-so-aggressive little rabbit is curling up and sleeping between your legs. The both of you sat there in silence until Jungkook got up and perched his little head onto your lap instead, nearly sliding down if he didn’t find purchase on your sweats. 

He nudged your hand with his snout, looking up at you with a glare as if scolding you when you couldn’t get what he meant. 

“Oh, you want pets?” You asked. You needed his approval before you touched him. Hybrid ears and tails were very sensitive and you didn’t want to overstep a boundary. 

Jungkook nudged your hand harder. 

“Okay, okay.” You slowly petted him between his eyes and snout, slowly progressing to the top of his head and ears. A loud purr emitted from him as you rubbed the base of his ears. Jungkook shot up, startled as he buried himself deeper into you. 

You held in your laugh. 

“Miss, shall we move on?” The specialist called out to you. 

You looked down at the rabbit that is now looking at you with those doe eyes and it just solidifies your reason to be here. You carefully picked him up, bringing him close to your chest as he started to fuss. 

“Do you wanna come home with me?” You brought him to your eye level. You knew he understood you but you asked again. “Do you wanna come?” 

Jungkook had stilled in your hands, eyes looking straight into yours. The both of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. If this was a cartoon show, you could hear the crickets chirping in the background dramatically. 

Suddenly, Jungkook fussed around in your hold, causing you to let him go as he scurried away. You sighed and got up. 

Guess he doesn’t want to. 

There would be nothing left for you since you came for him. Just as you were leaving the room, you felt a weight on your heels. Looking down, you found Jungkook with a long blanket trailing behind him. So you crouched back down to his level, asking, “Do you want to come home with me?”

He nodded, hopping around you. 

You picked him up, wrapping him in the blanket he trailed along, going over to the specialist. “I’ll take him, please.”

The specialist looked at you like you’ve gone mad. “He is a troublesome one,” pointing to Jungkook with a look. “Are you very sure?”

You nodded. 

“If he causes any trouble, feel free to bring him back.” The specialist sighed and you felt Jungkook burrow deeper into the blanket. You felt bad and started stroking his ears. 

As the specialist took Jungkook from you, you signed the papers given to you by the receptionist and when Jungkook came back in a cage, you slowly took it from her, hoping that the sudden movement wouldn’t jostle him too much.