#bts imagines

19:52 - jungkook: come over?

of course, you were already on your way. jungkook loved to text you that randomly throughout the day whenever he felt like seeing you, no matter the hour or whether he knew you were busy. and every time, you’d show up. because jungkook was irresistible, intoxicating - and he had no doubt about it.

you didn’t really know what pin to put on your relationship with jungkook, you weren’t exactly dating. he called, you came. you called, he came. it was easier like that, less complicated.

trying to be serious with jungkook was practically impossible anyways. he was spoiled, incredibly wealthy (thanks to his parents), impatient, and overly bratty.

he lived in a massive penthouse, spent his days gaming or working out in his home gym with his equally wealthy friends, and went out to clubs or parties at night.

here you were, walking into his penthouse wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie - your post work outfit. you suspected he’d be in his gym, but you soon realised he wasn’t alone. nope, you heard laughing and talking - taehyung.

kim taehyung was one of jungkook’s other rich friends, he was around often enough for you to know he was three things: idiotic, childish, but also ridiculously good looking.

you rolled your eyes, what was he doing here? you always hated encountering his friends, it just made everything more awkward.

walking into the gym, you spot jungkook mid workout - shirtless, his shorts hanging low, sweat dripping down his abs, black calvin klein boxers peaking out. his arms are pumped, the veins bulging out. you then see taehyung, sprawled on a bench nearby, scrolling his phone.

jungkook instantly spots you in the mirror, his eyes darkening. "you came." the sweat sheening over his skin makes the ink of his tattoos pop - you drag your eyes down his sleeve, across his shoulder blades, over his ribs. every muscle is flexed, defined, hard. he catches you staring at him in the mirror, a knowing smirk touches his lips. he curls the dumbbell one last time, veins exploding in his forearm, before dropping it.

taehyung gets up from the bench and walks past you. "hey, sunshine." he smiles, tapping your shoulder on his way out. "i'm gonna hit the shower, see you."

as soon as the door clicks shut, the entire vibe shifts. the gym falls silent, echoing with the sound of your breathing. jungkook drops the weight, spinning around to face you. "c'mere."

you go over to him, he immediately pulls you onto his lap - already hard. “hey. i thought it was only you? taehyung is here.”

jungkook grinds up against you as soon as you’re sat, his hardness presses insistently between your thighs. his arms lock around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty chest. his lips begin to trail your neck. "he's in the shower." he murmurs. “won't hear a thing." he nips at your ear. “you said you were coming over."

you sigh, leaning into it. “yeah, but i thought you were alone.”

he pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours, jaw clenching. "i was alone. tae showed up unannounced thirty minutes ago to work out." his hands squeeze your hips. "i told him to leave, he wouldn't." he rocks you forward again - it’s subtle, desperate. his cock twitches against you through your thin leggings. "i can't wait anymore, i need you." his forehead drops to yours. “please.”

uncertainty fills your tone. “he’s still here, though.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, pulling you closer until your nose presses against his. his chest is hot, the muscles trembling slightly - the afterburn of his workout mixing with arousal. “he's in the bathroom, the shower’s running." his thumb gently rubs your hip bone. “we have time, y/n. quick." his lips brush yours, barely a kiss.

you pull away slightly. you don’t really want to have sex whilst taehyung is here, able to come in at any moment. it’d be so embarrassing, you might die on the spot. “but what if he comes back?”

“then he'll see." jungkook counters, his hand sliding up your thigh, under your hoodie. his touch is possessive. "he already knows i like you, thinks we're fucking anyway." the admission hangs heavy. you frown at that, but jungkook doesn’t care, his fingers find the waistband of your leggings. he doesn't wait, he slips two inside to find you wet. "see?"

“oh.” you moan softly, trying to focus on his touch instead of the thought of taehyung. it echoes slightly in the empty, mirror-lined room, the weights clink in the silence. jungkook's eyes lock onto yours in the reflection. he watches your face - lips parted, eyes fluttering as he starts to rub slow circles against your clit.

"look at us." he commands, his voice low and rough. “in every mirror. you’re so fucking pretty like this."

you look up, meeting the reflection of yourself - flushed, mouth open, breathing heavily - you can’t help but feel a little shy projected on the mirror like this. jungkook obviously notices. "don't hide." he murmurs, feeling you bury your face in his neck. he hooks his chin on your shoulder, forcing you to look at the reflection.

"watch." his fingers press deeper, faster. you see your legs spread over his massive thighs, his tattoos flexing as he works you. "see how pretty you look?" he whispers, biting your earlobe.

jungkook doubles his pace, circles becoming rapid, flicking across your clit with punishing precision. your body arches, your reflection shows your head falling back, eyes rolling. “that's it." he watches you crumble in the mirror. your thighs gripping his waist, your orgasm hitting hard. “look at yourself."

your thighs already start to shake, you whimper. “oh, fuck—“ jungkook covers your mouth with his free hand, still working you through the aftershocks, his lips curl against your ear.

"shhh." he breathes, amusement thick in his voice. "moaning like that...tae's gonna walk in and see you falling apart on my lap." his fingers slow, now lazily stroking, overstimulating. "what would he think?"

you’re too consumed with pleasure to reply, jungkook smiles. "you're supposed to be the quiet one, aren't you?" he teases lowly, feeling your pussy flutter around his fingers. "he'd never guess you make noises like that, like a little sex addict." he chuckles. "should i tell him?"

you roll your eyes. “fuck off.” but it’s muffled by his hand over your mouth.

jungkook laughs, his chest vibrating. "fuck off?" he removes his hand from your mouth. "you just came on my fingers and that's what you say? i think someone’s a little ungrateful." he pulls his hand out of your leggings and brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you, then hums “sweet.”

you keep looking around at the mirrors, they almost intrigue you a little. jungkook watches you in the reflection. your swollen lips, the flush creeping down your neck. your eyes - half lidded, dazed, yet locked on the sight of you. him now behind you, fingers slick with you. “it's hot, isn't it?" he murmurs. "seeing yourself like this. knowing anyone could walk in and see what i do to you. anyone able to see how good you are for me."

you bite your lip and nod, it is. jungkook suddenly pulls your leggings and panties down to your knees in one swift motion, the air hits your wet core. you gasp, thighs trying to close, but he spreads them wider. "you're so exposed." he breathes, admiring you from behind. "legs shaking, cunt glistening. all that pretty pink swollen from my fingers."

you whimper as he pushes you against the cold mirror. your hands slam flat, fingers splaying. he lifts your top half up, pushing your hoodie and bra up to expose your back. jungkook’s large hands grip your hips roughly, positioning you exactly how he wants you.

the sound of tearing foil blesses your ears next. your reflection watches him pull out a black wrapper - always black and expensive, never boring. he rolls it on with one hand, not breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as his veiny cock slicks into the latex. thick, heavy, already leaking pre-cum. "stay still." he commands, positioning himself behind you.

jungkook grips your hips, fingers digging deep into your soft skin, and lines himself up. “look in the mirror, pretty." he demands roughly. "watch me take you the way you fucking deserve." without warning, he pushes inside. one deep, thrust that buries him to the hilt. you gasp loud, palms slipping against the glass.

"quiet." he grits out. jungkook knows you like it rough, he doesn’t hesitate to give you that. when another loud moan escapes you, his hand clamps over your mouth again, silencing you. he starts to fuck you slow and deep - dragging out, then slamming back in until your thighs shake. he watches your reflection, your eyes rolling back, your mouth forming silent O's against his palm. he leans close, lips brushing your ear. “feel how deep I am?"

you nod, still moaning against his mouth. your eyes are half lidded, not watching the mirror anymore, too blinded by pleasure. you look so fucking pornographic, jungkook thinks he might cum in 2 seconds. his pace quickens slightly, hips snapping against your ass. the sound echoes through the gym - skin on skin - obscene.

"you know how many times i've jerked off in here?" he grunts between thrusts. “staring at this mirror. imagining you bent over just like this." he grips your hair, forcing you to look at your reflection again. "pictured you every time." you look down, jungkook’s body is a fucking masterpiece in motion. ripped back muscles flexing with every thrust, tattoo of a snake coiling around his bicep, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shoulder, the way his abs contract when he leans forward to bite your neck.

“look at us." he commands again, watching the reflection. "see how good you take my cock?" he muffles his own grunts against your shoulder, trying to stay quiet. but you can feel his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He's failing - soft, choked groans escape his lips every time he buries himself inside you. he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat. he’s not squeezing, it’s just there, possessive. "keep looking."

the reflection before you makes you want to collapse. jungkook behind you, one tattooed hand on your throat whilst the other presses against the mirror to keep you still as he pounds into you. your eyes flick up to his face - he’s breathing heavily, mouth wide open as he tries to be quiet, his messy hair sticks to his forehead slightly from sweat.

he spins you around suddenly, bending you over the weight bench nearby. your ass is pushed back, your thighs parted. the angle in the mirror is devastating - your arched back, your breasts pressing down, his cock sliding back in. jungkook looks huge behind you. the contrast between your softness and his hard, tattooed body is obscene. "fuck." he exhales, watching the reflection.

your bodies are slick with sweat, the bench creaks under your weight. his hips snap into yours with relentless force - deep, grinding thrusts that hit your sweet spot over and over. your breath hitches as you try to stay quiet, but little whimpers keep escaping. jungkook grits his teeth, jaw clenching.

he leans over your back, chest pressed against you. his lips brush your ear while he keeps thrusting - slow, deliberate, devastating. "you think tae can hear us?" he whispers, his breath hot. "think he's standing outside that door right now? cock hard, listening to you getting fucked like a little slut?" jungkook’s thrusts deepen, making your knees buckle. "maybe he wishes it was him."

“oh, fuck.” your swear makes him grin against your neck. he loves how his dirty talk makes you unravel.

"he probably has his hand on his dick right now." he groans, picturing it. “it’s tiny, not like mine.” he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your neck. "i bet he’s listening to you moan, knowing I'm balls deep in this tight, dripping pussy." jungkook starts to thrust even harder, using the bench for leverage, your tits bouncing on the leather. the mirror shows everything - the way his cock stretches you, the wet sounds, the way your legs tremble.

"gonna make you cum again." he pants. "right on my cock, so fucking loud, so fucking good."

he hits that spot, the one that makes your vision white, your eyes roll back instantly. that sweet spot gets abused - hard, rhythmic strokes that wreck your spine, make your knees buckle. “fuck!” it’s impossible to continue keeping quiet, you clamp your hands around the bench.

"shhh..." jungkook covers your mouth immediately. "fucking keep it down, you slut." you see yourself in the mirror - a wrecked mess. mouth covered, eyes rolling, ass bouncing. "that's it." he knows exactly how to wreck you. angles changing, hitting that spot deeper. faster, more relentless. his hand slides around to rub your clit in tight circles while he pounds into you. it’s overstimulating, cruel.

your orgasm hits harder than the first, your whole body convulses. your muffled scream dies against his palm. the feeling of your orgasm triggers his own. no warning, just a guttural groan vibrating through your spine as he blows hot and hard, your name dying on his lips. jungkook buries deep, holding there, pumping load after load inside the condom. his chest heaves against your back, sweat drips onto the bench. your thighs are shaking violently now, you’re completely wrecked.

jungkook collapses over you, pressing his forehead into your sweaty shoulder, both of you panting heavily. your legs are trembling violently, the bench beneath you starts to creak. "holy fuck." he breathes out. a rough, ragged sound. he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss, then ties off the condom. he kisses the back of your neck, your shoulder - lazy, satisfied.

both of you then hear the bathroom door open.

oh shit.

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thank you for reading, baby mwah

main m.list • navi

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

"Let's check out the beer house tonight." Hanni said, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I heard it's packed with rich people on Fridays."

Your brows knitted together. "A beer house?"

A knowing smirk tugged at Hanni's lips. She swept her dark hair into a messy bun before pulling out the chair beside the table, giving the seat a light tap as she gestured for you to sit.

The moment you settled across from her, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in…There was a familiar gleam in her eyes—the kind that only appeared whenever she had a new scheme brewing. 

"It's one of the most popular beer houses in the city," she explained. "The drinks alone cost more than what we spend on groceries in a week. People who go there don't think twice before throwing money around, which means they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for."

You couldn't help but picture it.

Crowded tables, loud music and half-empty bottles scattered across polished wooden counters. Men laughing far too loudly, their faces flushed from alcohol, expensive watches gleaming beneath the dim lights while thick leather wallets bulged inside the pockets of tailored trousers.

You frowned, unease settling in your chest.

"I'm pretty sure it'll be full of drunk old men, Hanni." you rested your chin against your palm. “Doesn't that sound a little... dangerous?”

Hanni dismissed the concern with a careless wave of her hand.

"They'll be too wasted to notice us," she said with a shrug. "Besides, those are the guys with money. A few missing bills won't even cross their minds."

She leaned even closer, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal the greatest secret in the world.

"Just give them a sweet smile," she said, the corners of her lips curling into something dangerously playful. "Make them think you've taken an interest in them. Laugh at their terrible jokes, let them believe they're charming..." 

She snapped her fingers between the two of you. "And before they even realize what's happening, you've already walked away with their wallet—or better yet, their credit cards."

A life built on stolen fortunes, calculated manipulation, and carefully crafted deception.

The words no longer sting the way they used to. They've become as familiar as your own name, each one another thread woven into the person you've become. What once filled you with guilt now slips through your fingers as though it was never yours to carry.

Perhaps that's what desperation does.

It doesn't ask you to become someone else. It simply teaches you how to live with the stranger you've become.

Earlier that evening, you and Hanni gathered everything you had stolen throughout the month, laying each piece across the small wooden table between you.

"We only gathered six hundred dollars this month, Y/N... This won't be enough."

A phone, a handful of jewelry, two wallets, and a watch clattered against the worn wood before settling into a messy pile.

"This won't cover this month's rent..." she let out a weary sigh, her manicured nails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop as she stared at the stolen valuables and the few crumpled bills scattered between them. "And we still have enrollment next month."

Your lips fell into a pout. "But the jewelry I stole is real gold."

You reached for the bracelet, turning it beneath the light. The polished links gleamed against your fingers.

Hanni only sighed again, the exhaustion in her expression deepening.

"It's low-karat gold, Y/N. And there's barely enough of it to be worth anything." she rubbed her temple before glancing at the rest of the pile. "If you manage to steal more next time, maybe we'll actually get something decent for it."

You looked back down at the bracelet, the weight of her words settling heavier than the gold resting in your palm.

You weren't born into wealth…from kindergarten until the day you graduated high school, scholarships carried you through your education. Without them, you doubted you would've made it that far. 

College was different.

Moving out had seemed like the responsible decision at the time. Renting a small apartment near the university was cheaper than spending money on transportation every day between your hometown and campus, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask your parents for more than they were already giving. 

So you packed your clothes into two worn-out bags, hugged your mother goodbye, listened to your father's endless reminders to eat properly, and promised them you would be fine.

Your father spent his days baking homemade bread before the sun had fully risen, while your mother worked quietly as a bookkeeper, carefully balancing numbers that never seemed to balance in your own household. Together, they earned just enough to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads.

Needs always came first.

Wants became something you learned to admire from a distance.

Yet, strangely enough, you never felt deprived.

Your home was small, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knew everybody, but it was always filled with warmth. 

While your classmates spoke about family vacations abroad, arrived at school carrying luxury handbags, and replaced perfectly good shoes simply because a newer pair had been released, you found comfort in simpler things. 

The smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the kitchen before sunrise. The sound of your father humming while kneading dough. Your mother's gentle voice reminding you not to skip breakfast, even when she knew you were running late.

You loved that life.

More importantly, you loved the people who gave it to you.

Which was why, when college came, you couldn't bear the thought of asking them for more. Every dollar they handed you felt heavier than the last, weighted by sacrifices they never spoke about but could never hide. 

You watched your father work longer hours. You noticed your mother's tired eyes after another day spent staring at ledgers and receipts. They never complained…not once—but love has a way of revealing exhaustion long before words ever do.

So you promised yourself that you would become lighter.

You moved out. You searched for part-time jobs. You told yourself that no matter how difficult life became, you would survive without asking your parents to carry you any farther.

You really believed honest work would be enough.

Finding a cheap apartment hadn't been easy, and if there was one stroke of luck you could still thank the universe for, it was meeting Hanni.

You found her through a post looking for a roommate. She needed someone to split the rent, and you needed somewhere you could actually afford. 

The apartment sat only a few minutes away from the university, saving you the transportation costs you had spent countless nights calculating over and over again.

Hanni turned out to be easier to live with than you expected. She wasn't the type to spend recklessly or chase after things she didn't need. Like you, she stretched every dollar until there was nothing left to stretch. 

For the first few months, you lived off your savings.

Each rent payment made the envelope thinner. Each grocery trip reminded you that numbers disappeared far quicker than they were earned. You searched for work every chance you got, walking into cafés, convenience stores, restaurants—any place with a "Now Hiring" sign taped to the window.

When a fast-food restaurant finally hired you as a server, you thought things were finally looking up.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been so relieved. The excitement, however, didn't last very long.

The paycheck barely reached your hands before it already belonged somewhere else. Half disappeared into rent. Another portion went to groceries, transportation, and the endless expenses college quietly demanded. 

Scholarships covered your tuition, but not everything else. There were laboratory fees, books that professors insisted were mandatory, printed materials, projects, uniforms, and countless little payments that no one ever warned you about.

The money came in. It left even faster.

And no matter how carefully you budgeted every cent, by the end of each month, you always found yourself staring at the same conclusion.

It still wasn't enough.

Hanni, however, never seemed to struggle the way you did.

For reasons she never fully explained, she always had money tucked away somewhere. Not enough to live lavishly, but enough to ease the constant pressure that settled on your shoulders every time rent was due. 

Naturally, you asked where all that money came from. Hanni would only shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as though the answer amused her.

"I have a lot of sidelines," she'd say, never bothering to explain any further. 

It was vague enough to end the conversation, yet suspicious enough to keep your curiosity alive.

Eventually, you stopped asking…but you never stopped noticing. 

One afternoon she'd come home carrying the newest phone model, casually placing it on the kitchen counter while she searched the refrigerator for something to eat. 

The following day, it would already be gone. 

Sometimes it was a watch. Other times it was a gold necklace or a designer wallet. The items constantly changed, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but you never questioned her. 

It wasn't until the two of you had grown close enough that she finally trusted you with the truth. 

You remembered expecting disgust to settle in your stomach the moment she confessed. Instead, all you felt was curiosity. 

Hanni told her story so casually, as though she were recalling an ordinary childhood memory instead of admitting to a crime.

She learned how to steal when she was still a little girl. Whenever she picked up a toy at a store or tore open a packet of snacks while trailing beside her mother, no one questioned her. People rarely suspected children, and Hanni learned that long before she understood the weight of what she was doing.

What started as childish curiosity slowly became instinct. Instinct became skill, skill became confidence, and confidence eventually became survival. 

By the time she reached adulthood, stealing was no longer something she occasionally did—it was simply how she made a living. 

She wasn't born into comfort either. Her family had struggled just as much as yours, if not more, and perhaps that was why you found it difficult to judge her. 

You knew what it felt like to lie awake at night wondering how another month would pass. 

You knew what desperation looked like because you had seen it reflected in your parents' exhausted smiles, hidden behind reassuring words they never truly meant. Maybe that was why her confession never horrified you.

Desperation has a peculiar way of changing people.

Because somewhere deep inside, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you understood exactly why she had chosen this path.

"You should blend in. Don't wear those ridiculous jackets or black caps." Hanni chuckled, uncapping the marker in her hand before turning to the small whiteboard hanging beside the refrigerator. 

She drew little stick figures and arrows as if she were giving a university lecture instead of teaching you how to commit crimes. There were circles around the words confidence, timing, and exit, each one underlined twice before she tapped the marker against the board. 

It sounded embarrassingly simple…but it wasn’t.

Your first theft had been nothing more than a granola bar from a convenience store, yet your hands had trembled so violently you almost dropped it before reaching the exit. Your heart pounded against your ribs with enough force to convince you everyone around could hear it.

Every customer who glanced in your direction felt like security in disguise, every beep from the cashier sounded like an alarm, and by the time the automatic doors slid open behind you, your palms were slick with sweat around the tiny snack bar you had risked so much to steal.

Hanni, meanwhile…walked out carrying a bottle of wine, two bags of cheetos, and three packs of mini m&m's tucked somewhere beneath her oversized cardigan. She looked utterly unbothered, stopping only to ask whether you wanted to eat at the nearby park before either of you went home. 

You remembered staring at her with your mouth slightly open, unable to understand how someone could steal so much and still have the composure to worry about dinner.

She only laughed. "It gets easier."

You hated how right she was.

Over the following weeks, your trembling hands gradually learned to stay still. You learned that people rarely questioned someone who acted like they belonged. 

Confidence, Hanni often said, was the greatest disguise anyone could wear, and manipulation was nothing more than convincing people to believe the version of you that benefited them most. 

You practiced smiling at strangers. You practiced maintaining eye contact. You practiced walking away without looking back.

Little by little, it became easier to silence the guilt.

Two months later, you could finally say you were improving. Your movements were steadier, your excuses more believable, your lies smoother than they had ever been before. 

Even so, whenever you compared yourself to Hanni, you still felt like an amateur watching a professional at work. She stole with an ease you doubted you would ever possess.

"Hanni, I'm not good at seducing people... you know that." you let out a groan, dropping your forehead onto the table with a dull thud. 

For all the confidence you had slowly learned to fake while stealing, anything involving men was an entirely different story. 

You have no experience.

Your thefts still involved people, but you always kept your distance…especially from men. You waited for moments of carelessness, slipping valuables from unattended bags, distracted shoppers, or pockets left carelessly exposed before disappearing into the crowd.

It was safer that way. The rewards were smaller, perhaps, but it meant you never had to charm, distract, or make someone lower their guard just to steal from them.

After all, you were still an amateur.

Romance had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford. 

While your classmates spent their weekends going on dates or gossiping about their newest crushes, you spent yours calculating expenses and wondering whether instant noodles could count as dinner for the fourth night in a row.

Hanni had pointed it out countless times before.

According to her, manipulating people wasn't always about lying. 

With men, it was about making them believe they had a chance with you. 

The problem was…you had no idea how to do that. 

You didn't know how to flirt, how to bat your eyelashes, or how to laugh at someone's terrible jokes without making it painfully obvious you were pretending. The thought alone made your stomach twist into nervous knots.

Hanni rolled her eyes, dismissing every excuse before you even had the chance to finish making one.

"Oh, stop it." she waved a hand dramatically. "You're very pretty, Y/N. Don't give me that bullshit! Just smile at them…one cute little smile and I guarantee they'll be tripping over themselves to impress you."

You buried your face deeper into your arms."But, Hanni—"

"No buts." she sprang to her feet before you could protest again, practically skipping toward her bedroom. A moment later, she returned with two shopping bags swinging from her hands, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.

"Besides, I already bought us dresses for tonight." she giggled.

Oh, you were doomed.

"This is so short," you complained, tugging at the hem of the black spaghetti-strap dress for what had to be the tenth time. Every time you managed to pull it down another inch, it simply rode back up the moment you took another step, as though the fabric itself was determined to embarrass you.

Hanni had insisted on doing everything herself. Your hair fell in loose, natural waves over your shoulders, soft enough to hide the nervous rise and fall of your breathing. She had done your makeup too, dusting the slightest touch of glitter across your eyelids that shimmered every time the streetlights caught your face. 

Even before you reached your destination, your feet were already protesting against the thin, strappy heels wrapped around your ankles, each step reminding you that beauty demanded sacrifices you had never volunteered to make.

Hanni glanced at you before letting out an amused laugh. "I can't see your panties from here, so you're fine."

You shot her an unamused look, earning another laugh from her.

Unlike you, Hanni looked completely at ease. 

Her dark green off-the-shoulder dress hugged her figure effortlessly, paired with matching heels that clicked confidently against the pavement. Her hair was swept into a messy updo that somehow looked intentionally elegant rather than rushed, and with the confidence she carried herself, no one would ever guess that the two of you struggled to pay rent every month.

Together, you looked exactly like the kind of girls who had never worried about money a day in their lives.

Which was almost funny.

Because hidden beneath expensive-looking dresses and carefully applied makeup were two women desperately hoping to walk away with someone else's wallet, watch, jewelry—or anything valuable enough to buy another month of survival.

"Okay, let's order a drink first and look around," Hanni said, her voice barely audible beneath the chatter spilling out from inside the beer house as she pushed the heavy wooden door open.

You followed closely behind, your heartbeat already beginning to pick up.

You had spent the entire walk convincing yourself that the place would be filled with loud, drunken old men slumped over tables, too intoxicated to notice a missing wallet or an expensive watch. Instead, your expectations dissolved the moment your eyes adjusted to the dim amber lights.

The place was crowded…not just with old men, but with all kinds of people. Groups of friends occupied long wooden tables, raising glasses every time the football match playing on the massive television reached an exciting moment. Couples sat tucked away in quieter corners, talking over bottles of beer, while businessmen who looked as though they had come straight from the office loosened their ties and laughed with colleagues over overflowing pitchers.

Your gaze drifted toward the long wooden bar stretching across one side of the room, shelves behind it neatly lined with bottles you had only ever seen locked behind glass displays. The smell of grilled meat and fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter scent of beer, while a small band adjusted their instruments on the stage, preparing for the night ahead.

You quietly took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter building inside your chest. 

You had been stealing for two months now, yet every new place made you feel like it was your first all over again. The fear of getting caught never truly disappeared—it only learned how to hide beneath your smile.

Hanni walked through the crowd without a hint of hesitation, weaving between tables before claiming two empty seats near the stage. When the server approached, she greeted him with an easy smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had come for nothing more than a quiet drink after a long week.

"Two draft beers, please."

The server nodded before disappearing toward the counter.

Hanni waited until he was out of earshot before her eyes swept across the room once more, lingering only for a second before the corner of her lips slowly lifted.

"I found your table." Hanni raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a knowing smile.

You pouted, instinctively following her gaze as your eyes wandered across the crowded beer house. Round wooden tables filled nearly every corner, occupied by groups of men laughing over clinking bottles, scattered glasses, and the remnants of another round.

Of course she'd choose men. You had long grown used to Hanni's reasoning.

Men were easier to distract…and according to her, far easier to manipulate than women.

"Which one?" you asked, squinting as you searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Hanni let out a quiet laugh before leaning closer, her perfume briefly overpowering the scent of beer lingering in the air. "The third table near the bar," she whispered, careful not to draw attention. "They look a little older than us. Not too old, though." 

She grinned mischievously. "I'd say they're giving daddy vibes."

You frowned at her. “Ugh, Hanni!”

Slowly, your gaze followed the direction she had subtly pointed, finally landing on the group she had been watching.

There were seven of them gathered around one of the larger tables, completely absorbed in their own conversation. They couldn't have been much older than Hanni had guessed, perhaps somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties. 

Dressed in simple shirts, rugged jeans, and jackets carelessly draped over the backs of their chairs, they looked more like friends unwinding after a long week than the wealthy businessmen you had imagined on your walk there.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them. Yet the longer you watched, the easier it became to notice the details.

A watch that caught the light every time one of them lifted his beer. A phone left face-up beside an overflowing ashtray without a second thought. Car keys, wallets, and cigarette packs lay scattered across the wooden table between bottles of beer and half-finished baskets of bar snacks, abandoned in the comfort of good company.

They laughed loudly, occasionally teasing one another, while wisps of cigarette smoke curled lazily into the air above them. They were so engrossed in their own little world that they never once looked your way.

"What do you think?" Hanni asked, her eyes never leaving the group near the bar."I say you target that table while I take the one near the door."

Your gaze lingered on the men for another moment before dropping to the table between you. Almost as if on cue, the server returned with your drinks, carefully placing two glasses of draft beer in front of you. Tiny bubbles rushed to the surface beneath a thick layer of foam, the chilled glass immediately collecting beads of condensation.

Hanni thanked him with a smile before wrapping her fingers around her glass. She looked... excited. There was always a certain spark in her eyes before a job, one you had grown familiar with over the past two months. 

While your stomach twisted itself into knots, hers seemed to settle. The closer she came to danger, the calmer she became.

Your fingers traced the condensation gathering around your own glass as you quietly stared into the golden beer. The thought of walking up to a table full of strangers, pretending to be interested in one of them, was enough to make your stomach tighten. 

You had spent the last two months learning how to steal, how to lie without stumbling over your words, how to smile convincingly enough for people to lower their guard. 

But flirting? That was something entirely different.

Still...

You glanced down at the dress hugging your figure before absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over your thighs. Hanni had spent her own money buying it for you. She had curled your hair, done your makeup, and patiently convinced you that you looked like you belonged in a place like this. She had done everything she could to make tonight successful.

The least you could do was try.

The numbers flashed through your mind before you could stop them, reminding you how little time you had left before another payment was due. 

You drew in a slow breath before finally looking back at Hanni, offering her a small smile that carried far more determination than confidence.

"Alright," you said with determination. "I promise I'll do my best."

Her face immediately brightened. "That's my girl!"

She lifted her glass toward yours with a grin so wide it was almost contagious.

"Cheers to that, baby."

The soft clink echoed between you, disappearing almost instantly beneath the laughter, music, and the constant hum of conversations filling the beer house.

Easy…smile, flirt and steal.

After a couple of minutes spent nursing your drinks and quietly familiarizing yourselves with the beer house, Hanni caught your eye from across the table. She gave the slightest nod—a silent signal the two of you had long grown accustomed to. 

It was time.

You rose from your seat, smoothing the wrinkles from your dress before letting your fingers comb through your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. Hanni disappeared into the crowd without another word, already making her way toward her own target, while you headed in the opposite direction, forcing yourself to wear the kind of smile she had spent weeks teaching you. Soft enough to seem approachable…confident enough to belong.

The barstool closest to their table sat empty.

You slipped onto it, offering the bartender a polite smile as he passed by before pretending to study the rows of bottles displayed behind the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention never truly left the table behind you.

Your heartbeat steadied, not because you were any less nervous…but because your mind had finally begun doing what Hanni had trained it to do.

Observe.

A few wallets lay carelessly on the wooden table, abandoned without a second thought by men too engrossed in conversation to notice their surroundings. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly.

Tonight, maybe two wallets would be enough. Any more than that would only invite unnecessary attention.

Your gaze lingered for another second before drifting higher, carefully studying each of the men one by one. 

If you were going to approach someone tonight, it couldn't be just anyone. You needed the one who looked the wealthiest, the one whose watch alone could cover next month's rent, whose jewelry might be worth more than everything you and Hanni had managed to steal over the past few months combined.

You couldn't flirt with all of them. So if you were going to take the risk, you might as well choose the wealthiest one.

Your eyes drifted from one man to another, careful not to linger for too long. 

One wore a pair of silver earrings that matched the chain resting against his chest. Another—the one with dimples that appeared every time he laughed—had an elegant silver watch wrapped around his wrist, the polished metal glimmering beneath the warm lights whenever he reached for his beer. The man beside him looked much simpler, dressed in an ordinary black shirt without a single piece of jewelry to catch your attention, and you dismissed him almost immediately.

You kept looking.

Until your gaze landed on a tattooed hand lazily wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

Silver rings adorned nearly every finger, each one different from the next, and just above them rested a watch that looked far too expensive to belong in your world. Your eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he lifted the bottle to his lips, only to notice the gold chain disappearing beneath the collar of his dark shirt. 

His ear was adorned with several silver earrings, each one catching the amber light whenever he turned toward one of his friends. When he tilted his head back for another sip, the small silver ring through his lower lip glinted just as brightly.

Then your gaze wandered lower…a pair of Porsche keys hung carelessly from the belt loop of his black jeans, swinging gently whenever he shifted in his seat as though they were nothing more than an ordinary keychain.

You quietly looked away before he could catch you staring, your heartbeat quickening as your fingers curled around the wooden counter.

Target locked.

You immediately order a shot of tequila, not to get drunk, but to act drunk.

Hanni had told you that people lowered their guard around someone who seemed tipsy. A little laugh that lingered too long, a gaze that wandered a little too often, movements just clumsy enough to look believable. It made approaching strangers easier.

You thanked the bartender with a polite smile before resting your elbow against the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention drifted back to the table.

His back was mostly facing you, making it difficult to study him without being obvious. Every now and then he'd turn toward one of his friends, giving you a brief glimpse of his side profile before looking away again, and somehow those fleeting seconds were enough for you to notice far more than you intended.

His jaw was clean and sharply defined, catching the amber glow whenever he tipped his head back to drink. A straight nose balanced his features effortlessly, while soft strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting every time he ran a hand through them. Every so often, you caught sight of his dark round eyes, softened by the alcohol he'd been drinking, their usual alertness replaced by a lazy heaviness that made them unexpectedly... pretty.

Your brows knitted together. 

You were supposed to be memorizing his belongings Y/N! Not his face!

The bartender slid your tequila across the counter. You murmured a quiet thank you before lifting the glass to your lips, taking only a small sip. The burn barely had time to settle in your throat before your eyes sneakily wandered back toward the table.

"Huh?"  

His seat was empty!

Your brows furrowed as your eyes searched the group, confusion replacing the confidence you had spent the last several minutes trying so hard to build.

"Looking for me?” a deep chuckle sounded from behind you.

Your eyes widened, you turned so quickly you nearly knocked your drink over.

Even with you sitting down, he towered over you with ease, one side of his body leaning casually against the polished wooden counter. Up close, the details you had only managed to steal glances of moments ago became impossible to ignore—the silver rings decorating his fingers, the tattoos stretching over his right arm, the small hoop piercing his lower lip, and those heavy-lidded eyes now looking directly into yours.

The corner of his mouth curled upward…amused.

As though he'd caught you doing something you weren't supposed to.

"H-Hi!" you greeted, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended as you struggled to hide how badly he had startled you.

What the fuck.

For a split second, every lesson Hanni had drilled into your head disappeared. Your carefully rehearsed smile, your excuses, the confident persona you had spent two months trying to build—they all vanished the moment he caught you off guard.

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

"May I help you?"

Your own brows drew together before you could stop them, your smile faltering for the briefest moment.

"Hm?"

"You kept looking at me." he chuckled, low and amused.

There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he'd caught you staring several times already and had simply decided to humor you instead of calling you out for it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly, your mind scrambling for something—anything…that would keep your act from falling apart before it had even begun.

Trying to save yourself, you immediately gave him a flirty smile.

"Oh..." a soft giggle escaped your lips, "Was I that obvious?"

You tilted your head ever so slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at him through your lashes exactly the way Hanni had told you to. 

When he took a step closer, your breath hitched. 

His thick black boots brushed against the legs of your stool, and with the way he positioned himself, his broad frame nearly shielded you from the rest of the room. It wasn't intentional…or maybe it was—but suddenly the chatter of the beer house seemed much farther away than it had a second ago.

"Uh-huh," he murmured, the single sound barely above a whisper.

The faint scent of mint lingered beneath the beer on his breath, close enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment. Up close, the gold chain resting against his collarbone shimmered softly, layered alongside several silver necklaces that framed the base of his neck. 

Before your courage had the chance to abandon you…you slowly lifted a hand and rested it around the back of his neck, your fingertips grazing the cool metal chains lying against his skin.

"You're cute," you whispered, biting lightly on your lower lip as your fingers idly toyed with one of the necklaces. Every movement had been rehearsed in your head a dozen times before tonight, yet none of them felt natural now that they were happening. You only hoped he couldn't tell.

Fuck, he’s so handsome up close!

His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face before his gaze slowly drifted downward. It lingered far longer than you were prepared for, tracing the exposed skin above your dress before continuing lower. Instinctively, you fought the urge to tug at the hem that had ridden higher on your thighs.

Don't. Fake it until you make it.

"I am?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smirk. His tongue swept across the silver ring piercing his lower lip before he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just beneath your ear.

"Yeah," you breathed, forcing confidence into your voice despite the frantic beating of your heart. "Want you."

The words felt foreign leaving your mouth. Still, they had the desired effect.

As his attention remained fixed on the spot where your pulse fluttered, your fingers subtly found the clasp hidden beneath the chains around his neck. 

One careful movement...that was all it would take.

You had barely begun to unhook it when his hand closed firmly around your wrist.

Your heart stopped. For one horrifying second, you were certain he'd caught you.

"Let's go to my car."

What?

"H-Huh? I..."

He lifted his head just enough for your eyes to meet his. The lazy amusement from earlier had disappeared, replaced by something darker. 

"I can't fuck you here."

Your eyes widen, fucking was your limit!

Your gaze drifted to the thick gold necklace resting against his chest... the leather wallet tucked carelessly into his pocket... and the sleek black car waiting only a few steps away.

Fuck it.

You followed him in silence, the cool night breeze brushing against your exposed skin and reminding you just how short your dress was. 

Your gaze remained fixed on his broad back as he unlocked the car, your throat tightening around a nervous swallow.

Earlier, when you had walked past Hanni, you had nearly burst into tears at the sight of her giving you an approving nod, silently cheering you on while she remained at her table, busy charming the men around her.

You couldn't back out now. Not after she'd placed this much faith in you.

The parking lot was quiet, a little farther from the beer house…the music fading into the distance. When he turned around, you gathered every ounce of courage you had left and greeted him with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Your mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another until only three remained.

First, find a way to slip the gold chain from around his neck. The wallet would come next, once he finally let his guard down.

Second, you were not going to fuck him. 

It didn't matter how broad his shoulders were, how unfairly handsome he looked, or how pretty his eyes became whenever he smiled.

Your hormones could cry about it later.

Third, whatever happened tonight... for the love of God, do not get caught.

He looked down at you, one brow lifting ever so slightly when he noticed the faint tremble in your legs.

"Get in."

He pulled the backseat door open for you, and you offered him a small, flirty smile before carefully slipping inside. 

The leather seat gave beneath your weight with a quiet creak, and for the briefest moment, you convinced yourself you'd have a second to steady your breathing, to gather the scattered pieces of your thoughts before facing him again.

The hope didn't last.

The car shifted as he climbed in after you, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that seemed to swallow the last bit of space inside the cabin. 

Your pulse faltered, the hem of your dress had ridden higher than you'd intended, exposing far more of your thighs than you were comfortable with, the fabric inching dangerously close to revealing the lace of your panties. Every instinct urged you to smooth it back into place, but you stopped yourself.

Focus, Y/N! You need to seduce him!

You had barely opened your mouth, ready to deliver one of the corniest pickup lines Hanni had relentlessly drilled into your head, when his hand suddenly pulled your hair. 

Your lips parted in surprise as he tugged you toward him, leaving no room for hesitation before his lips crashed against yours.

A breathless whimper escaped you, your eyes widening for only a second before they fluttered shut. His fingers tightened around the hair above your nape, angling your head exactly how he wanted it, his kisses deep, hungry, and impatient.

The bitter trace of beer lingered on his tongue, flooding your senses until your thoughts blurred at the edges. Your body yielded without resistance, melting effortlessly against his as he drew you closer, the strength behind the movement making you feel almost weightless in his hold.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot your mission.

His tongue slipped against yours with practiced ease, stealing every coherent thought from your mind before instinct finally caught up. 

You slowly lifted your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the softness of his hair as though simply indulging in the kiss. Then, careful not to rush…they drifted lower, brushing over the warm skin of his nape before gliding toward the necklace resting against his neck.

“Open your mouth wider,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak. A string of saliva stretched between your mouths as his other hand slid around your neck…his long, tattooed fingers wrapping firmly around your throat in a possessive grip.

Your eyes widened…one of your hands remained tangled behind his nape, your fingers still toying with the chain around his neck, desperately searching for the tiny clasp hidden beneath his hair. 

Too distracted to obey his request… he suddenly tugged your hair harder.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, and he seized the opportunity—his tongue slipping hot and messy into your parted mouth, kissing you with a hunger that left you no chance to catch your breath.

You barely kissed him back, surrendering to the pace he set as your mind gradually emptied. Somehow, through the dizziness clouding your head, your fingertips continued their quiet search along the cool metal resting against his skin, praying to find the clasp before he noticed.

“Mmph!”

A soft whimper caught in your throat when he bit down harshly on your lower lip. The hand around your neck tightened, his fingers pressing deeper into your throat until your breath hitched, the pressure almost choking you.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, pulling you away from his lips before effortlessly lifting your entire body onto his lap. 

Large hands settled on your hips, guiding your legs to either side of him until you were straddling him completely, your dress riding embarrassingly higher over your thighs in the process.

“Hmm?” you murmured, blinking up at him through hazy eyes, your lips swollen and glistening from his relentless kisses.

He tilted his head, studying you in silence. 

The intensity of his gaze made something tighten inside your chest. Your confidence, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel beneath his eyes alone, and without thinking, your hands abandoned the necklace altogether, drifting back into his hair as though that had been your intention from the very beginning.

“Kiss me back,” he rasped.

A quiet breath of relief nearly escaped your lips. He hadn't noticed.

You offered him the sweetest smile you could manage before leaning in again, your heart pounding so violently you were certain he could feel it through your chest. You kissed him as carefully as you could, trying to mimic the way he'd kissed you only moments ago, parting his lips with hesitant eagerness, hoping it looked natural enough to fool him.

To your surprise, he let you…he didn't take control or deepen the kiss. Instead, he simply let you explore him at your own pace.

Heat crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks, embarrassment blooming beneath your skin as the realization slowly dawned on you. 

He wasn't following your lead. 

“Baby...” he chuckled between kisses, his tattooed hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, holding your face steady with a firm grip. “You're not kissing me properly.”

Embarrassment rushed through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy, your inexperience laid bare after only a few clumsy kisses. 

Determination quickly swallowed the humiliation. 

Before you could think twice, you leaned in again, kissing him with far more urgency than before, desperate to prove that you knew exactly what you were doing.

The moment he finally kissed you back, a breathless whimper nearly escaped you. 

He kissed you effortlessly, guiding the rhythm while you struggled to keep up, your breaths already turning shallow enough that you were certain you looked seconds away from hyperventilating.

Determined not to lose yourself completely, you bit down on his lower lip, earning a low, gravelly groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound alone made your stomach flutter. Taking advantage of the distraction, your trembling hands drifted back to the chain around his neck, fingertips carefully searching beneath his hair for the tiny clasp.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he sucked on your tongue, warmth rushing across your ears and down your neck so quickly it almost burned. It was your first time being kissed like this—his kisses were shamelessly lewd, all heat and desperation. Saliva glistened between your mouths whenever he pulled away, only to capture your lower lip again with another lingering suck that stole the air from your lungs. 

Before long, the only sounds filling the car were the quiet, wet presses of your mouths and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

You couldn't tell whether he was simply that good at kissing or if your lack of experience made every touch feel overwhelming. Either way, the way his hand remained wrapped around your jaw, firmly angling your head exactly where he wanted it, sent a shiver running down your spine.

A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips when you felt him spit into your mouth without breaking the kiss. The sensation sent heat unfurling through every inch of your body, your knees threatening to weaken even from where you sat on his lap. 

Your thoughts dissolved into a haze, and before you realized it, the fingers that had been so carefully searching for the clasp of his necklace had gone slack, your mission slipping further out of reach with every slow, lingering pull of his mouth.

“Grind on me.” he groaned.

Your eyes widened, before you could even process his words, both of his hands settled around the curve of your hips, guiding your body into a slow, deliberate roll against his lap.

“W-Wait—” 

His mouth found your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rippled across your body as his lips traveled lower, his grip never once leaving your hips as he slowly rocked them back and forth, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips.

Heat rushed to your cheeks the moment you felt the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

“Roll your hips, baby.” he grunted.

His teeth grazed your neck before his tongue soothed the sting, the cool metal of his lip piercing dragging lightly over your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut…losing yourself completely as you followed the guidance of his hands, the subtle throbs of his cock impossible to ignore through the layers separating your bodies.

“That’s it,” he praised, looking down at your rolling hips.

“Oh, gosh…” you moaned.

You couldn't comprehend how dirty and lewd this was, grinding against a stranger's cock while convincing yourself that you wouldn't fuck him.

His clothed mushroom tip grazed the apex between your thighs as he guided your hips through another slow rub, drawing a startled gasp from your lips. A wave of warmth unfurled low in your stomach, spreading until it settled heavily between your legs.

Fuck, you were getting so wet.

Your body burned with a growing tension you didn't know how to quiet. The fabric of your panties clung uncomfortably against your cunt. When his hands finally cupped your breasts over the thin fabric of your dress, a shaky breath caught in your throat. 

Your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders for balance as he continued to maneuver your body with effortless ease.

“Oh my-”

His lips trailed lower…you sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the swell of your cleavage, your heart stumbling the moment you caught sight of his tongue slipping between the soft curve of your breasts, tasting the narrow valley created by the tight fabric hugging your chest.

“Hmm... so soft,” he murmured.

Before you could even process the praise, he leaned back just enough to gather saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing before he leaned down and let a warm bead of spit fall between your breasts. It slowly trailed down the center of your cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of your dress.

A startled gasp escaped you, the shamelessness of it sent another rush of heat coursing through your body.

“Spread my spit, baby.” his voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he brushed a lingering kiss against your cheek. “I want you messy.”

He never stopped guiding your hips, slow, patient rubs against his lap while he watched you expectantly.

You swallowed thickly. It felt as though your body had slipped into a trance, your thoughts muffled beneath the haze he'd wrapped around you. 

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers found the warmth between your breasts, gathering the wetness before slowly spreading his spit across the soft skin of your cleavage, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes following every hesitant movement.

Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the gold chain resting against his collarbone.

The necklace!

For a split second, you wanted to slap yourself. 

You'd become so hopelessly lost in him that you'd nearly forgotten why you were here in the first place.

Trying to keep up the act, you smiled and gathered the warm trace of his spit onto your fingertips before slowly bringing them to your lips. A flicker of nervousness stirred in your chest as you parted your lips, letting your tongue glide languidly over your damp fingers, never once breaking eye contact with him.

His lips parted. “You like it?”

You nodded. “Hmm…”

“Want more?” he cooed, his voice rough with satisfaction. 

Your cheeks heated, a little self-conscious under the way he stared at you before leaning in to kiss you again. You whimpered when he spat into your mouth while kissing you, trying to focus as your hands finally found the chain around his neck. Your fingers worked quickly beneath the curtain of his hair, your heart pounding so violently you feared he would hear it.

Then—the clasp gave. 

Relief crashed over you.

You carefully eased the necklace free, letting the chain slip from your fingers onto the leather seat beside you with a faint clink before your hands returned to brace against his chest. 

Your pulse hammered in your throat, so distracted by stealing the jewelry that you didn't feel his fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your black dress until they were already sliding down. Cool air kissed your skin a second before you realized the straps had fallen from your shoulders, the dress bunched at your waist, your bra laid bare beneath his dark, hungry stare.

"Ohh—" a moan ripped from your lips when his hands grabbed your tits through the bra, his palms kneading the soft flesh as his fingers pinched and rolled your stiff nipples through the thin lace. 

"So pretty," he praised, his eyes never leaving the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups.

His hand slid behind your back, his fingers flicking the clasp open. Your bra sprang loose, your tits bouncing free, your nipples peaked and aching.

“Keep grinding, baby.” he rasped.

Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, rolling against his lap. His hard cock formed a thick ridge beneath his pants, pressing right against your soaked panties. 

The delicious friction made your cunt leak, slick pooling in the gusset as each slow roll of your hips rubbed your clit across his length until your panties clung to your wet, chubby slit.

“Mhm,” you whined as his mouth locked onto one nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud before sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly while his other hand squeezed your breast, his fingers twisting the neglected nipple until it throbbed.

Wet sounds filled the car—the slurp of his mouth around your nipple and the squelch of your dripping cunt rubbing against his cock through the fabric. 

You forced yourself to look down, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for anything that might help you finish what you had come here to do. Then your thigh brushed against the square outline beneath the fabric of his pants.

His wallet.

You drew in a shaky breath before rolling your hips against him with a little more desperation. A low groan vibrated against your nipple the moment he felt the change in your rhythm, the sound sending another wave of heat through your body. 

A helpless whine slipped from your lips as your own hands wandered over him, trying to appear just as consumed by the moment. Your palms skimmed over his shoulders, down the firm planes of his chest, and lower still, making you swallow hard at the realization of just how toned he felt beneath your touch.

“Ouch,” you whimpered when his teeth suddenly bit into your nipple.

He only chuckled against your skin.

The sting disappeared beneath a lingering kiss before he lifted his head just enough to murmur.

“Slow down, baby. You're gonna make me cum.” 

The teasing words had barely left his lips before his attention shifted back to your breast, his mouth closing around the swollen nipple with harsh, eager suction that made your thighs instinctively tense around him.

Even through the layers of his pants, you could feel how big and hard he was beneath you, the firm outline of his thick cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties with every shallow movement. 

Fuck, focus Y/N.

His wallet had shifted dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, almost slipping free from the constant movement of your bodies.

You rolled your hips against him again…another soft moan escaping your lips as the friction sent a dizzying pulse of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my…” 

For a fleeting second, you almost forgot the wallet, your body threatening to lose the battle your mind was still desperately trying to win.

“Baby…” he groaned harshly.

His hands tightened around your waist, pinning your hips firmly in place before you could move against him again.

Confused, you instinctively tried to move again, but his hand beat you to it. It slipped between your thighs before firmly cupping your pussy over your soaked panties, his palm pressing against your wet cunt as his fingers slowly dragged against the damp fabric. A soft, unmistakable squelch filled the quiet cabin, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I said stay still, fuck.” he whispered, mercilessly squeezing your pussy through the thin fabric until another helpless moan spilled from your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, your mouth falling open as his slow, deliberate touch only made you wetter, the soaked fabric sticking embarrassingly to your folds with every movement of his hand.

A startled gasp escaped you when his free hand suddenly rose to your face, firmly squeezing your cheeks together. 

“Keep your eyes open. Look at what I'm doing to you,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit through the damp fabric and rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh... gosh,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath. 

Your thoughts were beginning to dissolve all over again until something caught your eye.

His wallet had finally slipped free from his pocket, landing quietly on the leather seat beside him. Relief surged through you, and you almost smiled in triumph, the sight nearly distracting you from your mission's success.

Before you could dwell on it, he hooked a finger beneath the damp gusset of your panties, flipping the fabric aside just enough to expose your slick pussy. His fingertips returned, meeting your bare cunt directly, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact tore another breathless gasp from your lips.

Your eyes rolled back as his long fingers slowly rubbed against your sensitive cunt. The cool metal of his rings grazed your slit with every stroke, sending a sharp shiver through your body and drawing another helpless whimper from your throat.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"

You could only nod, slow and breathless, your chest rising and falling beneath uneven breaths. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your face burning from every filthy thing you had let him do to you.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You like my fingers, baby?"

Before you could answer, his middle finger slowly pressed into your tight, untouched hole.

A broken whimper escaped you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your body instinctively tensed around the unfamiliar stretch. For a fleeting second, your hand nearly came up to push him away, your inexperience heightening every overwhelming sensation. But he caught your face first, his fingers tightening around your cheeks, forcing your gaze back to him.

He inhaled softly before hollowing his cheeks, gathering saliva in his mouth, then leaned closer and messily spat between your parted lips.

"Swallow."

You obeyed without hesitation, your throat bobbing as you swallowed, your walls fluttering tightly around his finger at the command.

His hand slipped lower, lifting the hem of your skirt before his gaze settled between your thighs. He watched with quiet fascination as his finger slowly disappeared inside your virgin hole before drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion at an unhurried pace.

"You're so tight, baby." he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your pussy. "When was the last time you fucked?"

The question alone nearly brought tears to your eyes, embarrassment burning through you just as intensely as the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure his touch continued to pull from your body.

“L-Long time ago.” 

As if Y/N! 

He licked his lower lip, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips as the pad of his middle finger reached deeper inside your warm tight hole. His movements remained slow until his fingertip brushed against your spongy spot, the sharp ache of the stretch gradually melting into a pleasure so warm it made your body soften around him.

"Aww, is that why you're so tight, baby?” he whispered.

God, this was so wrong.

“Maybe you need me to stretch your hole again, hmm?" he cooed, lowering his head until his lips wrapped around your swollen nipple, sucking gently while his finger continued to work deeper into your tight cunt.

"Y-Yes," you mumbled incoherently, your rational thoughts dissolving as your hips instinctively rolled forward, chasing the slow rhythm of his finger.

The moment he felt you move, his free hand settled firmly around your waist, stilling you with ease. He released your nipple with a soft pop before a quiet chuckle escaped him, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours with unmistakable amusement.

"Patience, baby. I'm still having fun."

A pout tugged at your lips, ready to answer back, but the words never came. His left hand slipped between your thighs instead, slowly parting your folds before drawing back the hood revealing your glistening clit, exposing it completely beneath his dark gaze.

"Wanna suck this clit so bad," he whispered, his gaze fixed between your thighs as your clit pulsed beneath the weight of his stare.

He leaned down and spat over it, a slow trail of saliva slipping down your slit until it met the middle finger buried inside your hole. A helpless whimper caught in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut as he spread the saliva over your exposed clit with slow, pressured strokes, every messy rub sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

Both of his hands were devoted to you now. His tattooed fingers continued to work your tight hole with an unhurried rhythm while his other hand circled your swollen clit, spreading your growing wetness together with his saliva. His eyes never left your cunt, watching every tiny twitch, every shiver that rippled through you as though he wanted to memorize your pulsating pussy.

"You wanna cum?" he asked, lifting a brow as he watched your chest rise and fall with uneven breaths. His middle finger emerged coated in a thick ring of your white milky juices before disappearing back inside you, while your legs trembled uncontrollably beneath every slow sweep of his thumb across your swollen clit.

You nodded desperately, “Y-Yes…”

He pursed his lips, studying you for a long moment.

"You sure?"

"P-Please," you pleaded, your hips instinctively rolling in search of more.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" a small smile tugged at his lips, though there wasn't a trace of humor behind it.

Confusion barely had the chance to settle before he slowly inserted a second finger into your cunt.

A loud moan tore from your throat as the sudden stretch stole the air from your lungs. His fingers paused only briefly, allowing your body to adjust before they began to move together, scissoring you open with slow, rhythmic strokes while his other hand never stopped rubbing your clit.

The lingering ache of the stretch gradually melted beneath the mounting pleasure, your body surrendering to it completely. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hand, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your eyes rolled back, your walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers while wave after wave of pleasure left your entire body trembling.

“Well done, baby.” he praised.

Even after the intensity began to ebb, your cunt continued to pulse around him, your legs still shaking from the aftershocks.

Only when your breathing had become nothing more than uneven gasps did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your hole, drawing another helpless whimper from your lips as the sudden emptiness met your lingering sensitivity.

Then he leaned in, his teeth grazed the shell of your ear in a soft bite before his lips brushed against it.

"I’m so proud." he whispered.

As your gaze drifted downward, it caught on the slight opening of his wallet, the sight striking you like a quiet reminder of why you had approached him in the first place.

Your fucking mission.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, gathering what little composure remained before forcing the words past your throat.

"C-Can I drink some water? I'm kinda thirsty," you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs were still trembling from your release, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

You expected him to refuse…Instead, he simply nodded.

"Hmm sure, baby. Let me get it for you."

His tongue swept across his lower lip before he gently tucked a few loose strands of hair away from your flushed cheeks, his touch unexpectedly tender as his eyes lingered on yours.

You swallowed hard, relief flooding through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy.

"I'll wait for you here," you said with a small smile, leaning forward just enough to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he stood.

His eyes narrowed, smiling a little, but there was something in them that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

The moment he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him before disappearing into the noisy beer house in search of a bottle of water, you sprang into action. 

You quickly fixed your dress before reaching for the thick gold necklace that had slipped onto the leather seat during everything that had happened between the two of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before darting toward his wallet, still resting exactly where you had dropped it after deliberately sitting on it when you asked for water. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your gaze frantically swept across the interior of the car, searching for anything else of value. It didn't take long before your eyes landed on a small, heavy bag tucked beneath the passenger seat. 

Without wasting another second—or even bothering to look more....you snatched it as well, clutching the necklace, the wallet, and the bag tightly against your chest before quietly pushing the car door open.

With shaky, trembling hands, you slipped out of the vehicle and hurried toward the nearest sprawling tree beside the parking lot, its thick trunk shielding you from anyone who might glance in your direction. Only then did you allow yourself to stop, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as you hugged your stolen belongings close, desperately trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. 

The necklace alone felt expensive in your hands, its weight unmistakable, and you couldn't help but admire the rich gleam of the gold beneath the parking lot lights. 

This has to be high-karat. 

Your eyes practically sparkled at the thought, relief and triumph swelling inside your chest as you silently congratulated yourself. You had actually managed to steal from him without getting fucked... and without getting caught.

Almost.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the thick gold necklace into your pocket, the reassuring weight of it pressing against your thigh. 

Your attention soon drifted to the heavy bag you had grabbed from beneath the seat, curiosity getting the better of you. You crouched beneath the tree and slowly pulled the zipper open, your brows knitting together at the sight of something black and metallic nestled inside. 

Frowning, you reached to get a better look, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

It was a gun. 

What the fuck?

Your hands instantly began to shake. The bag slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed far louder than it should have in the quiet of the parking lot. 

You stared at it in horror before your gaze darted to the wallet still clutched tightly against your chest, your pulse pounding so violently it made your fingers numb.

"Oh God... this is a bad idea," you whispered to yourself, panic clawing its way up your throat.

For one reckless moment, you considered running back, returning the necklace, the wallet, the bag….everything—and pretending none of this had ever happened. 

Maybe you could leave them inside his car before he noticed. Maybe you could still walk away.

But it was already too late.

If there was one thing Hanni had drilled into your head from the very beginning, it was this: once you stole something, you never gave it back. Going back wasn't bravery—it was stupidity. 

And stupidity was exactly how thieves got caught.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened his wallet, your brows immediately knitting together when an identification card tucked behind a gleaming gold badge came into view. 

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't a wallet at all—it was a badge holder. 

A cold chill crept down your spine as your fingers shakily flipped the leather, your eyes scanning every detail printed across the identification. The words blurred together at first, your racing heart making it impossible to focus, until your gaze landed on the line that mattered most.

CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Rank: Captain  | Name: Jeon Jungkook

For a long, terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, your pulse pounding so violently it drowned out every sound around you. 

"F-Fuck! Oh God—fuck!"

The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper as your hands shook so violently you could barely keep hold of the badge holder. 

Your breathing grew shallow, your mind racing through every possible escape, each one ending worse than the last. 

You stared at the polished badge in horror, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, when the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly reached your ears.

Panic surged through your body, and you instinctively turned, ready to run for your life, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could take a single step.

"Where are you going?" he asked with a quiet chuckle from behind you, amusement lacing his voice.

You froze.

Your gaze remained fixed straight ahead, too terrified to look back at him. Cold sweat trickled down your spine as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

The heavy bag still lay on the ground at your feet. The gold necklace weighed against your pocket. And clutched tightly between your trembling fingers was his badge holder, still opened to the identification that had shattered every ounce of confidence you had only moments ago.

You had been fucking caught.

Not just by any random stranger. 

But by a goddamn police captain.

"I got your water, baby," he said, his voice coated in quiet amusement. You flinched the moment the cold bottle brushed against the back of your thighs, the chill a cruel contrast to the heat of your panic.

"O-Officer, I—"

"You forgot something, didn't you?" he whispered against your ear, his grip never loosening around your wrist. 

The bottle of water lazily traced the length of your trembling thigh, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, hot tears gathering until they spilled freely down your cheeks. Every frantic thought crashed into the next, leaving you unable to form a single coherent sentence.

He leaned in even closer, his warm breath ghosting just below your ear.

"You forgot my wallet, baby." his voice dropped into a slow drawl. "That's my badge holder."

A broken sob caught in your throat. Your future flashed before your eyes in vivid, terrifying fragments. 

You could already see the cold metal of handcuffs locking around your wrists, the flashing red and blue lights, the backseat of a patrol car, a holding cell, your family finding out, your future slipping through your fingers before you had even been given the chance to fight for it. Everything you had worked so hard for, every dream you had stubbornly clung to despite your circumstances, all of it seemed to crumble into pieces in the span of a few unbearable seconds.

You had just thrown your entire life away.

“P-Please, I-’’

"Is my poor baby too dumb, or does that pretty little head of yours just want to get fucked?"

You shook your head frantically, tears spilling faster down your cheeks. "N-No, no, Officer, please... I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"

A startled gasp escaped you when he suddenly spun you around, your back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. Your tear-clouded eyes instantly met his dark ones, the amusement lingering in them only making the panic clawing at your chest grow worse.

He raised a brow, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment.

"Aww, look at you…so scared, baby." he cooed.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Want me to give you a chance?’’ he tilted his head.

Hope bloomed inside your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.

Jungkook took another step forward, his broad frame caging you against the tree until there was nowhere left to run. Your entire body trembled beneath his gaze, your heart pounding so violently you could barely hear yourself think, and you looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, clinging to the smallest possibility that he might actually let you go.

"P-Please, Officer… I-I'm sorry..." you stammered, the words tumbling over one another in your haste. "I-I know it was wrong, a-and that—"

‘’Run.” 

Your lips parted in disbelief.

"W-What?"

He slowly licked his lower lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that carried no warmth whatsoever. Stepping closer until there wasn't even a breath of space left between you, he brushed the pad of his thumb across your trembling lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Run, baby. Run as fast as you can.” his voice dropped into a low murmur, his tone as though he were talking to a child. "And when I catch you, I'm gonna take you to prison. I'll fuck you every day behind those rusty metal bars. I'll use your tight little pussy until your hole is gaping and leaking. Maybe I'll even let my comrades fuck you too. We'll take turns fucking that slutty, manipulative pussy of yours."

Desperation made people do reckless things. 

It silenced reason, drowned out fear, and left nothing behind but the instinct to survive.

You spun around and bolted before your mind had the chance to catch up, your legs carrying you as fast as they could through the dimly lit streets. Instead of following the brighter roads, you veered into the narrow, shadowed alleyways, your panicked thoughts convincing you that the light was far more dangerous than the dark. 

People could help you—but the moment they learned why you were running, they wouldn't see a terrified woman. 

They would see a thief.

A criminal…and they would hand you right back to him.

Your lungs burned, each desperate breath sharper than the last, your feet throbbing against the unforgiving pavement as you forced yourself to keep going. When a tall chain-link fence came into view, fear surged through your exhausted body. You stumbled toward it, your shaking hands already reaching for the metal, frantically searching for a way to climb over it.

You never got the chance.

A powerful hand suddenly seized both of your wrists from behind, wrenching them backward before you could react. A startled cry tore from your throat as your body was dragged away from the fence, only to be slammed against it a heartbeat later.

 “L-Let me go!” you cried.

The rough metal dug painfully into your cheek, your breath knocked from your lungs as he forced your arms higher behind your back. Then you heard it—

A sharp metallic click…cold steel closed around your wrist.

You were handcuffed.

He secured the other cuff around the metal fence, leaving your wrists restrained above your head. The cold steel bit into your skin as you instinctively struggled against it, your cheek pressed harshly against the chain-link, the rough metal scraping your flushed skin every time you tried to pull away. The handcuffs refused to budge, each desperate tug only making them dig in deeper.

"N-No... no, please," you cried, your voice breaking into helpless sobs.

Instead of hurting you, he reached up and gently combed a few loose strands of hair away from your face, the unexpected tenderness making your entire body flinch. His fingers lingered for a moment, idly twirling a lock of your hair around them before giving it a soft tug.

"Shh, it’s okay…" he said in a mocking tone.

"I-I’m sorry, please…I’ll do anything—"

The plea died on your lips when you felt him lower himself behind you.

“Anything, baby?” he whispered.

He settled onto one knee before slowly gathering the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until your damp panties were fully exposed beneath the cool night air. His large hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs apart with an effortless firmness that left your body trembling against the restraint. 

Your eyes widened as you pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, your legs instinctively trying to close, but there was nowhere to go. A warm tongue suddenly pressed against the fabric between your thighs, dragging slowly over your sticky panties.

His nose remained buried in your tight hole, drawing in a slow, deep breath as though savoring every scent of you. His tongue dragged languidly along your slit from behind, the damp fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.

"O-Oh gosh-" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your flushed cheeks as you felt him inhale against your clothed cunt again. His tongue swept over you once more, leaving your panties even wetter than before.

“Let me play with you.” he murmured before diving in.

You bit down hard on your lip, another wave of warmth pooling between your thighs despite yourself. More tears slipped from your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure tangling with the fear coursing through your body.

I am not enjoying this, I am not-

A low groan rumbled behind you as he spread your legs farther apart. His pointed nose brushed against your puckered hole, inhaling deeply. 

You craned your neck to look around, but there was no one in sight. Only the lonely yellow glow of a streetlamp stretched across the empty street, casting long shadows around the two of you.

When he flipped your panties aside, you instinctively tried to close your legs, but a startled gasp escaped your lips as his palm suddenly came down against your inner thigh with a sharp smack, the sting urging your legs back open for him.

“Open up for me, baby. Let me taste your little pussy,” he murmured, giving your thigh another light tap as he silently coaxed you to spread yourself wider.

You were getting wetter, but the thought of someone's tongue directly against your pussy was beyond your virgin imagination.

When you still didn't move, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You felt him rise behind you, the warmth of his body disappearing for only a brief moment before the unmistakable click of metal made your breath hitch. Before you even had the chance to turn your head, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your temple.

A broken cry caught in your throat, your entire body trembling. 

“W-What-”

"Spread your legs."

His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The barrel pressed more insistently against your temple, and with another shaky sob, your knees slowly fell farther apart.

A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. Only then did he pull the gun away, tucking it back into the holster at the back of his belt before lowering himself between your thighs once more. His hands wrapped around them, holding you open exactly how he wanted, and the moment he buried his face between your legs, a deep groan escaped him.

“Oh, gosh!” you moaned.

You were already leaking, his broad tongue dragged slowly up and down your chubby, swollen folds before slipping between them, teasing your slit as it delved deeper, massaging your inner walls with slow, deliberate strokes that only left you wetter.

“Pretty.” he leaned back and spat onto your cunt, watching the thick strand of saliva mingle with your slick wetness. “Do you regret what you did, baby?”

His fingers hooked beneath your outer lips, spreading them apart just enough to watch his saliva disappear deeper into your cunt. He spat again, his gaze fixed on the way it slipped between your folds, leaving your sensitive inner walls glistening.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned shamelessly, the torture only making you wetter.

“Would you let me do anything I want?” he asked, staring at your fluttering cunt.

You bit your lip, feeling your milky juices drip from every degrading thing he'd been saying to you.

“Yes.” you said in a tiny voice.

He chuckled, “You wanted to be used like this, didn't you?” 

He leaned in, his tongue flattening as he licked from your perineum to your clit in one slow, vulgar stroke, spreading his spit until his own drool began to trail down his chin. 

“You wanted this…you sat on my lap, ground your filthy cunt against my cock, acted like a good little decoy so you could rob me. But your hole's been thanking me the whole time, hasn't it?”

You shut your eyes tightly when you felt him continuously spitting on your cunt, your pussy was getting so wet that you felt it dripping on your inner thighs down to your ankles.

He held your folds apart, leaving you completely exposed for his hungry gaze. Leaning back, he watched the way they trembled and pulsed beneath his eyes before leaning down again, his tongue already darting out to lap up every drop of your juices. Each time he swallowed, he would only spit over you again, coating you until you were slick enough for him to start all over.

Your eyes widened as the muzzle of the gun pressed against your inner thigh, cool, unforgiving steel sending a shiver through your body. It slowly slid higher until it settled against your entrance, the tip quickly growing slick with your wetness.

"O-Officer—"

“Shh, you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? To rape your thief little pussy.” he mocked, his eyes fixed on the way the tip of the gun glistened with your milky juices as he slowly dragged it up and down your chubby slit.

Desperation was a frightening thing. 

It stripped away reason piece by piece until all that remained was the helpless anticipation of whatever came next.

When you didn't answer, too absorbed in the feeling of the foreign gun against your pussy, he pressed it harder against you, drawing a pained whimper from your lips as tears stung your eyes.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly, applying just a little more pressure.

"Y-Yes," you whimpered.

He tilted his head. "Yes, what?"

You bit your lip. "Y-Yes, O-Officer."

He hummed in approval before pulling the gun away. His tongue darted out to taste the tip, sucking your wetness from the cold metal before releasing it with a soft pop.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he buried himself between your thighs once more, diving back into your exposed pussy with relentless hunger. The obscene sounds of slurping, sucking, and the occasional spit echoed through the place, each one making you feel weaker, more helpless beneath him.

You bit down hard on your lip as you felt your orgasm creeping closer. You tried to hold it back, to keep control, but your body betrayed you. 

Every flick of his tongue, every slow suck, every warm trail of spit sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your pussy convulse beneath his tongue. 

“F-Fuck-” you whimpered.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms ached against the restraints, and your eyes rolled back as the pulsing sensation deep within you grew stronger with every passing second. You wanted to pull away from his mouth, to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted as he sucked out every last tremor, refusing to let you move even as the overstimulation left your body trembling.

“Mhm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered, leaning back just enough to pinch your folds together, as though squeezing every last drop of your milky white juices from your pussy before leaning in again to catch it on his tongue.

A helpless whimper escaped your lips. Your legs were on the verge of giving out beneath you, your arms still held captive by the restraints while your pussy throbbed with overwhelming sensitivity. As he rose to his feet, his palm landed against your cunt in a careless slap, making you flinch before he lazily wiped the sheen of your juices from the corner of his mouth.

His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through the strands before tightening into a firm fist. He tugged until your head tipped back, exposing the line of your throat, and his lips brushed against your tear-dampened cheek.

“Wanna steal more, baby?”

His grip twisted tighter, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully. 

He slowly dragged his tongue along the salty trail of your tears, licking your cheek with slow strokes, savoring the taste of your cries as another quiet hum of approval rumbled in his chest.

You whimpered, your body trembling as you felt the hard outline of his clothed bulge press against the plush of your ass. He slowly ground his erection against you, a low grunt vibrating beneath your ear while his hand kept a firm hold on your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to suck and leave harsh bites along your neck.

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, grinding his cock more firmly against your bare ass. “My money? My jewelry?”

“O-Officer-”

His fist tightened in your hair, forcing another helpless whimper from your lips as he dragged his tongue along your throat, feeling the way you swallowed hard beneath him. “You wanted all of it, didn't you?”

His teeth sank into your neck once more as his clothed bulge rutted harder against the cleft of your ass, the seam of his pants catching against your skin with every slow roll of his hips. At the same time, his free hand slipped beneath your dress, yanking the fabric higher before grabbing a full handful of your bare ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"My pretty, pretty thief," he praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hips rolled against you with even more force.

He wrenched his pants open just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the heated length slapping against one ass cheek before the other. Pre-cum glistened over the swollen tip as he slowly ground the shaft along the plush curve of your ass, coating your skin with every deliberate roll of his hips.

"Feel that? I'm so hard for you, baby."

A helpless mewl slipped past your lips as you weakly shook your head, your entire body trembling while he continued rubbing against your ass.

“Fuck, you make me so fucking horny.” he grunted.

Your cheeks burned crimson, the same flush spreading across your neck, and another whimper escaped you when he suddenly jerked your head back by the hair. 

"Grind back, baby, or I'll fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You cried harder, your body trembling as you reluctantly began to move your ass against his cock. A deep groan escaped him, his right hand settling firmly on your hip as he looked down, watching the way his hard length slid slowly through the cleft of your ass with every hesitant grind.

He spat over the curve of your ass for added lubrication, and a helpless cry caught in your throat when you felt the warm saliva land against your puckered rim. Despite the humiliation, your pussy only grew wetter.

His tattooed hand suddenly snaked around your waist, trailing lower until it reached your cunt. You gasped as his fingers cupped your pussy before hooking between your folds, spreading your lips apart into a lewd V-shape for him to admire.

“Look down and watch your clit, baby.” he rasped, tilting your head down so your gaze fell between your legs.

“P-Please...” you croaked, your body growing weaker by the second, your pussy aching for more even as the rest of you threatened to give out.

“Wanna be fucked so bad, huh?”

You gasped as his middle finger suddenly pushed between the V-shaped hold of his fingers, slipping inside your tight cunt. Your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick digit as he slowly worked it deeper.

“Oh! Mhmp!” you screamed.

His cock left your ass, the slick tip dragging slowly down until it notched against your entrance, smearing pre-cum and his spit over your swollen folds.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby…you’ve been a very bad girl.” he yanked your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue traced a slow path from your neck to the shell of your ear. “Need to fuck some sense into you, hmm?’’

“Mhmp!” you whimpered.

“Shh... moan for me, baby. It'll feel good.” his finger pressed deeper one last time, stretching your walls before he slowly withdrew it. The emptiness lasted only a heartbeat before he replaced it with the thick, leaking head of his cock, nudging its way against your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you screamed at the sudden stretch, his thick cock forcing its way into your tight pussy until you could feel every pulsing vein dragging against your walls as he pushed deeper.

He thrust halfway, then stopped, watching your cunt spasm around him, a thin ribbon of milky white release clinging to his shaft like a ring. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he slowly pulled back before driving into you harder, bottoming out in one deep thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass hard enough to make the fence rattle.

“Need to use this cunt every day. Maybe I’ll let my comrades fuck this tight little cunt so they can loosen you up for me, yeah?” he grunted, pushing even deeper until his balls rested snug against your cunt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against the curve of your ass with every shallow grind.

“U-Ugh, p-please...” you screamed, trying to wriggle, but he only answered with a low grunt against your ear. Then, without warning, he withdrew his cock completely.

For one fleeting moment, you thought he was finally going to let you go.

But your eyes widened the instant you heard the unmistakable clink of his leather belt being unclasped.

Your eyes widened as you felt him wrap the leather around your neck, fastening it just snug enough for him to tug whenever your cries grew too loud, cutting off your words with every sharp pull.

“Behave, baby.” he chuckled, easing himself inside you once more while keeping a firm grip on the belt for leverage. Every now and then, he gave it another deliberate tug, silencing your screams as his hips continued to drive into you.

The moment his hips began to roll against yours, your eyes fluttered back, pleasure blooming beneath the sting until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. 

“O-Oh, O-Officer!” a shaky sob escaped your lips, born as much from the humiliation as the sensation itself. Your pussy ached for more, clenching helplessly around his thick girth, betraying you with every pulse.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he circled his hips into yours, each relentless thrust threatening to lift your body off your feet.

“Is my baby enjoying this?” he whispered, giving the leather another measured yank, just enough to cut your sob short. The strap bit into the flushed skin of your throat as his hips snapped forward again, his balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every forceful thrust.

“This is turning you on, huh?”

You shook your head, but your pussy only grew wetter, your cries slowly dissolving into helpless moans as he continued to fuck you from behind.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered.

“N-No, Officer.” you whimpered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you gave a slow, trembling shake of your head.

“Yeah? You like getting used?”

He gave the belt another sharp tug, cutting off your whimpers before loosening it just enough to let a broken moan spill from your lips. Then he drove into you even deeper, his mushroom tip grinding against your spongy walls until you could feel your own milky juices coating his shaft.

"Gonna lock you up in a cell, baby… you'll be the precinct's little fucktoy."

The moment his thick head brushed against your g-spot, your entire body spasmed around his cock. A harsh groan tore from his throat as your walls clamped down on him, forcing him to pull out almost immediately. His movements turned urgent, one hand fumbling for the keys clipped to his belt while the other steadied you. Your hazy eyes fluttered shut as you felt the handcuffs finally come undone from your wrists.

You thought he was done.

A weak gasp escaped your lips when he suddenly flipped you over to face him, your exhausted arms falling limply to your sides as he stripped away the rest of your dress. Without a word, he lifted you with effortless strength and pinned you against the cold metal fence before guiding his hard cock back inside you. A broken whimper slipped from your throat at the oversensitivity left behind by your previous orgasm, your body instinctively tensing around him as his mouth found your exposed nipples, sucking them greedily while he chased his own release.

Your body bounced helplessly with every powerful thrust, like a toy being used exactly as he pleased. Your tongue nearly lolled from your parted lips, your mind reduced to nothing but scattered pleasure as his larger frame manhandled yours with ease. Low grunts and strained moans vibrated against your swollen nipples, each sound muffled by the way his mouth refused to leave them.

A rough growl tore from his throat as his climax finally overtook him. You felt the thick warmth of his release spilling deep inside your already used hole, his hips continuing to roll against yours in slow, deep motions, as though determined to push every last drop of his cum even deeper. 

“Fuck, baby,” his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the lingering waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Some of it trickled down the insides of your thighs, warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open…your body hanging limply in his grasp.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. Before you could steady yourself, he was already kneeling between your thighs again, firmly spreading them apart as though he hadn't just reduced them to trembling. 

“W-Wait-” you panicked.

A helpless cry escaped your lips when his mouth found your swollen pussy once more, lapping up the mixture of his release and your milky wetness, slurping every drop with relentless hunger. The overstimulation sent your body reeling, your clit already so unbearably sensitive that the moment his tongue slid upward to wrap around it, your pussy pulsed against his mouth, another orgasm crashing through you before you could stop it.

He looked up at you with heavy lidded eyes, watching every twitch and shudder that overtook your body as you came around his mouth. 

You could see the way his cheeks hollowed with every slow suck on your clit, and somehow the sight of his discarded gun and badge lying carelessly on the floor beside him made the moment feel even dirtier—

A police officer on his knees, devotedly eating out the very thief he had caught.

Only when he was satisfied did he rise to his feet. His hand slipped into your hair, gently tugging you toward him until his lips claimed yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you with greedy desperation. Your eyelids grew heavy, your knees threatening to buckle again, your body barely able to remain upright.

You flinched when you felt his hardened cock brush against your inner thighs even as he continued kissing you, a wave of panic surging through your exhausted body. Your pussy already felt swollen and unbearably sensitive, every nerve still humming from the relentless orgasms he had pulled from you.

As though sensing the fear creeping into your expression, he let out a low chuckle, slowly pulling away from your lips to study your face.

"Aww, is my baby tired?" he cooed, the words dripping with mock honey as he nudged your chin upward. 

You shook your head, your body instinctively yielding to whatever he was going to do next.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he bit down on his lower lip, your quiet submission enough to make his cock throb.

"Kneel for me."

Your knees trembled beneath you as you slowly lowered yourself, a startled gasp escaping your lips the moment the swollen tip dragged a lazy streak of pre-cum across your cheek.

"Open up, baby…daddy's not done." he gathered your hair into one hand with a gentleness that belonged to a lover rather than the man standing before you, tilting your face toward his groin, a smile tugging at his lips that never quite reached the darkness in his eyes.

"Clean up the mess you made, hmm? Open wide for Officer."

The swollen head nudged past your lips, and a mock-pitying sigh slipped from him as your mouth slowly yielded around his cock, your tongue flattening instinctively beneath the weight before a helpless gag caught in your throat.

"There, there," he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. "Suck nice and slow, pretty girl."

He began to rock his hips into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, while his free hand continued to pet your hair with a tenderness so painfully at odds with the degradation spilling from his lips.

"That's it, baby," he praised softly. "Tongue flat, like the dumb, cute slut you are."

He pushed his cock deeper until the swollen mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat, the prominent veins along his shaft dragging against the roof of your mouth with every slow thrust, the upward curve making each movement reach even deeper.

"I can give you everything you want, baby," he whispered, a groan slipping past his lips as his thrusts gradually became sloppier, his grip on your hair tightening with every push. Saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth as you fought the urge to choke, wet, muffled gargles escaping your throat each time he buried himself deeper. Your eyes burned, quickly turning red as tears pooled along your lash line.

He cradled your hair once more, the tenderness of the gesture clashing with the relentless pace of his hips.

"I can provide for you... spoil you with all of my money," he murmured, easing himself forward until your nose brushed against the coarse hair at his pelvis. 

He held your face snugly in place for a brief moment before slowly rolling his hips, then gently pulled you back just enough to let you catch your breath, his saliva-slick cock dragging across your flushed cheeks.

"Do you want that?" he asked, tilting his head as he lazily ground his cock against your swollen cheek.

You nodded eagerly, your tear-filled eyes never leaving his.

He chuckled, giving your cheek a light tap with the head of his cock. "Do you understand me, baby?"

You pouted…your cheeks burning red, your eyes swollen, your lips wet with his precum. 

“Mhm..” 

“Mhm?” he chuckled.

He bit his lower lip as he stared down at you, quietly admiring the mess he'd made. “Cute.” 

Without warning, he yanked your head forward until he was fully seated inside your mouth, your nose pressed into his pubic hair as his balls slapped against your chin with each shallow roll of his hips.

"Gurk—gurk—"

You choked around him, tears immediately spilling down your cheeks, but the only response he gave was a deep groan as he slowly began to fuck your face, each thrust forcing another muffled gargle from your throat.

"Fuck, baby...I'm gonna cum."

He pulled out just enough to lean down and spit onto your tongue before pushing his cock back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, the loose belt still hanging around your neck, its end dragging through the dirt every time your head was forced forward.

You gagged helplessly around him, your cheeks hollowing as your eyes rolled back, your head rocking back and forth with every relentless thrust while he used your mouth however he pleased. And when you felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts growing rougher and increasingly sloppy, he suddenly pulled free with a low groan. Before you could even catch your breath, he hauled you to your feet, one arm wrapped firmly around your body as he guided his cock against your cunt, his other hand positioning himself before pushing his hard cock back into your tight hole.

“I’m gonna cum inside baby, a reward for being a good little toy for daddy.”

A broken cry escaped your lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering the moment he came. Thick, warm spurts filled you one after another while your body trembled from the lingering overstimulation, his hips continuing to jerk and roll against yours as he emptied every last drop inside you.

"These are worth thousands, Y/N! Oh my God."

Hanni's eyes widened in utter disbelief, her gaze sweeping across the worn wooden table as though she couldn't decide which stolen treasure to look at first.

A thick leather wallet, its compartments stuffed with crisp bills. Heavy gold necklaces lay tangled together beside matching rings, each piece gleaming with the unmistakable richness of high-karat gold. A limited-edition watch rested nearby, its polished face catching the kitchen light with every slight movement. And a duffel bag overflowed with expensive perfumes, bottle after bottle worth more than most people's monthly salary.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as your gaze wandered over Jungkook's belongings scattered across the table.

You never told Hanni that you'd gotten caught. 

Instead, you let her believe everything had gone according to plan.

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

He had given you far more than you had ever planned on stealing.

Tucked beneath your bed, hidden inside an old shoebox, were stacks of cash and signed checks worth enough to keep you comfortable for a long while—buying you the time to find a better path for yourself.

You hadn't even told Hanni about them.

Not because you didn't trust her, but because you knew the moment she saw that kind of money, questions would follow. Questions you couldn't answer without admitting where it had come from. So you kept the cash hidden, the checks tucked safely beneath it, and carried the secret alone.

He still hadn't turned you over to the authorities, even though it was painfully obvious he'd known exactly what kind of person you were from the very beginning.

From the moment he'd let you reach for the clasp of his necklace, he'd already known.

No high-ranking police officer—especially not a captain…would've failed to notice what you were trying to do. He had seen through you from the very beginning, long before you'd ever managed to slip a single thing into your hands.

Why did he let you?

You smiled seductively, slipping the watch and wallet beneath your dress before taking another sip of your now-warm beer, your gaze lingering on your target, who was far too drunk to notice the way your attention had never truly been on him.

Perhaps you hadn't changed.

Because here you were, stealing again…chasing the same thrill, the same rush, while somewhere beneath every excuse you made for yourself, another reason quietly waited.

Maybe you wanted to see him again.

You left the crowded club with the stolen watch and wallet hidden beneath your dress, weaving through the lingering crowd until the music faded behind you. The cool night air greeted your flushed skin as you made your way toward the smoking area, where you and Hanni had agreed to meet.

You had been stealing for six months now. 

You managed to steal from a shopping mall, a restaurant, a boutique, and even a high-end store—your usual targets where men were rarely involved.

Tonight, you decided to try flirting again…attempting to seduce someone despite the fact that your only experience had been with him.

Before you could even pull out your phone to text Hanni, someone pushed you against the cold brick wall.

Familiar dark, round eyes stared back at you, the same pierced lips curled around a cigarette as smoke drifted lazily into the night. Tattooed arms caged you in on either side, leaving nowhere for you to go.

Your eyes widened.

Seeing him dressed in the crisp navy uniform of a police captain stole the air from your lungs. 

Gold captain's bars gleamed from the epaulets on his shoulders, while a polished metal badge rested proudly over his chest. His duty belt sat low around his waist, crowded with the familiar weight of handcuffs, a radio, holster, and the rest of the equipment that came with his authority. The neatly pressed fabric, the black tie tucked beneath the collar, the nameplate pinned above his pocket—it all transformed the man you remembered into someone far more intimidating.

Power looked infuriatingly good on him.

Before you could utter a single word, his left hand slipped under your dress. Your breath caught as his fingers found the watch and wallet strapped against your thigh with effortless precision.

“Looks like my baby didn't learn her lesson, hmm?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

the wedding planners - @gukyi

enemies to lovers, wedding au, fluff, slight angst, smut mdni

jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend's wedding.

and then, as if your life couldn't get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

forever hold your peace - @seokbite ⟢ my personal fav rn

infidelity au, bestman!jk x reader & fiancé!taehyung, kook is tae’s best friend, angst, physical violence, smut mdni

Forever was a long time to spend with someone you weren't in love with. Saying yes to Taehyung's proposal had been a mistake, one you didn't think you could walk away from in fear of destroying everything you've ever made for yourself. But, your heart laid with Jeon Jungkook, your grooms best man and best friend.

idealizations concerning real life relations - @venusiangguk

strangers to lovers, fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!reader, fwb, angst, smut mdni

jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn't love in return.

something in the water - @vankoya

friends to lovers, camping au, mutual pining, slight crack au (tae funny as hellll) smut mdni

Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward,mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ____'s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake.

But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.

chasing butterflies - @ddaenggtan ⟢ my favourite fic 4ever

idiots to lovers, college au, coffee shop au, weeb!jk x jock!reader, endless humour and anime jokes, mutual pining, losers in love.., smut mdni

you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend's orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you've spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he's around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.

there is also a drabble after the events of cb

we can’t be friends - @taegularities ⟢ my fav author

exes au, college au, so much angst, smut mdni

Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No - you want this entire story to die.

Or: If living on can't mend the pain of losing him, maybe forgetting him for good will.

mature - @jiminrings

friends to lovers, jealousy, fluff, kook kinda sucks sometimes but he gets a redemption arc

the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.

alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

divine feminine - @gimmethatagustd

fwb, college au, fluff, kook yaps about anatomy n then tries a hands on approach, smut mdni

No one can make you feel like a goddess better than Jeon Jungkook.

melomaniac - @jungkxook

friends to lovers, band au, punk!jk, mutual pining but it’s kinda forbidden, a tatted jk fantasy b4 it became reality, smut mdni

you're wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn't be because he's supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he's in love with you too.

skirt chasers - @1kook

friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!kook ‼️ the end of this fic is my fav thing ever btw, kook has a thing for skirts, smut mdni

"Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn't know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls."

drabble list for sc 1 2 3 4 5 misc 1 misc 2

zipper - @taeshobipop ⟢ another fav author of mine

frenemies, college au, fratboy!jk, smut mdni

Jungkook isn't your date to the annual BTS gala, but he's the only one available to take you dress shopping. So when a zipper emergency arises in the boutique's tiny dressing room, who's there to help you?

the train of lost souls - @inktae

fantasy au, mentions of past death, angst, some fluff

The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options.

You can choose to live, to be given a second and a last chance in life, in exchange for your memories and your previous existence. You can choose to be alive again, but it can only be an entirely new life. Everyone you've ever crossed paths with would forget your name. All the pain and the love you knew, all the ups and downs that made you hurt and made you smile - all of it, completely gone.

Or you can choose to move on, to give your life away while keeping your memories until the end of time. To step out of the world of the living and to embrace a new kind of loneliness, but with the warmth of your past always safe between your cold hands.

politico - @hamsterclaw

politics au, smut mdni

Jungkook and you are staffers in the office of the Secretary of State. He's cut-throat, sneaky and goddamn it, everything you love about politics in one irresistible package. Ft Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin.

i heard a rumour - @taeshobipop

friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!jk, mutual pining, smut mdni

One slip of a finger, and you realize you've liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook...from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it's too late - Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul, you hiss.

The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook...and now he knows.

morning rush - @atdawnsuga

strangers, college au, exhibitionism?, slight smut mdni

You develop a strange relationship with the boy you share your morning commute with.

orange tulips - @kainks

soulmates au, reincarnation au, lots of angst, fluff, light smut mdni

You'd remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he'd never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.

catharsis - @junghelioseok

college au, fwb, ft. jimin, smut mdni

no matter what kind of release you need, he's there.

how long will we fall - @jiminrings

friends to lovers, soulmate au, unrequited love, so much angst, kook is emotionally constipated

if it's fate, it should already be set onto your skin - that's why jungkook's initials are already on your finger. he's always there for you, but not only for you. if you're his fate, he'd rather not have it.

alternatively, jungkook's your soulmate, but he doesn't want to be.

all i want for cockmas - @junqkook

jk is a mall santa lmfao, crack fic, smut mdni

you tell santa exactly what you want for christmas.

✦ series/multi-shot

incoming: elite chatboy - @kookingtae

ongoing 5/?, sex chat worker!jk, text au, humour, smut mdni

welcome to Elite Chatroom, a sex chat company with a wide variety of services such as text messaging, phone call, and video chat. you signed up online for the most basic text service plan not knowing what to expect, but you certainly didn’t think you’d end up actually liking the man behind the screen.

read part one here

the turing test - @fortunexkookie

indefinite hiatus 7/?, still added it :( cuz it’s my fav, android au, android!jk x creator!reader, mutual pining, shared tension, angst, smut mdni

"The Turing Test, developed by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine's ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human."

Jungkook fiddled with your hands in his, humming softly, as if deep in thought. You noted the way his eyebrows had furrowed, the sweet way his lips formed a pout, and wondered what could possibly be troubling him so much. What had he learned today?

"Creator," he began, dragging his gaze up to meet your own, "you gave me a mind that thinks, hands that feel, and a heart that beats, but did you give me a soul?"

read part one here

falling skies - @fortunexkookie

completed 6/6 enemies to friends to lovers, childhood friends au, slow burn, major angst, fluff, smut mdni

Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her twin, Jungkook, was something else entirely.

prologue

you can also read part one here

killah - @citrustan

ongoing 9/?, strangers to lovers? maybe, infidelity au, managing partner lawyer!jk x spoilt brat! reader, angst, smut mdni

you wanted jeon jungkook the moment you laid eyes on him and the fact that he had a girlfriend wasn't going to stop you.

series masterlist can be found here

cradle robbers - @wintrbears

completed 3/3, childhood friends to lovers, accidental pregnancy au, fwb, slow burn, slight angst, smut mdni

You and Jungkook have been friends since diapers, and one day you decide to hook up for the fun of it, but then you end up pregnant with your best friend's baby. Chaos ensues.

series masterlist can be found here

cowabunga, baby! - @jungshookz

completed 2/2, lifeguard!jk, kook surfs as well he’s rlly hot, crack fic, fluff, slight smut mdni

you'd blow his whistle any day - if only you weren't such a wimp.

part 1 2

to build a home - @soft4gguk

ongoing/author hiatus 16/? strangers to lovers, ceo dilf!jk x nanny!reader, angst, kook becomes a single parent, fluff, slow burn-ish, smut mdni

at twenty-eight, jungkook sees himself go from a family of three, to one of two - heartbreak never comes easy, but nothing could've prepared him for being a single parent as a result of Ira walking out on him. pain brings chaos and he's in need of help. it's only fateful that you so happen to be a blessing in disguise... in many ways than one.

series masterlist can be found here

colour me in - @taegularities

ongoing 15/? fake dating, fwb, college au, fuckboy!jk, this fic is the best thing to ever happen to me btw, misunderstandings, fluff, angst, smut mdni

Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening - and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.

series masterlist can be found here

please make sure to support the authors who’ve been tagged <3 and by all means, please lmk if you’d like your fic removed.

this hasn’t even scratched the surface of all the jk fics i’ve read over the years, in fact i’ve got 10 years of reblogs & likes on this tumblr from the beginning of my bts era til now..

The watch on Jeongguk’s wrist read half past five as he exited his workplace. He reached for the black umbrella in his bag as soon as the cold drizzle touched his skin. It was typical for him to stay an hour or two past his work hours, making the following day easier on himself; today, however, was the exception.

Being summoned by his higher-up had never felt as nerve-wracking as it did today. There were rumors and whispers of an alleged promotion — the kind that, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have disrupted his strict and already impeccable routine. He wanted to believe this time wasn’t any different. Nonetheless, whoever got this promotion would be stationed in Barcelona, Spain. That single fact turned an otherwise unappealing opportunity into something he wanted badly.

Born and raised in Seoul, where he’d studied international business and spent the past six years working as an assistant director of international partnerships at a well-known global trading firm, Jeongguk had built a life that looked, on paper, exactly like what he was supposed to want. He was bored of it. Bored of the mundane, the repetitive, the predictable. Applying for the promotion had been impulsive, almost out of character, and he was certain it was a long shot. Still, he found himself working harder than ever, as if devotion now could make up for the doubt underneath it.

“Congratulations, Jeon.” Said the older man sitting across from Jeongguk, separated by a black marble desk. The highest in the food chain, as far as regional bosses go. “The position is yours. Six weeks until your flight to Barcelona departs.”

Flat and emotionless. His delivery strangely helped Jeongguk’s anxiety, which skyrocketed once he sat down before his boss. Somehow, he could not believe he was chosen, even though he was the best out of the bunch. He wasn’t particularly driven by passion or love for his craft, but he was disciplined, and most of his coworkers lacked this indispensable virtue. 

“Fuck.” Jeongguk whispered to himself, staring at his wet shoes. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

The same wet shoes were quickly dropped by the entrance as Jeongguk practically ran to his home office. “Spanish… tutors… near me.” He muttered while simultaneously typing on his computer.

Jeongguk’s decision to apply for this promotion wasn’t reckless solely because it would require moving halfway across the globe, but also because he barely spoke the language his new home would require him to speak. This concern never crossed his mind before because he was naturally skilled at communicating with others and rarely needed to step outside his comfort zone when it came to foreign languages. A talented business major through and through, Jeongguk already knew three languages — Japanese, Mandarin, and English — in addition to his mother tongue. He mediated countless meetings for company branches across East Asia, to the point that he assumed the unofficial position of spokesperson whenever any of these languages were expected. He never needed to learn Spanish; now it seems as if his life depends on it.

As Jeongguk scrolled through the first tutoring website he found, he felt a level of anxiety that practically blinded him. He didn’t realize until that exact instant… He was moving to Barcelona. Away from comfort, from his predictable routine, and from everything that was familiar. As he reached the seventh page of tutor profiles, his eyes landed on one that made him pause.

It was the only profile without a profile picture or a tutor description. You only wrote your name and the languages you spoke, one of which was Spanish. You thought adding a professional headshot and highlighting your experience and skills seemed too pretentious, considering you saw tutoring as a hobby, a hobby that provided you with a few extra coins. That may be why you've only had four students in the eight months your profile has been up on the website. Jeongguk could see that those four students were satisfied with their experiences, judging by the remarkable five-star rating next to your nonexistent profile picture.

Jeongguk laughed at himself, acknowledging that it would be a terrible idea not to go with the tutor with the most experience and reviews. Again, it seemed as if his life depended on learning Spanish in six weeks. However… There was something exhilarating about taking risks— the last one had gotten him a promotion and a life in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. After a life filled with monotony, he was ready to be reckless.

You were startled by the sudden notification on your phone, more so after seeing it was a request for your tutoring services. “Okay, Jeongguk wants to learn Spanish,” you mentioned out loud while reading his message. “Fun!”

You were different from other tutors. Specifically, you preferred doing your tutoring sessions in person. In a coffee shop, at a library, or sometimes in a park. You believed that face-to-face learning triumphed over online lessons because understanding the nuances behind certain words and phrases was easier if your students could clearly perceive your gestures, something that may be complicated if you were relying on your choppy wi-fi. However, you couldn’t deny that this preference may be strange to some of your potential students due to the lack of identifiable information in your profile.

Jeongguk was one of those students. He saw your request as if the universe was giving him one last chance to change his mind, return to the first page, and book a lesson with the highest-rated tutor. He, once again, decided to ignore his logical inner voice and quickly accepted your wish to meet in a local coffee shop. Who knows? He might find the best coffee he’s ever tasted there if things keep going how they are.

Sitting down in the nearest booth with his caramel macchiato, Jeongguk was fidgeting to calm his nerves. His mind drifted into a spiral of doubt. All he knew about you was your name and that you knew Spanish. That was all he needed to know; still, he kept his expectations low, focusing his mind on the tough task of learning a new language instead. His mind continued drifting until his thoughts were interrupted by a harmonious voice.

“You’re Jeongguk, right?” You approached him, recognizing his face from his profile picture. “It is so nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself and immediately sat down in the open seat across from him once he nodded to your question.

He repeated your name to himself, taking in your looks and thanking every higher power that you were not some weird scammer. “I look forward to learning from you.” 

Indeed, you were rather beautiful. It took him some time to adjust to actually focusing on your melodious voice instead of your drawing eyes. Your smile was blinding, and you seemed so carefree and pleasant, which was the opposite of what he had frequently observed while working in such a ruthless environment. Similarly, you had never seen someone like Jeongguk before. He wasn’t just handsome; he looked like a fallen angel lost on Earth, with the kind of face and body that would inspire artists from the Renaissance. It sounds hyperbolic, but you genuinely started trembling when he confirmed he was the person you were looking for. His profile picture must have been outdated, you thought, because he now had a lip ring that flawlessly accentuated his rosy lips. By the looks of his attire — clean, monochromatic, and professional —, he seemed important. You wondered why he chose you out of so many potential tutors. You were so used to teaching college students and youngsters looking for helpful phrases to use during overseas trips. This was sure to be a teaching experience unlike any you had before.

“So,” You began, digging your thoughts deeper into your subconscious. “Tell me a bit about yourself. Why do you want to learn Spanish?”

“Well, I recently got a promotion.” You briefly clapped at his news. “Thank you. The only thing is that I’ll need to relocate to Spain. In six weeks.” His expression suddenly shifted. “And, as you can probably gather from my request for your services, I don’t know how to speak Spanish.”

“That’s not too bad, six weeks is plenty of time.” You scoffed, noticing that Jeongguk seemed stressed. Six weeks was definitely not enough time, but admitting this wouldn’t make it easier on either of you.

Your reassuring words made Jeongguk feel at ease.

“Let’s start with the basics, then.” You took a few items out of the backpack you were carrying. “Tell me what you’ve done today so far. In Spanish, of course.”

Jeongguk laughed until he saw you kept a serious expression. “Oh… I guess we have different definitions of basics.” 

"Basics for me just means figuring out where you're actually starting from," you said, softening it when you saw the color drain from his face. "Everyone's basics look different. So humor me." You slid a vocabulary book across the table. "Tell me about your morning. In Spanish."

He blinked. "All of it?"

"However much you can manage. Doesn't have to be pretty."

He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Not even a stumble— just silence, and the particular stillness of a man realizing he had absolutely nothing to draw from. You watched the composure that had gotten him through a promotion interview start to slip, replaced by something closer to genuine alarm, and it caught you off guard how quickly you wanted to walk it back for him.

"Okay," you said, gentler. "Let's try something smaller. Just tell me what you're drinking." You nodded at his cup.

"Café," he said, cautious, like it might be a trap.

"Good. Now put a sentence around it. 'Estoy tomando café.'" I’m drinking coffee.

"Estoy… tomando café." He repeated the phrase slowly, testing its shape in his mouth, and something in his shoulders eased when it came out right. "That's it?"

"That's it. You just said your first sentence."

He looked, for a second, genuinely pleased with himself. The kind of small, unguarded pride that didn't match the composed man you sat down across from ten minutes ago. It made you smile, watching that shift. "Okay. What else can I say?"

"Depends. What do you actually want to be able to say?"

"Anything. Everything. I have six weeks and apparently zero foundation to work with." He said it lightly, but there were real nerves beneath the surface, and you found yourself softening your approach without realizing it.

"Six weeks is tight, but it's workable if we're smart about it," you said. Then, because it felt wrong to let the reassurance sit there unchallenged, you added, "Honestly, tight is generous. It's going to be a lot of repetition and probably some frustration. I'd rather tell you that now than have you find out in week three."

He considered that, turning his cup slowly on the table. "I appreciate the honesty."

"I figured you'd prefer brutal honesty rather than a nicer version."

"I do." A small, surprised smile. "Most people give me the nice version."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." He said it like an observation, not a line, and something about the plainness of it sat warmer than a joke would have. His eyes lingered on yours longer than your heart could handle. "Alright. Teach me something else. Something I'll actually use."

You started him on simple present tense—estoy, tengo, quiero—building sentence by sentence off things actually in front of him: his coffee, the rain outside, the fact that he was nervous, which he refused to say out loud in his native language, let alone Spanish, until you needled him into it. He was quick, quicker than most students you'd had, picking up patterns after hearing them once and testing the edges of what he could say instead of just repeating what you gave him. It made sense when you learned that he was already proficient in a few languages. Holding this fact, you intentionally tried to increase the difficulty level. By the time you'd worked through a dozen sentences, he'd stopped bracing before he spoke.

"You're better at this than you think," you told him, and meant it.

"I had a good teacher rip the training wheels off in the first five minutes. Bit unconventional, but it worked."

"Don't get used to gentle. That was a warm-up."

"That was gentle?" He asked with genuine concern.

"Compared to what's coming? Extremely." You closed the notebook halfway, marking your place.

By the time the coffee shop's lights dimmed for closing, you'd gone through two rounds of conjugations, one increasingly ridiculous argument about whether "tú" or "usted" was the correct way to address your own boss, and a solid ten minutes where Jeongguk insisted he'd already mastered "estoy" and kept trying to bolt it onto everything, including things that didn't need a verb at all.

"Estoy Jeongguk," he tried, testing it.

"That's not how it works."

"Estoy... very confident that it does."

"It does not. You don't 'estoy' a name, you just say the name."

"You're telling me I can't improvise."

"I'm telling you that you tried to conjugate your own identity, and I need you to sit with that for a second."

"See, when you put it like that, it sounds insane."

"It was insane in real time, too." You laughed louder than you meant to. "Same time in two days?"

“Can’t wait to learn more from you.” Your heart skipped a beat seeing his smile as he waved goodbye to you.

On your next lesson, something was different. Same booth, similar monochromatic outfit, but he had a notebook of his own this time— not the one you'd given him, a different one, small and battered, already half full of handwriting.

"What's that?" You pointed to the notebook.

"Homework." He said it like a confession. "I looked up some things after our lesson. I wanted to see if I could get further on my own before you decided I was a lost cause."

"I don't decide people are lost causes."

"You did call me insane after I butchered the conjugation of ‘estoy.’"

"That was a joke, not a professional assessment." You reached for the notebook before he could stop you, flipping through it, and found — of course you did — that it was organized by category, verb tenses on one page, useful phrases on another, a small section labeled simply MISTAKES with three entries under it, each one crossed out with a correction written beside it in tidier handwriting than the original.

"You made yourself a mistake log." You were impressed, and your face showed it when you turned to look at a seemingly embarrassed Jeongguk.

"I like tracking things I've gotten wrong so I don't get them wrong twice."

"That's either extremely disciplined or deeply unwell."

"I like to think of it as a diversified skill set." He took the notebook back before you could read further, a little more self-conscious than his tone let on, and you found the sudden shyness almost more interesting than the notebook itself, because up until now, he hadn't shown you a single thing he wasn't fully in control of.

"Show me the mistakes," you said.

"Absolutely not."

"Jeongguk." This time, you finally sat down, your face inching closer to his.

"They're embarrassing."

"That's exactly why I want to see them."

He caved, eventually, sliding the notebook back across with the reluctance of a man handing over evidence at trial. You went through his mistakes: a gender agreement error, a mixed-up preterite, and a phrase he'd apparently misheard from a YouTube video and written down completely wrong. You corrected each one without laughing, though it cost you some effort, especially on the third, which you couldn’t even pretend you understood.

"This isn't even a real sentence," you said. "This means 'the elephant regrets nothing.'"

"I thought it meant 'no worries.'"

"It does not mean 'no worries.'" You both laughed at how ridiculous this mistranslation was.

"Well, now I know that. That's what the log is for."

You couldn't help it. You laughed again, and he looked so pleased with himself for causing it that you had to look back down at the notebook just to stop him from seeing exactly how pleased that made you in return. The rest of the lesson went quickly after that, buoyed by whatever he'd built on his own, and by the time you packed up, he'd added a fourth mistake to the log, this one made in real time, in front of you, without flinching.

"Progress," you said, nodding at it.

"Diversified skill set," he said again, and this time you both laughed.

He pulled out his phone to add your next session to his calendar, and you found yourself glancing over without quite meaning to—color-coded blocks stacked neatly across the week, each one labeled with a precision that bordered on excessive. Although you were the teacher, you thought there were many things you could learn from Jeongguk. So calculated, so thorough. So coordinated, so organized. It made you curious.

You gathered your things a few minutes later, the usual routine — notebook zipped away, pen capped, mental checklist for next time — except tonight you caught yourself lingering over it, in no particular hurry to leave the booth. It wasn't something you let yourself examine too closely on the walk to your car. However, you noticed, distantly, that you'd already started looking forward to the mistakes he'd bring you next time, and that this was not, strictly speaking, a normal thing to look forward to about a client.

For your third meeting, he was late for the first time, which felt so out of character that you almost texted to check on him before he came jogging in, tie slightly crooked, apologizing before he'd even sat down.

"Sorry. The meeting with the Barcelona branch ran long. They've started wanting updates every other day now.” He plopped himself down on the seat next to you. “I can't tell if that means they're excited or if they think I'm going to back out."

"Breathe. No need to apologize." The sudden proximity took you aback. He didn’t seem to mind how close he sat.

"I am breathing."

"You're breathing like you just ran here."

"I did just run here." He said as he let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand through his hair, and for the first time since you'd met him, the composure actually cracked all the way. "Sorry. I know I'm paying you to teach me, not to see me having a small breakdown in a coffee shop."

"You're allowed a small breakdown.” You reassured him. “This is a lot, what you're doing."

"Is it? Everyone at work keeps calling it exciting."

"It can be exciting and a lot. Those aren't mutually exclusive." You slid your own coffee toward him, only half-joking. "Drink that. You look like you need it more than I do."

He took it, and something in his shoulders came down half an inch. "Thank you."

"For the coffee or the pep talk?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know." He exhaled, finally looking like himself again, if a slightly more unguarded version of himself. "Can we just do something easy today? I don't think I have the bandwidth for you tearing apart my subjunctive."

"We can do easy." You considered him for a second, something softening in you that you didn't examine too closely. "Tell me about Barcelona. Not the job. Just— what do you actually know about the city? What are you looking forward to, if anything?"

It was meant as a distraction, a simple way of easing him back into speaking without the pressure of being right. He answered slowly, actually thinking about it, and what came out surprised you both. Something about wanting to walk somewhere without a schedule attached to it, about not remembering the last time he'd done something just because he wanted to and not because it was useful. He’s searched online for places to visit once he arrives. He looked excited, for once. You listened and didn't correct a single verb the whole time he talked, even when he got things wrong, because it didn't feel like it was your place to interrupt.

"That's the first real thing you've told me about yourself," you said, once he'd trailed off, a little embarrassed at how much he'd said.

"Is it terrible?" He looked self-conscious.

"Not at all, it's just very you. Apparently, even the stuff you want is efficient. You want to do unstructured activities, but you're already planning how you'll do them."

He laughed and didn't put any distance back between you, the way you half expected him to once the moment passed. If anything, he'd settled in closer over the course of the conversation, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him against your arm, and something eased between you that hadn't been there minutes before. The particular ease of two people who'd stopped performing for each other and stopped minding how little space was left between them.

In your next session, the coffee shop was particularly loud. A birthday party three tables over, someone's badly-timed acoustic guitar rendition of a song you both silently agreed was better left unplayed, and halfway through trying to explain the subjunctive over the noise, Jeongguk finally set his pen down.

"I can't hear myself think, let alone conjugate."

"Welcome to public spaces." You smiled. It was becoming hard for you, too.

"I'm serious. Is this shop usually this lively?" Jeongguk felt a headache coming on, so used to his completely silent office.

"Lately, yeah. New owner started doing live music nights, I think."

He considered something for a second, turning his cup, the same slightly-too-careful expression he got right before he said something he'd clearly been sitting on. "Would it be easier somewhere quieter? My place isn't far. I don't mind hosting, if that's okay with you."

You studied him for a beat too long, long enough that he visibly wondered if he'd overstepped, opening his mouth like he might take it back —before you shrugged, keeping your voice light even though something in your chest had gone very still. "Quieter's better for listening comprehension anyway. Send me the address."

Your mind started racing as you parked in front of his apartment. There was no power imbalance besides the clear teacher-student dynamic you were desperately trying to maintain. Regardless, it felt strange crossing this boundary with a client, as if you were doing something you knew was wrong. You were unsure why you felt this way… It wasn’t as if you were about to do something you weren’t supposed to. Right? 

You shook the thought off before it could finish forming, grabbed your bag, walked up to his door, and knocked. Whatever this feeling was, it could wait until after the lesson, or so you told yourself, right up until he opened the door.

His apartment was exactly what you expected from someone who color-coded his calendar: clean lines, nothing out of place, a bookshelf organized by height instead of subject. You almost laughed when you saw it.

"What?" he asked, catching your expression.

"Nothing. It's very... you."

"Is that an insult?"

"Depends on how the rest of the lesson goes."

"Ominous." He toed off his shoes at the door with the practiced neatness of a man who'd never once left them scattered. "Coffee?"

"Only if it's better than the shop's."

"It's way better than the shop's." He quickly scoffed.

"That's exactly what someone with worse coffee would say." A chuckle escaped your lips. You enjoyed teasing him this way.

He made it anyway and set the cup in front of you with the particular smugness of someone certain he'd win the argument once you tasted it. You didn't give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right, though the small, betraying sound you made after the first sip probably gave you away.

"I heard that," he said.

"You heard nothing."

"I heard a sound of defeat. I’ll claim the victory this time.” Still so smug, it was nice to see him being silly after your previous lesson.

You settled at his dining table, Jeongguk quickly sitting in the chair next to yours. The lesson went the way previous lessons had gone: efficient at first, then slower, then punctuated by tangents that had nothing to do with grammar. He asked about your other students, clearly fishing to find out if any of them got the same treatment he did.

"So," he said, entirely too casual for someone trying to be subtle about it, spinning his pen between two fingers instead of using it. "Your other students. Do they get this, too?"

"Get what?" Your face and voice conveyed confusion, but you knew exactly what he meant.

"This." He gestured between you, slow, deliberate, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear you say it. "The banter. The constant teasing. How observant you are of every little detail about me."

"That's a very specific thing to accuse me of." You maintained eye contact, believing it was exactly what he wanted from you. 

"Is it wrong?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I'm just curious." He wasn't backing down, still watching you with that same deliberate patience, like he had all the time in the world for you to answer. "So. Do they?"

"No." You held his eyes when you said it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away first. "Everyone else just writes down what I say and follows my directions. You're the only one who argues back."

"So I'm special." His smile couldn’t get any wider.

"You're a pain in my ass, is what you are."

"That wasn't a no."

You scoffed at that, and he knew it, watching you with the particular arrogance of a man who'd gotten exactly the answer he wanted the entire time. "It also wasn't a yes."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are. Very small. Very poorly hidden." He leaned back, pleased with himself in a way that should’ve been unbearable and somehow wasn't. "For the record, I like being the only one."

You went back to the lesson after that, or tried to. Still, you kept catching it, the thing you'd apparently been noticing without quite naming it until now: how he squared his shoulders every time you corrected him, like the mistake itself was a personal failure rather than just a wrong verb ending, how he'd repeat a corrected phrase three or four times under his breath until it was flawless, not satisfied until it was. How rattled he'd looked, days ago, defeated over not being able to form a complete sentence in a language he did not know— not embarrassed exactly, more like a man encountering a gap in himself he hadn't accounted for.

That was something worth asking about. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends what it is." He kept writing things down in his notebook. You assumed he was correcting another of his mistakes.

"Why are you so bad at accepting help?" You said it lightly, half a joke, expecting a joke back, but he actually seemed to consider it, setting his pen down instead of deflecting.

"I don't know. I'm good at things I've already decided to be good at. I don't really do the part where I'm bad at something in front of someone." He reached for his cup, not quite meeting your eyes. "This is a lot of being bad at something. In front of someone."

"You're not bad at it." And you truly meant it. He was one hundred percent more invested than any other student you’ve taught.

"I was barely able to say a simple sentence two weeks ago." Jeongguk raised his eyebrows, perceiving your words as ironic.

"And now you're arguing with me about verb tenses like it's a personal insult. That's basically fluent."

"Very generous benchmark." He shrugged.

"I'm a generous person." You weren't, particularly, not with anyone else, and you both seemed to spot that fact at the same time. He didn't have a good answer for that, covering the silence by pretending to be very focused on his verb chart, jaw doing something complicated that wasn't actually about grammar at all. You decided to interrupt whatever he was doing. "You're stalling."

"I'm concentrating."

"You've been staring at 'poder' for two minutes. It's not that deep."

"It's a philosophically rich verb."

"It means 'can,’ Jeongguk."

"Exactly. Can I, can I not— very existential." He was grinning when he looked up, clearly pleased with himself, and you threw your pen cap at him for it. He caught it with a look of pride in his eyes.

"Teach me something useful," he said, halfway through his second cup, spinning the pen cap between his fingers like a trophy. "Not textbook stuff. Something people actually say."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Flirting.” Your eyes slightly widened at his request. “Isn't that useful? I'm moving to a city full of people I don't know how to talk to."

"And this is a professional request, right?"

"Extremely professional."

"Uh huh." You raised an eyebrow, but there was something under his tone — half joke, half something else entirely — that made you set your pen down instead of picking up the textbook again. Two could play at this game. "Fine. Repeat after me.” You looked him dead in the eye and said, with perfect, theatrical seriousness: “¿Tienes un mapa? Porque me perdí en tus ojos."

He repeated it, slow and careful, actually trying to get the pronunciation right before he asked, "What does that even mean?"

"'Do you have a map? Because I got lost in your eyes.'"

There was a beat of silence, and then he put his face in his hands. "That's the worst thing I've ever said in any language."

"It's a classic."

"It's criminal. Have you used it before?"

"Nope, it's objectively one of the worst pickup lines in existence, which is exactly why I'm teaching it to you."

"So you're setting me up to fail."

"I'm setting you up to make someone laugh so hard they fall for you. There's a strategy here." As the words came out of your mouth, you knew they sounded insincere. For some reason, the thought of Jeongguk flirting with a random girl annoyed you.

"A strategy," he repeated, deadpan, and then broke, laughing for real, dragging a hand down his face like he couldn't believe he'd actually said it out loud. You were laughing too, at the sheer commitment he'd put into something so deeply stupid, and for a second, neither of you managed to stop. "Okay," he said, once he'd recovered, still grinning. "Give me a real one. Something I could actually use."

You considered him for a second. Flushed from laughing, pen cap in his hand, looking at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the room, and the next phrase came out quieter than you meant it to.

"Me encantas."

"What's that one?"

"It means I’m into you. I’m crazy about you, actually." You said it lightly, like it was still part of the lesson, but something in your voice gave you away, and you watched him catch it.

"Say it again." Something in him shifted; his eyes became even darker as he moved closer to you.

"Jeongguk—"

"Say it again."

You did, slower this time, without the joke to hide behind.

“Me encantas.” He repeated it back to you like he meant it, because he did, you both did. 

The words were the same, but the delivery was different—quieter, more deliberate, aimed at you rather than at a hypothetical stranger at a bar in Barcelona. Jeongguk felt the difference in his spine, a warm pressure spreading downward. The pen cap he'd been spinning clattered to the table, forgotten, as your faces came closer.

Jeongguk closed the gap between you by kissing your lips like a starved man. One of his hands held the back of your neck, attempting to bring you even closer, as if that was possible. His tongue explored yours relentlessly, bringing out breathless moans from you. Jeongguk felt blessed to hear you fall apart thanks to him. You felt his lip ring against your bottom lip when he bit it. It made you lose your composure. Your hands approached him, tugging his hair and pulling him away from you to take a breath. Although you were both breathing heavily, Jeongguk was far from done. He pecked your face, trailing kisses along your cheek and down your neck, where he stayed and left a few wet kisses.

“That feels so fucking good, Jeongguk.” You pushed your legs together and began grinding the seat, the sensation in your core intensified by Jeongguk’s neck kisses and grunts near your ear.

“Cursing, teach? That’s unacceptable.” He teased you, but you could only worry about how empty you felt without his lips on your skin. You were blinded by the pleasure you felt; you could barely discern what was appropriate from what wasn’t.

You sat on his lap, your legs straddling his, and he instinctively held onto your hips, smiling at how desperate you looked already. “What can I say? I think you bring out a different side in me that no other student sees.” He smiled, lips redder and lip ring shinier than before, and the increasing pulse in your crotch became painful. This time, you kissed him. Your hands found his hair again, and you loved how soft it was. 

Jeongguk didn’t think having you on top of him was enough. His fingers explored every inch of you they could reach. He rubbed your back, your exposed thighs, until he reached your ass and lingered there, holding onto both cheeks and taking control of you, forcing you to grind against him. You could feel how hard he was getting, and the pleasure created by the friction between your bodies was overwhelming. 

“Eres hermosa,” Jeongguk whispered as your lips abandoned his. You are beautiful.

You stared at him, impressed. You hadn’t taught him that; he’d done his homework. Those words reached a deep point inside you. Your head fell back, and your hips moved faster, the feeling of his hardened cock even more intense against your clothed clit. Jeongguk felt on top of the world, knowing that he had this effect on you. His lips found your neck once more, bridging the distance between you while his hips matched the rhythm of yours.

Before you could completely surrender yourself to the wave of pleasure that washed over you, the grating sound of a phone notification disrupted your rhythm, bringing you back to reality when you almost felt as if you were floating. You and Jeongguk shared a look, welcoming an awkward tension that was not there before. Behind you and towards the dining table, you realized it was your phone that cockblocked you. Reaching for it, your best friend’s name flashed on the screen. 

“Fuck, I completely forgot about it.” Still straddling Jeongguk, you covered your face in embarrassment. You made plans with her a while ago, way before Jeongguk was a regular part of your schedule. If only you were as organized as he was, you would have realized that you double-booked yourself. 

"Everything okay?" His hands were still resting at your waist, not pulling away, not pushing either, just steady, like he was giving you room to think without making you feel like you had to move yet. He didn’t want you to move away. His voice had dropped back into something calmer than it had been minutes ago, though his chest was still rising at the same speed it had been the past few minutes.

"I have to go. My friend, she’s waiting for me. I lost track of time, no— I forgot that I was supposed to meet her today." You sounded anxious.

"Don't." He interrupted you before you'd even finished getting up, quiet, almost surprised at himself for saying it at all. He didn't let go of your waist right away, thumb still resting against your hip like he wasn't ready to stop touching you yet. "Not yet. Just— give me a second before you go."

You stilled, half off his lap, caught by the shift in his voice. "Jeongguk—"

"I keep a color-coded calendar because if I don't plan something, it doesn't happen. That's not a joke, that's just how I've lived for the past few years. I decide what I want, I build a system for getting it, I execute." He wasn't looking at you now, focused instead on some point over your shoulder, as if it was easier to speak if he wasn't looking directly at you. "I didn't plan for this. These feelings. I don't know what to do with something I didn't see coming."

Now he did look at you, and whatever composure he'd been holding onto slipped the rest of the way. "I've had a mistake log for our lessons because I hate not knowing how to do something in front of you. That's how much I dislike disappointing you. And now you're about to walk out that door, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with how much I don't want you to."

You hadn't expected that. The specificity of it, no metaphor to hide behind, just him handing you the actual, unflattering shape of what he'd been carrying around this whole time. Something in your chest gave way at the honesty of it, some last piece of the distance you'd been keeping without quite admitting you were keeping it.

"I rescheduled a client for you last week." You said it like a confession, too. Quiet, meeting his gaze. You hadn’t noticed he was clenching his jaw until now.  "Someone whom I’ve been teaching every single week for a year. I told him I had a conflict… I just wanted to see you sooner."

"You didn't tell me that."

"I wasn't going to. It's not exactly professional." A short, unsteady laugh, nothing like your usual sharpness. "I just didn't want to go a whole week without seeing you, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I lied to a client instead of admitting it."

He didn't say anything right away. Just reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, slow, like he wanted an excuse to keep touching you a second longer.

"Good," he said finally, quietly. "I'm glad it wasn't just me."

Neither of you said anything after that; nothing was left that felt safe to say out loud. So you did the only thing that felt true instead: you kissed him again, slow, nothing like the urgency from an hour ago, just the quiet certainty that you weren't done with this, with him. Not even close, even if you weren't ready to admit how not close yet. When you finally pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed to yours for a second longer, like neither of you wanted to be the one to end it.

"Go," he murmured, though he didn't let go of your hand until the very last second. "Before I actually get on my knees and start begging you to stay."

You didn't remember the walk to your car. You remembered the door closing behind you, and the cold air hitting your face, and standing there for a full minute before your legs remembered how to move. Something in you needed a second to catch up with what had just happened before it would let you drive.

Two days passed before your next lesson, and they passed strangely. The kind of strange where every hour felt both too long and somehow already over before you'd noticed it happening. You went out with your best friend that night as you'd promised, sat across from her at the same bar you always went to, and heard maybe half of what she said. She was mid-story about a coworker's disastrous drama, and you were nodding at what you hoped were the right moments while your phone sat face-up on the table between you, screen dark, willfully unread.

"You're doing the thing," she said, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you're here, but you're not here." She narrowed her eyes at you over her drink. "You've checked that phone four times in the last ten minutes, and it hasn't even buzzed."

"I have not."

"You have. Who is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She didn't push it, which was somehow worse, because it meant she already knew there was someone, and was simply choosing to let you sit in the discomfort of being caught. You picked up your phone under the pretense of checking the time and found nothing waiting for you. No message, no missed call, nothing. You put it back down, feeling unreasonably disappointed by the absence of something you hadn't even told him to send.

You weren't usually like this. You'd always been the easy-breezy one, the friend who didn't lose sleep over a guy, who could go months without thinking twice about someone she'd kissed once and moved on from without much ceremony. Whatever this was, this counting down the two days until your next lesson like it was a deadline instead of a Tuesday, was new and a little embarrassing. You weren't sure yet whether you minded.

You mostly failed at that. You caught yourself rereading his one text from that night things got heated — made it home safe? sent a couple of hours after you'd left, casual on the surface, nothing underneath it you could point to and call proof of anything. You caught yourself, twice, standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear to your next lesson, before catching your own reflection in the mirror and feeling genuinely ridiculous about it. You'd worn the same three sweaters to previous lessons without a second thought, and now, apparently, that no longer applied. 

By the time the second day rolled into evening, you'd stopped pretending to yourself that the anticipation was about anything other than him.

He opened the door differently this time. No pressed shirt, no perfectly squared-off notebook waiting on the table, none of the rehearsed composure he usually greeted you with, the kind that made him look like he was walking into a client meeting rather than a Spanish lesson. Just him, in a soft gray t-shirt instead of his usual monochromatic uniform, hair slightly less deliberate than usual, lip ring catching the hallway light when he tilted his head. He looked, unmistakably, like he'd spent the last two days thinking about the same thing you had and hadn't landed on what to do with it either.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Neither of you moved for a second. The air between you was thick with everything that hadn't been finished, everything that had been sitting, unresolved, for two days that had felt considerably longer than two days. Two days of half-read texts and half-worn outfits and half-listened-to best friends, and you suspected, watching the careful way he was holding himself in the doorway, that his version of the last two days hadn't looked all that different from yours.

"I didn't set anything up," he said finally, glancing back over his shoulder at the bare kitchen table. No cards, no notebook. "Didn't see the point in it."

"No flashcards? No mistake log?"

"I've been distracted." His voice had dropped, quieter than the joke deserved, and there was nothing careful about the way he was looking at you now. None of the calculated thoroughness he brought to everything else in his life, the thoroughness you'd watched him wear like armor since the day you met him. "You have that effect on me, apparently. Turns out it's hard to plan a grammar lesson when you can't stop thinking about the last one."

"That's very unlike you. Being unprepared."

"I know." He didn't sound bothered by it. If anything, he sounded almost relieved, as if being unprepared for once, in front of you specifically, was closer to a relief than a failure. "I figured we both already know where we left off."

"Do we?"

"I think so." He stepped back to let you in, close enough as you passed him that you felt the warmth of him even without touching, and something about the restraint of it made the two days of waiting feel almost unbearable. Both of you very deliberately did not close that last inch, not yet. 

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound of it—that small, final latch—sent something electric down your spine. Neither of you moved for a breath. The air in his apartment felt different tonight, charged with everything that had been simmering since you walked out two days ago with his taste still on your lips.

"Two days is a long time," he said, voice low, not quite steady.

"You have no idea."

"I think I do." Jeongguk reached for you, fingers sliding along your jaw, tipping your face up toward his. The pad of his thumb traced your bottom lip, slow, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of it. "I kept thinking about how you sound when I kiss your neck. Couldn't focus on a single fucking thing at work."

His voice dropped lower, rougher, as his thumb slid down to your chin, tilting your head just enough to expose the column of your throat. "I kept replaying that little noise you made, the one right before you pulled me back in. The one that told me you didn't actually want to leave." You felt the heat of his breath against your skin before his lips followed, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the spot just below your ear. "I sat through a three-hour meeting with the Barcelona team, and all I could think about was this." His teeth grazed your pulse point, featherlight, deliberate. "The way you feel in my hands. How you said my name like it meant something."

His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "I don't get distracted. I don't let myself get distracted. But you—" He exhaled against your skin, a sound that was half laugh, half surrender. "You're in my head. All the time.” His lips brushed your earlobe, his voice a low rasp.

"Show me what you were thinking about."

The words left your mouth before you'd fully decided to say them, and you watched the effect they had on him in real time—the way his pupils blew wide, the way his breath caught and held for half a beat too long. His thumb, still resting on your hip, pressed harder, a reflexive response he probably didn't even notice.

"I was thinking about this," he said, voice rough, and his hand slid from your hip down to the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the seam of your jeans with deliberate slowness. "About how you felt in my lap. About the way your hips moved when I kissed your neck." His fingers curled, pressing against you through the denim, not quite touching where you wanted him most. "I was thinking about how you taste. I kept wondering if it would be as good as I remembered, or if I'd built it up in my head." His hand moved higher, cupping you through your jeans, palm applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. "And then I spent the rest of the night wondering if I'd ever get to find out."

"You're finding out now."

"Barely." He pressed harder, and you felt it everywhere, a dull, aching pulse that made you rock into his hand. "I want more. I want to memorize every sound you make, every way your body moves when I touch you."

His fingers found the button of your jeans, flicking it open with practiced ease, the zipper lowering with a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet of the room. "I thought about this part too." He slid his hand inside, palm flat against your underwear, the heat of him searing through the thin cotton. "About getting you out of these clothes and taking my time." His fingers traced the edge of your panties, teasing, never quite slipping beneath. "About how you'd look spread out on my bed, telling me exactly where to touch you."

"I can show you instead."

"No." His voice was firm, but there was a tremor underneath it. "Quiero oírte." I want to hear you. He shifted his weight, pressing his hips harder against yours as he closed the space between your body and the nearest wall, so you could feel exactly how much control this was costing him. "I don’t want you to hold back when I make you cum." He brought his mouth to your ear, breath hot and uneven. His teeth grazed your earlobe before he pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes searching yours. "That’ll be today’s lesson. I want to practice my Spanish while I make you feel good. I've been repeating phrases in my head all day, trying to figure out how to say the things I want to do to you. Now I want to see how you fall apart when I say them to you.”

The challenge in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He was trembling with the effort of holding back, but he was waiting, giving you space to meet him there, to play his game. His thumb traced your hip bone in slow, patient circles, and the corner of his mouth lifted when he saw the answer forming on your lips.

His mouth found yours before the words came out, hungry and impatient in a way that made your knees weaken. You could taste the lingering notes of the coffee he'd been drinking while he waited for you, bitter and warm and so distinctly him that your fingers curled into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

"Bedroom," you managed against his lips. "Ahora." Now.

He carried you through the apartment with a confidence that hadn't been there two weeks ago, each step deliberate, like he'd memorized the distance between the door and his bedroom and knew exactly how many seconds he had left to savor the weight of you in his arms. His grip tightened as he shouldered the bedroom door open, and the look he gave you—dark, hungry, certain—made your breath catch in your throat.

Jeongguk carefully laid you in his bed, and you pulled him down with you. He caught himself on his forearms, caging you beneath him, and for a moment he just looked at you—really looked, the way he'd been doing since the first lesson, like you were a problem he was determined to solve.

"Say something else," you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough with the shadow of stubble he'd missed shaving. "En español." In Spanish.

"Eres lo más bonito que he visto." His voice had gone rough, the words deliberate and careful. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Good pronunciation." You deflected, pretending that his words didn’t form knots in your stomach.

"I have a good teacher." His hips pressed into yours, and you felt exactly how much he meant it. "Now you. Tell me something. Anything."

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí." I want to feel you inside me. Your eyes never left his.

The sound of pure ecstasy he made vibrated against your throat as his mouth found your neck again. His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, and the friction of denim against denim was nowhere near enough.

"Otra vez," he breathed against your skin. Again.

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí."

“Fuck.” His hands slipped under your sweater, palms sliding up your stomach, your ribs, stopping just below your breasts. "I've thought about this. About you. About the sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you."

"Show me."

He sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him just enough to work your sweater over your head. His fingers traced the edge of your bra, following the line of lace with the same careful attention he'd given his verb charts. "You're shaking. Good." He unhooked your bra with one hand, practiced, confident, and let it fall away. You made a mental note to ask about that particular skill later. "I want you to remember this. Every second of it. I want you to think about it the next time you're supposed to be teaching me and can't focus because all you can remember is how my mouth felt on your skin."

He lowered his head, lips closing around one nipple, and your back arched off the mattress. His tongue worked in slow circles, the metal of his lip ring cool against the sensitive skin, and when his teeth grazed the peak, a sound escaped your throat that you didn't recognize.

"Like that. Make that sound again." He murmured against your breast.

He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, and this time, when you moaned, his hips bucked against the mattress. His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your open jeans, and when they found the wetness already soaking through your panties, he swore under his breath in a language you hadn't taught him.

"You’re this wet from just my mouth on your neck?" His fingers traced the outline of you through the damp cotton, teasing, never quite pressing where you needed him. "Or did you think about this last night, too? Did you touch yourself thinking about what I'd do to you?"

"No." You reached for him, fingers hooking into his belt loops, pulling his hips back down against yours. "I wanted to wait for you."

"Fuck." The word came out almost pained. Capturing your mouth again, he kissed you deep and desperately while his fingers finally pushed your panties aside and found you bare and slick and ready. "All this for me?"

"Solo para ti." Only for you.

One finger slid inside you, then two, and your hips rose to meet him without conscious thought. He moved them slowly, deliberately, watching your face with the focus he usually reserved for his mistake log.

"Look at me," he said, and when your eyes met his, he curled his fingers forward, finding the spot that made your vision blur. 

"There. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to." His thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and the dual sensation sent you hurtling toward the edge faster than you'd ever gotten there with anyone else. Your hands fisted in his sheets, your hips moving against his hand in a rhythm you couldn't control.

"Jeongguk—"

"I know." His voice was raw. "I can feel it."

When the trembling finally subsided, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth without breaking eye contact. He licked them clean, one by one, and the sight of it sent another pulse of heat through your already oversensitive body.

"Sabes mejor de lo que imaginaba." You taste better than I imagined.

"Your Spanish is getting better."

"I had motivation to practice." He lowered himself over you again, and this time, you felt the full length of him pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind his jeans. "But I'm not done yet. There's a phrase I need to try."

"What phrase?"

He didn't answer with words. His mouth found the hollow of your throat instead, then lower—collarbone, sternum, the soft curve of your belly. Each kiss came slower than the last, deliberate and unhurried, as he'd already calculated exactly how long he wanted to spend on every inch of skin between your neck and where he was headed.

"Jeongguk." Your voice came out thinner than you meant it to. "You said there was a phrase."

"There is." His breath fanned hot against your navel. "But I want to earn it first."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down past your hips, your thighs, your ankles. Your panties followed. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered. Not from cold, but from the way he was looking at you. That same careful, cataloging attention he'd given his vocabulary lists. Only now the subject was you, spread out beneath him, still trembling from what his fingers had done minutes ago.

"You're staring."

"I'm learning." He settled between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them apart, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of your knee. "Every part of you. Every reaction. I want to know what gets you to make that sound again."

His lips brushed the crease where thigh met hip. Not a kiss—barely a suggestion of one. Your hips jerked toward his mouth without permission.

"Just like that." His words hummed against your skin, sending shivers throughout your body.

"What are you learning exactly?"

"How you taste." His tongue traced a line along your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him. "How you respond to pressure. How long I can tease you before you start begging me."

“I won’t beg.”

"Not yet." He said it with absolute certainty, the same tone he'd used when he'd insisted he'd master the subjunctive before his flight to Barcelona. Then his mouth moved higher, and higher still, until his breath was right there—warm and wet and maddeningly close—and then he stopped. "The phrase," his lips brushing against you as he spoke. "I looked this one up. Wanted to get it right."

"Tell me."

"Quiero saborear cada parte de ti." I want to taste every part of you.

"That's—"

His tongue flattened against your clit before you could finish the sentence.

The sound that came out of you wasn't a word. It wasn't even close. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, and he groaned against you like he'd been waiting for exactly that reaction. The vibration traveled straight through you, sparking along nerves still raw from your first orgasm.

"Where did you learn that one?"

"I've been doing my homework." His tongue dipped lower, tracing your opening, and your grip on his hair tightened. "Dulce." Sweet. He licked again, slower. "Suave." Soft. A third time, deeper, his lip ring cold against your heat. "Mojada." Wet. "Dime cómo se dice." Tell me how to say it. He lifted his head, chin glistening, dark eyes finding yours across the plane of your stomach. "I want to describe you. Every taste. But I need the vocabulary."

Your breath caught. He was serious. Beneath the hunger, beneath the way his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, he was still your student—still that same meticulous man who learned languages by memorizing patterns until they became instinct.

"Dulce," you managed. "You said dulce already. Sweet."

"Dulce." He lowered his mouth again, tongue working in slow circles. "What else?"

“Salado. Salty.” Talking became harder, your words coming out between gasps.

"Salado." He tasted you again, lapping at the slick gathering between your thighs. "Both. Dulce y salado. Like caramel with sea salt."

"Poetic."

"I've been reading Spanish poetry." His tongue circled your clit, slow and precise, and the deliberate pressure made your back arch off the mattress. "The Romantics. Bécquer. Neruda. I wanted to know how to talk about you without sounding like a textbook."

"Most students just learn how to order coffee."

"I thought you knew I’m not like most students."

His mouth sealed around your clit and sucked, hard, and coherent thought dissolved. The room narrowed to the hot slide of his tongue, the wet sounds he was making, the steady pressure of his hands holding your thighs open. He worked you with the same relentless focus he'd brought to verb conjugations. Patient, methodical, adjusting his approach based on your reactions.

"Amargo," you gasped, when he slowed down to kitten licks. “Bitter.”

"Where?" He sounded genuinely curious, pausing mid-lick.

"The edge. When I'm close, it tastes different. Sharper."

"Enséñame." Show me. His voice had gone rough. "Let me taste the difference."

Two fingers slid inside you, curling forward against that spot he'd found minutes ago, and his mouth returned to your clit with renewed intensity. The dual rhythm—fingers pressing, tongue circling—built something seismic in your lower belly, a pressure that made your thighs shake against his shoulders.

"More," you heard yourself say. "Ahí, justo ahí." There, right there.

He repeated the motion exactly, the same pressure, the same angle, his tongue working you in tight spirals. His eyes were glued to yours, seeking your approval.

"Sí. No pares." Don't stop.

"No voy a parar." His words vibrated against you. I'm not going to stop. "I need you to cum in my mouth." 

The command undid you. That, or the way his fingers pressed deeper, or the way his lip ring caught against your clit with every stroke of his tongue. It didn't matter. The orgasm crashed through you in pulses, each one wrenched out by the steady rhythm of his mouth, and he didn't stop—didn't slow down, didn't pull back—just kept licking and sucking and groaning against you like he was the one falling apart.

"Amargo," he breathed, pulling back only when your hips stopped bucking. His lips were swollen, his chin wet, his eyes nearly black with want. "You were right. Sharper. More intense." He licked his lips. "I like it."

"Come here." Your arms reached for him, shaking as you still felt your heartbeat in your throat.

He crawled up your body, and you tasted yourself on his tongue when he kissed you. Dulce, salado, amargo, all of it mixed. His length pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind denim, and you felt the damp spot where he'd been leaking through the fabric.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for his belt. "Quiero enseñarte otra cosa." I want to teach you something else.

His breath hitched. "What?"

"How you sound when you let go. En cualquier idioma." In any language. Your fingers worked his belt open. "Whatever comes out."

"Prometo que voy a estudiar," I promise I'll study. His hips jerked into your hand as you freed him, hot and thick and already slick at the tip. "Every word. Every sound. I'll write it all down in my mistake log."

"Don't." You guided him between your thighs, lining him up where you were still wet and open from his mouth. "Some things you don't correct."

His breath caught when you guided him against you, the head of his cock pressing into wet heat. For a moment, he just stayed there, forehead dropping to yours, lips parted around a word that wouldn't come.

“Wait.” He pulled back, and the loss of contact made you whimper before you could stop yourself. "Condom. I need—"

"No."

His jaw tightened. The lip ring caught the lamplight as he processed the word, turned it over, and examined it from every angle like one of his vocabulary lists.

"No?" Confusion flickered across his face, then something hungrier. "But—"

"Quiero sentirte." I want to feel you. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his mouth hovered inches from yours. "All of you. Nothing between us."

He swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything." Your thumb traced the sharp edge of his jaw. "I'm on birth control. And I haven't been with anyone in months. You?"

"Not since before the promotion." His voice had gone hoarse. "Not since I started wanting you." He said it plainly, like a fact he'd stopped trying to argue with, and the simplicity of it hit harder than any elaborate confession could have.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He searched your face for any change in your expression, that careful scanning look, like he was checking for any sign of hesitation. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he exhaled and something in him shifted. Surrender. Relief. The particular recklessness of a man who'd spent his life planning everything and was finally letting himself want something unplanned.

"You're going to ruin me." He said it like a fact, as if he'd already accepted the outcome. "I'm going to feel you, and I'm never going to be able to think about anything else."

"Good."

He pushed inside you in one slow stroke.

The stretch stole your breath. No barrier, just him, hot and bare and somehow more than you'd imagined despite spending weeks imagining exactly this. Your nails bit into his shoulders through his t-shirt, and he groaned, a sound dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Fuck." He stilled, buried to the hilt, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing ragged, voice frayed at the edges. "Tell me what you want me to do to you now that I'm inside you. I want to hear you say the dirty things you're thinking while you can feel exactly how much I want you."

You felt him pulse inside you, a reminder that he was still holding on by a thread, and the power of that, the control you had over a man who controlled everything, sent a fresh wave of heat through your already oversensitized body. Your hips rolled experimentally, just a fraction of an inch, and the sound he made in response was worth more than any confession.

"You want to hear me talk?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, rougher. "Fine. I want you to move. Slow at first. I want to feel every inch of you dragging against me while I watch your face. I want to see the exact moment you stop thinking about Barcelona and start thinking about nothing except how good I feel."

His breath stuttered. His hips twitched, a reflexive forward press that made you both gasp, and you smiled against his mouth.

"I want you to learn a new word tonight. Despacio. Slow. Because I'm going to make you take your time. I'm going to make you feel every second of this, every heartbeat, every breath, until you can't remember what it felt like to want me from a distance."

Jeongguk's hands found your hips, grip tightening like he needed something to anchor himself. "That's—" He swallowed hard. "That's a lot of instructions."

"You asked for them." Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word came out desperate, immediate, and he seemed to realize how much he'd given away because he pressed his forehead to yours again, hiding. "No. Keep going. Please."

"Then here's your next lesson." You shifted beneath him, adjusting the angle just slightly, and the way his eyes rolled back was its own reward. "When I tell you así,” Like this, “you don't change a thing. You keep the same rhythm, the same depth, the same pressure. You let me feel exactly what you're giving me until I tell you otherwise."

His nod was jerky, barely controlled.

You tightened around him deliberately, watching his pupils blow wide. "Now show me how well you follow instructions."

He shuddered at the command, his hips stuttering as if your words alone could break his rhythm. But Jeongguk was nothing if not disciplined. Even now, even with his cock buried bare inside you and his mind swimming in the haze of desire, he found the control to slow down. His next thrust was measured, deliberate, the kind of precise movement that spoke of a man who had spent his life learning to obey instructions perfectly.

The slow drag of him against your walls was almost unbearable. Somehow too much and not enough all at once. Every nerve ending was alight, hyperaware of every inch of him, every ridge and pulse. He was watching you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, memorizing every micro-expression that crossed your face, learning what made you gasp versus what made you moan.

"Sí," you managed, the word coming out as a breathless sigh. "Just like that. No faster. No deeper. Just—" Your voice caught as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "—así."

He repeated the same stroke, same angle, same depth, and the precision of it, the way he'd already learned what you liked, sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with temperature. His thumb, still resting against your clit, began to move in matching circles, slow and steady, synced to the rhythm of his hips.

"You're so wet," he observed, his voice carrying a note of wonder. "I can feel it. Every time I push in, there's more. Is that because of me? Because of what I'm doing?"

"Don't fish for compliments while you're inside me."

A smug smile crossed his face, but he didn't stop. Didn't speed up. Didn't change a thing. Just kept that maddening, perfect rhythm, dragging moans from your throat with every slow, deliberate stroke. His free hand found yours, fingers intertwining, pinning your palm to the mattress beside your head.

"Tell me if I'm doing it right." The vulnerability in his voice cut through the stillness of pleasure. "I need to know. I need to hear you say it."

"You're—fuck, Jeongguk—you're doing it right." The words came out broken, punctuated by a gasp as he hit that spot again. "Don’t change anything. Así."

He groaned at the Spanish, at the confirmation that he was following your instructions correctly. His hips maintained their rhythm, but his thumb pressed harder, circles growing tighter, and you could feel the trembling in his thighs. The effort it took for him to hold back, to stay controlled, to give you exactly what you'd asked for, even as every fiber of his being wanted to take more.

"You’re so obedient. I love it," you whispered, and the sound he made in response—a desperate, wrecked noise that seemed to come from somewhere primal—told you everything you needed to know about how much those words affected him. Being under your spell, completely surrendered inside you.

His hips jerked involuntarily, a short, sharp thrust that made you both gasp. "Don't." Another slow thrust, deeper this time, his lip ring glinting as he smiled. "Don't tease me right now. I'm barely holding on."

He maintained that pace: long, deep strokes that filled you, the drag of him bare against your walls sending sparks up your spine with every movement. No rush. No urgency. Just the steady rhythm of his hips and the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

"Eres perfecta." The words fell from his lips like he'd been holding them in for weeks. You're perfect. "Perfecta. Tan apretada. Tan caliente." So tight. So hot.

"Harder." Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. But instead of speaking, you arched into him, a wordless demand. His answer was a low growl against your throat as his hips snapped forward, harder this time, stealing the breath from your lungs. The slightly slow, measured pace shattered; he drove into you with a desperation that rattled the headboard against the wall, each thrust a conversation you no longer needed words for. His mouth found yours, swallowing every broken sound you made as he took what you'd offered, and gave back twice as much.

His thrusts faltered, rhythm slipping as he lost himself in the sensation. You watched it happen, watched the careful composure crack further with every stroke, watched his eyes go dark and unfocused, watched his mouth shape words he couldn't quite voice. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and the sharpness of it, pleasure edged with just enough pain, made your inner walls clench around him. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that you felt everywhere.

He lifted his head, eyes finding yours. "Do that again."

"What?"

"Squeeze me like that again." His thrusts were harder, deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. His rhythm didn't break. If anything, it grew more deliberate, each stroke aimed with the precision of a man who'd spent weeks learning exactly where to find what he was looking for. "Again. Otra vez. I need to feel it again."

The demand in his voice, rough and frayed, sent a fresh pulse of heat through you. You tightened around him deliberately, a slow clench that started at the base and rolled upward, and watched his composure fracture in real time. His jaw went slack. His hips stuttered. A sound escaped him, low and wrecked, that didn't sound like it belonged to the businessman who organized his bookshelf by height.

He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils had swallowed most of his irises, leaving only a thin ring of dark brown around the black. "You're going to kill me. You know that, right? I'm going to die inside you, and I'm going to thank you for it."

His hips began to move again, slower this time, each thrust a deliberate drag against every sensitive nerve you had. The sensitivity from your previous orgasm made every stroke feel sharper, more electric, like he was relearning your body all over again. His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, hooking your leg higher over his waist, opening you further. The new angle made him hit deeper, and you felt it everywhere. A sharp, maddening hit of pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch off the mattress.

His voice was low, almost reverent. "Your cunt is still so tight. You’re clenching around me, taking me so well." His thrusts got deeper, letting you feel the fullness of him. "Is that normal? Or is that just—me? Just what I do to you?"

“It’s you. Just with you.” You felt your face getting hotter, feeling exposed not only because you were naked.

A shudder ran through him at your admission, and he pulled out almost entirely before sliding back in with excruciating slowness. The drag of him against your oversensitive walls made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He watched your face with that same intense focus, taking all of you in.

"Good." He repeated the motion—slow withdrawal, slower reentry—and the deliberate pace was almost more overwhelming than the frantic rhythm from before. "Because I want to remember this. Every detail. The way you look right now. The sounds you make. The way your body welcomes me every time I push back in." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm going to think about this non-stop. When I'm alone. When I'm supposed to be focusing on meetings. I'm going to close my eyes and remember exactly how you feel around me, and I'm not going to be able to think about anything else."

His rhythm shifted, growing slightly faster, the shallow strokes targeting a spot that made your vision blur at the edges. His thumb found your clit again, pressing in tight circles that matched his thrusts, and you could feel another orgasm building; slower this time, deeper, gathering in your core like a wave about to break.

"Así," you moaned, the word barely making it past your lips. "Así. Please don't change a thing."

He didn't. He kept that same rhythm, that same depth, that same relentless pace, his thumb finding your clit in matching circles. And when you clenched around him again—involuntary this time, pulled from you by the sheer overwhelming pleasure of his cock inside you—he groaned your name like a prayer, like he'd been saying it in his head for weeks and was only now allowed to let it out loud.

His pace quickened, the slow, deliberate strokes giving way to something more urgent. The wet sound of him moving inside you, no barrier between your bodies, filled the room alongside your broken moans.

"I’m close." You said, barely a whisper.

He felt it. Of course he did. His cock could feel every shift deep inside you.

His hips snapped forward, a sharper thrust that made you cry out. "Every word. Every sound. Every lesson. I've been taking notes on you since the day we met."

"You’re obsessed."

“Yes." No denial. No deflection. Just the word, hot against your throat, as his rhythm faltered and rebuilt itself. "Estoy obsesionado contigo. Con esto." I’m obsessed with you. With this. "Con la manera en que dices mi nombre." With the way you say my name.

"Jeongguk."

"Así." Like that. His voice had gone ragged. "Otra vez." Again.

"Jeongguk—"

The orgasm hit without warning, ripped out of you by his name on your tongue and his cock buried bare inside you and the relentless pressure of his thumb. Your vision whited out. Your body clenched around him in waves, each pulse drawing a broken sound from his throat. The pleasure crested, ebbed, crested again. When you finally surfaced, he was still buried inside you, still hard, still trembling.

"You didn't—"

"I wanted to feel it." He said it like a confession. "All of it. Every second. The way you—" His voice broke. "I've never felt anything like that. Someone cumming around me. Bare. Like this."

"Cum inside me." You said it for him, watching his eyes go wide and dark. "Déjate ir dentro de mí." Let yourself go inside me.

"Fuck." His composure was completely shattered. No more careful student, no more meticulous planner. Just him, raw and desperate, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with need.

The permission in your voice, quiet, steady, utterly certain, was the final thread holding him together, and it snapped. His hips drove forward once, twice, a third time, each thrust shorter and more desperate than the last, chasing a release he'd been holding at bay since the moment he first touched you.

Your name tore out of him, ragged and broken, as his rhythm shattered entirely. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt the exact moment he lost control. The way his whole body tensed, the way his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, the way a drowned whimper came out of him.

He came undone inside you. You felt it in pulses, hot and deep and endless, each wave drawing a shudder from his frame, each pulse pulling a broken sound from his throat. His hips kept moving through it, involuntary now, grinding against you like he couldn't bear to stop, like he needed to feel every last second of this before it ended.

You tightened around him, and he gasped, his whole body jerking as a sharp sting of pleasure rolled through him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, not quite biting, grounding himself against the overwhelming sensation of being so completely undone.

When he finally stilled, he was trembling. Not the fine tremor of exertion, but something deeper. A full-body shake that spoke of a man who had given everything he had and was still trying to find his way back to himself. His breathing was uneven, his face still pressed into the curve of your neck like he couldn't bear to lift his head and face what had just happened.

He stayed there for a long moment, buried inside you, his lips pressed against your pulse point like he was memorizing the rhythm of your heartbeat. When he finally spoke, his voice was wrecked. Hoarse and raw and honest in a way he'd never let himself be before.

"Me encantas." The words came out broken, barely a whisper, pressed into your skin like a secret he'd been carrying too long. "Me encantas tanto que no sé qué hacer." I'm so crazy about you that I don't know what to do.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and there was no armor left. Just him, flushed and spent and vulnerable, his lip ring glinting in the low light as he searched your face for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission to keep feeling what he was feeling.

You opened your mouth to answer him, and nothing came out.

It struck you as almost funny, in some distant part of your brain that was still capable of finding things funny in such a serious moment. You, who'd spent weeks handing him the exact right words for every occasion, who'd built entire lessons out of teaching him how to say the things he couldn't say on his own, and now here you were, wordless, in every language you knew. Nothing in your vocabulary felt big enough. Nothing felt like it wouldn't shrink the second it left your mouth.

So you didn't try. You reached up instead and pressed your palm flat against his chest, right over the place where his heart was still going too fast to be anything but honest, and held it there like you could say it that way instead. Like touch might succeed where every word you knew had just failed you. He went still under your hand, watching you with something that looked almost like relief, like he understood exactly what you were doing and didn't need the words either, not really, not when this was so much louder.

You leaned in and kissed him instead and felt him exhale against your mouth like he'd been holding his breath since the words left him. When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you found your voice again, small and unsteady and entirely true.

"I don't know what to do with it either," you whispered. Not a lesson. Just the truth, handed back to him in the only language you had left.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long moment neither of you said anything else. Because for the first time since that coffee shop, there was nothing left that needed saying out loud.

it was a late, blazing july afternoon with the kind of california heat that sticks to everything.

your beater car had just given up on you in the worst possible place it could—pulled over on the stretch of a busy road with no shade, just heat shimmering off the black asphalt and distant palm trees that don't feel helpful at all.

you already tried the obvious things. ignition, gas, trying it all again like it might change something.

it never did.

you leaned back against the passenger door of your car letting out a frustrated breath, hair sticking to your neck as you watched cars pass by with the soft sound of your hazards blinking in the background.

of course it's today. of course it's here.

that was when you suddenly heard the low hum of an engine slow down beside you. a sleek, black bmw—expensive, but not loud about it. it pulled in front of your car, and for a second you think the car is just stopping briefly.

that was before the driver door opened.

he steps out like he’s not in a rush to be anywhere else.

tall—noticeably so, he moves towards you easily, like he’s used to taking up space without ever forcing it.

sunglasses sit low on his nose, shielding his eyes, but not enough to hide the way his attention lands exactly on you. his shirt is simple—lightweight, slightly open at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. nothing flashy.

but it fits him too well. everything about him does.

dark jeans, clean shoes, watch on his wrist that you can't recognize but can tell is expensive. you notice all of him in the mere seconds he takes to walk over to you, the feeling hitting you all at once.

dear god, he was fine. the kind that made you straighten up a little bit without realizing; running a quick hand through your hair and fixing your jewelry.

he walks toward the front of your car, unhurried, one hand sliding briefly into his pocket before resting against the hood of your car.

up close, it’s worse.

sharper features than you expected. clean, but not overly polished. there’s something slightly worn in about him—like experience and maturity that sits on him well.

“everything alright?” he asks, voice is low and steady.

you blink for a second longer than necessary before responding. why does he look like that... helping me with my car?

"uh-" you stammer before clearing your throat. "it's- it's dead."

"yeah..." he says, eyes examining your car closer. "i can see that."

you nod and suddenly there's a pause, small but noticeable.

he comes around the side of your car, closing the distance between you to look inside of the window. you fumble while taking a few steps back as he looks at your dashboard then back at you, suddenly flustered by his presence.

"you got jumper cables?" he asks.

you simply shook your head.

"didn't think so," he says simply.

he walks back to his car, and you stand there feeling so helpless in the hot sun as he turns his car around to face yours in a swift manner, opening the door casually before coming around to his trunk like he's done this plenty of times.

when he comes back with the cables, he quickly slides his sunglasses in a way you almost miss a glimpse of his whole face.

you assumed it was because of the sun. but little did you know, it wasn't.

because before he walked back to his car, he had looked at you a little too closely. it wasn't some polite, quick glance. it was one that lasted a second too long.

he noticed everything about you.

the way your top fits—not overly revealing, but just enough to catch his attention without trying. the fabric light, slightly clinging from the heat. your skirt—shorter than it probably needed to be, riding just a little higher from the way you shifted against your car door.

his gaze dropped, brief, controlled—then came back up. your legs, your hands, the thin bracelet at your wrist. rings that don’t match perfectly but somehow work. jewelry that feels personal to you.

he takes note of that. of course he does.

then, your face. slightly flush from the heat, skin warm toned and sun-kissed. there's something effortless about you, like you spent more time living in the sun than hiding from it.

your expression—somewhere between annoyed and trying not to be. and your eyes, focused on him, but not softened. not entirely impressed by him, but more appreciative.

and when he closed his trunk, he forgets to look away. so he pulls his sunglasses back over, quick and casual. like it's nothing.

and not because of the sunlight, but because he was looking at you a little too openly. and he knew it.

he arrives at your car and connects everything smoothly, no hesitation and big hands steady. it was unfairly attractive.

“so,” he says, glancing up while he works, “you live out here or just enjoying the scenic breakdown experience?”

a smile pulls at your mouth despite yourself. “neither. i was just trying to get home.”

“mm.” he clicks something into place. “dangerous thing to try in LA.”

that gets a small laugh out of you, softer now and less defensive.

when the car finally sputters back to life, you visibly relax. he steps back, wiping his hands lightly. “there you go."

you should've just said thank you and left. but something in you doesn't act immediately. because now that the problem was gone, the silence between you two felt different now.

“so how do i… repay you?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious.

he tilts his head slightly. "you don’t.” a beat passes. "just don't break down in the worst place possible next time."

you rolled your eyes a little, a smirk tugging at your lips. "no promises."

that earns a small smile from him. he steps back toward his car, then pauses like he’s deciding something.

“i’m—” he starts, then stops himself, like he’s choosing not to introduce himself the usual way. "i’ll see you around.”

"yeah... thank you."

and you watch him get back into his car, driving away and getting lost in the sea of los angeles traffic as you realized two things;

you didn't get his name, and you would likely never see him again.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

one week later

he's just getting off the phone when it happens.

“yeah, send it over tonight,” he says, already half-distracted. “i"ll listen then.”

a pause. “mm. yeah. i got it.” he ends the call before the other person finishes their last sentence.

he slips his phone into his pocket, stepping onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun hitting just right—warm, a little blinding, the kind of los angeles light that makes everything look softer than it is.

but he's not really paying attention at first.

he's thinking about work. about a track that still isn’t sitting right. about whether he even wants to go to the next session he has lined up.

and then—he sees you.

just down the block, wired headphones plugged into your ears as you walk towards a small coffee shop.

it takes him half a second too long for him to register it. he slows before stopping in his place on the scorching sidewalk just to be sure.

same walk. same unintentional confidence—like you're not trying to be noticed, which somehow makes you stand out more. your outfit catches his attention again without effort. something light, slightly different from the first time he saw you, but still you.

skirt again—of course. not the same one, but same idea.

he notices that. he notices everything.

you push the door open to the shop before disappearing inside. and for a second—he considers just letting you go, letting the roadside interaction stay that way, a one time street kind of thing that didn't need to turn into anything else.

he exhaled quietly before shaking his head, "yeah, no." he changed his direction subtly like he was always going that way.

by the time he reaches the door, he's already composed again. no rush or urgency in him, just the same steady stride he always carried around.

inside the cafe, it’s quieter than the street. low music, soft conversations, and the smell of coffee swirled in the air.

he scans the space once and it doesn't take long for him to find you, standing near the counter, slightly turned away, looking up at the menu like you're stuck deciding between the same two things.

he watches you for a second. not long, but enough. and suddenly, there's that feeling again rising up in his chest.

he steps into line behind you—close enough to matter, not close enough to be obvious. he lets the moment build naturally. of course he does. he lets you stay unaware just a second longer.

then, as you shift your weight and turn slightly back—he steps forward at the exact right time. light contact, your shoulder to his chest. just enough to capture your attention.

"oh, sorry—" you say automatically before looking up. it took a moment for you to process that the same, gorgeous man who jumped your car last week was the one currently blocking your vision.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s just as surprised. “well,” he says, calm, almost amused, “this is becoming a pattern.”

you blinked. "you... helped me with my car."

"i did," he agrees. "and now apparently i'm following you around LA."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "are you?"

he puts a hand over his chest, mock offended but calm. “i prefer ‘running into you repeatedly by tragic coincidence.’”

that earns a laugh from you, the first real one between you. the barista calls you next in line, and he trails behind you like you're a couple ordering together. his presence alone makes your heart thump against your chest.

the barista takes your order and before you can even unzip your purse to pay, you already see a large hand coming from behind you, inserting a card in the machine.

the barista hands the man behind you the receipt and you turn around abruptly, tilting your head up to fully face him as you both drift away from the register. "i can pay for myself," you said.

"i know," he says simply.

"i was supposed to pay," you corrected as you picked up your freshly made coffee order.

"why?" he asked genuinely, tilting his head to match the angle of yours. it sent a light pink blush up your cheeks.

you look at him like the answer is obvious. "because you jumped my car."

his eyebrows pulled together. "that was like five minutes of my time." you all but blinked, suddenly at a loss of words under the intense gaze of this mysterious, confident man.

he begins to walk towards a table and you follow him, still protesting under your breath. "that doesn't mean you get to—"

“get to what?” he glances back at you, sunglasses now off, and it’s worse without them in a way—more direct, more readable. more of his perfectly chiseled face exposed to you. “buy you coffee?”

you open your mouth, then close it. because the way he said it made it sound ridiculous to argue.

you both end up choosing a table by the window. endless blue, moving slowly under the late afternoon sun. a few people pass by on bikes, others walking along the sidewalk with iced coffees in hand, like time moves differently here.

not sat too close to him, not too far—just enough space that it could still be casual if either of you decided to pretend it was.

“so, what do you do?” you ask finally, wrapping your hands around the cup.

he leans back slightly in his chair. “music.”

“that’s vague.”

“it's intentional.”

you give him a look. “oh, so you’re mysterious.”

“i’m tired,” he corrects lightly, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “there’s a difference.”

that makes you smile. “what, like a band?” you press.

“no,” he says. “behind the scenes.”

“oh.” you tilt your head. “like a manager?”

he pauses for a moment. "something like that."

it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. you nod like you accept that answer, but the curiosity doesn't go away.

“and you?” he asks.

you almost laugh. “i don’t do music.”

“didn’t say you did.”

“i mean…” you gesture vaguely. “nothing like that. i work. i live on the edge of LA where nothing interesting happens.”

his gaze holds on you a second longer than necessary. "that’s not true,” he says.

you frown slightly. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know you broke down on the side of a road in peak heat and didn’t immediately panic,” he says. “that tells me something.”

"like what?" "that you're stubborn," he replies calmly.

you lean forward a little, eyes analyzing his expression. "that's not a compliment."

“it can be,” he says. “depends who it’s about.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and him slip into easy conversation—half started stories, simple questions, the kind of conversation that doesn't feel like you're trying too hard.

you're mid-sentence, explaining something about where you live—how everything feels slower out there—when he interrupts you, but gently. “how old are you?”

you pause, caught off guard. “that’s random.”

“it’s relevant,” he says, like that should be obvious.

“to what?”

he lifts his cup slightly, studying you over the rim for a second before answering. “to how seriously i should be taking you.”

your eyebrows lift immediately. “excuse me?”

there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “i’m kidding,” he says, calm, unbothered. “mostly.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “twenty four.”

he nods once, like he expected that. “yeah,” he murmurs.

“yeah what?” you press.

“nothing,” he says, setting his cup down. “it makes sense.”

“that’s so annoying,” you say. “you don’t get to say that and not explain.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he leans back slightly, relaxed, completely comfortable letting you be a little frustrated. “you carry yourself younger at times,” he says. “but not in a bad way.”

you narrow your eyes. “that still feels like an insult.”

“it’s not,” he says, softer now. “it’s honest.”

you look at him for a second longer than you mean to. “okay,” you say quietly. “then how old are you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he’s deciding how much to give. “what do you think?” he asks.

you study him now, more deliberately. he doesn’t look older, not really. no obvious lines, no tiredness. and of course, he looks put together in a way most guys your age aren’t.

“twenty-seven,” you say finally. “maybe twenty-eight.”

he lets out a soft laugh—low, almost under his breath.

you frown immediately. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly with amusement.

“no, what?”

“you’re off,” he says.

“by how much?”

he pauses, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “enough.”

“that’s not an answer,” you says leaning forward closer now.

“it is,” he replies calmly. “just not one you like.”

you stare at him, half-annoyed, half-curious. “you’re not going to tell me?”

“not yet.”

your eyes narrow. “why?”

he meets your gaze fully this time. “because i want to see if it changes anything for you.”

you lean back slightly, thrown off in a way you don't show completely. “why would it?” you ask.

he shrugs after a small pause. he glances down at your cup. “you drink your coffee too slow, by the way.”

your mouth falls open a little as the moment quickly softens again. “oh my god.”

“just saying.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re still here,” he points out lightly.

the conversation drifts again after that, easier now. you talk more without meaning to—little things, fragments of your life. he listens in a way that feels attentive, but not invasive. like he’s not collecting information, just understanding your pace.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you both drift toward the door without really deciding to. the conversation doesn’t end—it just slows, like both of you are aware it has to, eventually.

outside, the afternoon has softened. the heat isn’t as sharp anymore, but it’s still there, hanging in the air between you.

you shift your weight slightly, glancing down the street, then back at him. “this was…” you start, then stop, like you don't want to overdefine it. he watches you, gazed fixed on you patiently.

“unexpected,” you continue on.

he nods once. “yeah.”

“i still owe you,” you say.

he glances down at you. “you don’t.”

“i do.”

“you don’t,” he repeats, softer but final. but after a small beat, “if it makes you feel better, you can get the next one.”

you narrows your eyes. “there’s going to be a next one?”

he paused again, but only for a fraction of a second too long before he shrugged slightly like it was nothing. "if you break down again, i might start thinking it's planned."

you rolled your eyes, but a smile pulled helplessly at your lips. as you stepped out into the light of the sun, you realized two things at once. this man still hadn't told you who he is or his name, and that you somehow already agreed to see him again.

"let me see your phone," he said lowly, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once again. it wasn't really a question.

and so you reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone, and without asking—he takes your hand gently, turning your palm slightly towards his. the faintest brush of his fingers sent an unexpected warmth up your arm in a way you couldn't ignore.

he picked up your phone that now seemed so small in his hands, typing something quickly before handing your phone back. you looked down at your screen, squinty slightly from the sun.

his name. a number.

joon 213-555-0010

when you look back up at him, he's already watching you—unreadable in a way that sent a pink flush throughout your cheeks.

"joon," you said, like you needed to say his name out loud. like you knew it was just a nickname.

he simply nodded, something small like a smile tugging at his lips from the sound of you hearing his name. "yeah."

he paused, low eyes peering above his sunglasses as he looked at you closely. "you gonna tell me yours?" he asked lowly, the baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

so you told him, and he repeated it a few times under his breath like he had to let it sink on his tongue. "y/n," he said finally, voice quieter than usual. "pretty name for a pretty girl."

your eyes couldn't help but widely slightly at his bold words, the pink on your face turning into a deep red.

a small pause filled the air before you swallowed, trying your best to lock in your confidence in front of this man. "you didn't ask for my number," you said.

"i know."

"that's a little backwards."

"not really."

you titled your head. "why?"

he took a step back, giving you just a little more space. "because now it's your choice."

you study him for a second, like you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of game. some kind of reality tv show where they prank you with some hot mysterious man. but it didn't feel like one.

"and if i don't text you?" you ask.

a small pause before he shrugged easily. "then i'll assume you didn't want to." but his tone didn't have any pressure or persuasion in it.

"confident," you mutter.

"selective," he corrected.

you almost rolled your eyes—but you don't quite let it happen. he glances past you for a second, like he's remembering that he actually has somewhere to be. then, they quickly averted back to you.

"if you do," he continues, quieter now. "don't over think it."

you let a small laugh. "too late."

that earns a small smile from him, dimples tugging at his cheeks in a way you noticed immediately. "i figured."

another pause before he steps back swiftly, like he's deciding that he couldn't stay any longer than necessary—even if he wanted to. "i'll see you around," he says, for the second time.

before you can respond, he's already turning and stepping away, suddenly gone in the same effortless and casual way he arrived.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

that night, you tell yourself you're not going to think about him.

and you failed immediately.

you failed when you went to dinner with your friends, when you did chores around your house; in the shower and when you laid in your own bed that night—the bed that was supposed to make your thoughts go away. it was the small things at first.

the way he didn’t rush anything. the way he answered questions without really answering them. the way he looked at you like he already understood something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

and as the night continued on, the bigger things settled in your brain, making heat shamefully pool between your legs.

he didn't ask for your number. he didn't try to lock you in. instead, he just left his number with you.

who is he?

your phone sat next to you with the screen dark and off, but it felt louder than anything else in the room. you fell into a cycle of picking it up and putting it back down.

finally, you picked it up again, finding his contact. you flipped it shut, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought of messaging him. you found your thumbs typing, deleting, then typing something again.

you exhale softly, leaning back against your pillow trying your hardest not to overthink it, his voice replaying in the back of your head.

he wasn't some typical guy—you could tell in the way he carried himself. he walked casually, but with assurance. he dressed with stride, but still managed to blend in. he talked with confidence, and every line was coated with experience.

so now, it wasn't just about texting him. it's about what it would mean if you did. because somehow, after one roadside encounter and a cup of coffee—you already wanted more than you should have.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's drive back was quiet. not because he wanted it to be—but because nothing else fit how he felt at the moment.

not even any of his music.

he had driven these streets thousands of times. the same turns, the same streets, the same palm trees. usually his mind is somewhere else entirely—work, mixes, deadlines, people who expect things from him.

but not tonight. because tonight, it kept circling back to you.

it all kept replaying in his head—the way you looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. he noticed the way you didn't try too hard. you didn't perform like everyone else in LA.

you didn't know what he is, who he is, or what kind of world he's involved in.

that was the part that was stuck in namjoon's head so deeply. because most people that meet him are already adjusted to him—already well aware, careful with their words and their tones, their intentions.

but you certainly weren't.

because you argued with him. you rolled your eyes and called him annoying. and you meant all of it.

a faint smile pulled at his mouth as he came to a stop at a red light. "twenty-seven," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and laughing slightly.

but still, you didn't hesitate.

he pulls into his place, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out right away. he glances at his phone, sitting in the center console of his car, dark and quiet.

but he doesn't reach for it. because namjoon was a patient man—he always had been. in work, in life, in everything that mattered.

once he gets inside his spacious, sleek home, he dropped his keys on the counter, running a hand through his hair, exhaling.

namjoon had been with plenty of women before. older, younger—in his world and outside of it. he always knows how it goes. he knows how to keep it light and uncomplicated.

but this didn't feel like that. because it felt like something that could get complicated. but instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he leaned into it. just a little.

an hour passes. then two.

namjoon tells himself he's not checking his phone. but it turns out to be a lie, because throughout night—he checks it without picking it up. glancing every time he walks past, like it might light up if he looks long enough. but it doesn't.

he tells himself to relax, that you have a life or that you might not be interested at all. but still—he wonders what you're up to. if you're thinking about him the way he's thinking about you. if you're overanalyzing that moment outside of the coffee shop.

suddenly, his phone buzzed. he doesn't look right away. he just looked at it before reading the unsaved number, no name attached. he picks it up and opens it almost immediately.

unknown: do you always leave girls with this much pressure or am i just special?

he lets out a quiet breath—half a laugh of amusement, half something else. there you finally were, exactly the way he had anticipated. he begins to type before he stops and quickly deletes it.

he leans back against the counter, thinking—not about what to say, but about how much he should give. because namjoon didn't want to rush this. he didn't want to come on too strong.

but he couldn't pretend that he was unaffected either, because he most certainly couldn't even if he wanted to. not with you.

he types again, this time sending it.

him: i was starting to think you wouldn't.

he watches the screen for a second longer than necessary, saving your contact before setting his phone down. it wasn't far, but it was just enough. because now, you know that he was waiting too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you exhale softy, rolling onto your back with a smile that couldn't help but tug at your lips.

you: oh so you were waiting

a pause settled on the screen before the typing bubble popped up again.

joon: i was curious

you: that sounds like a more mysterious way of saying waiting

joon: you can call it whatever makes you feel better

and now, you definitely smiled at that. because he was already doing that thing again—side stepping without hesitation.

you: you're too difficult to read

joon: you're trying too hard then

you: i think you're just confusing

joon: only for you sweetheart

you actually laugh out loud at that, shaking your head and ignoring the way the nickname made pink tint your cheeks.

you: wow so is this how you talk to every girl you buy coffee for?

his reply comes faster this time.

joon: i don't buy anyone coffee

you: good answer

joon: an honest one what are you doing right now?

you glanced around your room like he could somehow see.

you: nothing important

joon: doesn’t sound convincing

you: i could say the same about you

joon: i’m working

you: doing your very mysterious job?

joon: still stuck on that?

you: a little

joon: you'll figure it out eventually

you bit your lip slightly, thinking of an answer.

you: you're very sure i'm going to stick around long enough to figure it out

joon: aren't you?

your heart does that annoying little jump again, and you don't answer right away. and he doesn't send anything else. instead, he waits. three minutes later;

you: maybe

joon: that's a start

another painfully long beat passes before your cellphone vibrates again.

joon: you busy tomorrow night?

you stare at the message, blinking twice to make sure you read it right. but somehow, half of you wasn't surprised. you were practically waiting in a way you couldn't admit. but the other half was incredibly in shock.

you started to type.. deleted it.. then typed again.

you: depends what are you planning?

joon: something better than coffee

you smiled immediately, even though you tried not to.

you: that's a little confident

joon: doesn't seem like you hate it

you: i don't

joon: good

a pause settled on the screen again.

joon: 8?

you exhaled slowly, the reality creeping in as you stared at the screen. you were really going to go on a date with this man. the same, confident and attractive man that had jumped your car and saved your day. the same man who's age and job you couldn't quite detect.

you: okay

joon: i'll pick you up don't overthink it

you rolled your eyes, smiling.

you: too late

joon: i know

and just like that, with one text conversation, it definitely was more than just a street thing.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you almost regret saying yes the moment you hear a car pull up outside, engine rumbling lowly outside your apartment window.

not because you didn't want to go, of course. but because now, it's real.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the bumps in your hair and coating your lips with gloss one last time. simple, but intentional. something that said you tried... but didn't try too hard.

your phone buzzed.

joon: i'm outside

when you step out, you see the car first. the same sleek and clean car that had pulled over in front of you on that busy highway engulfed in heat.

then him.

leaning slightly agains the driver's side door, towering over the car with his sleeves pushed up, looking like he's only been there for a minute—but completely settled anyway. he wore a costly-looking dress shirt, glimmering chain around his neck and a sparkling watch wrapped around his built arm. you swallowed hard.

his eyes flick up from the ground immediately when he notices you. and for a second, he just looks at you. completely, unashamedly taking you in with his eyes slowly.

"yeah..." he says lowly, dragging his lips ever so quickly along his lips as you approached him, heels clicking beneath you. "you're going to be a problem tonight."

you couldn't ignore the heat that sent down your spine, but you simply peered up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently. "aren't i always?"

"i haven't seen you always," he replied.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile pulled at your lips anyway. then, he stepped back, opening the door for you. you don't the miss the way he does it without hesitation. and when you sit inside, you don't miss the way his gaze burns into you before closing your door.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive was easy, music low in the background, city lights coming to life as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

namjoon doesn't fill every silence—and somehow it makes it easier for you to talk.

"so where are you taking me?" you ask eventually.

"you'll see," he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested between you.

"that's not helpful."

"it's not supposed to be."

you shook your head, smiling out the window. he pulls up to a restaurant that sits right by everything—the beach, the water, and the city. it was definitely upscale, but nothing intimidating.

inside, the lighting is warm yet dim, swift music playing and low conversations humming.

you were seated quickly. no waiting or confusion. you didn't quite realize the line of people who were standing for a table, and how you and him were able to breeze right past it.

when you arrive to your seat, it's right in front of the window, city lights and palm trees stretching on the glass in front of you. he pulls your seat out for you, helping you take off your coat and placing it along your chair.

after you place your orders, the conversation flows faster this time. less guarded, and more natural.

"so," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. "what do you actually do?"

you sigh softly, like you already know the answer isn't impressive, even compared to his incredibly vague one. "i’m a waitress," you say. "nothing exciting."

he watches you for a second. "you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

"or because you think it's supposed to be."

that made you pause. "it's not exactly... impressive," you admitted.

he shrugs lightly. "most things that are don't matter."

you let out a small breath, like you didn’t expect that answer. “you always talk like that?” you ask.

“like what?”

“like you know something i don’t.”

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. “sometimes i do.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and namjoon are laughing a few minutes later—about something small and stupid—and it feels easy. too easy.

the song currently playing comes to an end and the music shifts. a different song comes on—smooth, familiar, something that's even playing everywhere recently.

you perked up immediately. "oh my god, i love this song."

he stills ever so slightly. it's quick and barely noticeable, but there's a flicker of something across his face. he glances down at the table, then back up at you. "yeah?" he asks, casual.

"yeah," you nod, smiling. "it's so good."

he hums in response, leaning back in his seat like it's just background noise. "not bad."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "not bad?" he shrugs. "it's alright."

you laugh. "you're impossible."

and he doesn't argue. but there's a faint smirk but he doesn't fully hide this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the dinner stretches longer than you expected. because neither of you seem to be in a rush to end it.

by the time the check comes, you reach for it instinctively. because at the cafe, he said he would let you get it this time.

but he's faster. of course he is.

"you don't have to—" you start.

"i know."

"that's not fair," you protest.

"it doesn't have to be," he said.

you sigh, but you're already smiling again.

as he hands the card over, the server pauses. "sorry," the server says, almost hesitant. "are you... are you—namjoon—"

namjoon already knows what's coming. he exhales softly, not annoyed at all, just used to it. "yeah," he says with a polite smile. you blinked.

"sorry- i thought so. i didn't want to assume."

he gives a small, reassuring nod.

"do you think i could-" the server gestures awkwardly. "just like, a quick autograph? my brother and i are huge fans."

you completely froze.

fan?

huge?

he doesn't make it a big deal. "yeah, no problem," he says, like it was normal. like this happens all the time. because it does.

he signs something quickly, hands it back with a polite smile.

"thank you—i appreciate it. you two have a great night," the server said before walking off.

silence settled between you for the brief a second. you were completely staring at him now, trying to control your facial expressions as you processed what just happened.

"you didn't tell me that happens to you," you said.

"i didn't think it mattered," he replied casually.

"well," you said slowly. "what exactly do you do?"

there it was. the question he definitely couldn't avoid this time. he leans back slightly, studying your expression. it was curious, but not intimidated or totally impressed. just curious.

"i told you," he said. "music."

you shook your head. "no, you said behind the scenes."

he huffed a small breath, close to a laugh before he paused. "i produce," he said finally. it was simple and direct—no bragging or boasting.

you blink again. "like... that song?"

a beat passes for a small moment before he nods once. "yeah."

and now, the air between you shifted. because now you knew; he wasn't just some guy who stopped to help you on the side of the road.

and somehow, it almost made things worse. because now, you had to figure out why he's here... with you.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the air outside feels cooler than before. or maybe it’s just because of the way everything shifted inside.

namjoon pushes the door open for you, stepping slightly to the side to let you walk out first—but as you pass, his hand settles lightly at the small of your back.

guiding. not grabbing or lingering too long. just there, resting on your back. it's subtle, but you can feel the intention seeping through you, especially in the way it instantly sends a shiver up your back.

your steps slow for half a second—not enough for him to comment on, but enough for you to notice yourself.

but he notices too.

you both walk a few steps in the parking lot in silence. it wasn't awkward, it was just both of you recollecting the entire night—including who he really was.

“so,” you say finally, glancing over at him, tone light like nothing’s changed, “you’re kind of a big deal, namjoon.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “no.”

“that guy literally asked you for an autograph.”

“that happens sometimes.”

you narrow your eyes. “that’s not normal.”

“it is for me,” he says simply. it wasn't cocky or defensive, just the honest truth. it should've been intimidating. but you didn't let it land that way.

you shrugged slightly. "okay. but that still doesn't mean i'm impressed."

there's a pause before he looks at you—really looks this time. and something shifts in his eyes, subtle but sharper. more interested and intrigued by the young woman standing before him.

"good," he said lowly.

you blinked. "good?"

“i’d be a little concerned if you were.”

your lips press together slightly, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

you both reach his car, but neither of you move to get in right away. he leans back against it slightly, arms relaxed and eyes fixed on you.

you cross your arms again. not closed off, just grounding yourself under his gaze. "so you just... make songs people know?"

"sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"ugh, that's such a non-answer."

his lips fought a smile at your remark. "it's an accurate one."

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. "you're so annoying."

"but you keep talking to me," he points out.

you finally glance up at him fully, and for a second, the eye contact lingers for a moment too long. it causes you to look away first, pink tinting your cheeks.

and namjoon notices everything.

the way you're holding eye contact a little less now. the way you're slightly more aware of yourself. the way you're trying not to let it change anything. but it doesn’t turn him off—it only pulls him in more.

“you got quiet,” he says.

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

you look away for a second, then back at him. “i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate. “nothing,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. instead, he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you, but enough to spark the energy in the space between you even more.

“you’re doing that thing,” he comments quietly, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

your brows knit. “what thing?”

“trying to act like nothing changed.”

your stomach flips—annoyingly and immediate. “because nothing did,” you said.

a pause fills the air. he studies your face, like he’s deciding whether to call it out further. “alright,” he says finally.

you exhale softly. “you’re not going to say anything else?”

“i don’t need to.”

“that’s so—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

he watches you, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “say it,” he murmurs.

you look at him, trying not to react to the way his voice dropped slightly. “it’s just… a lot,” you admit.

your answer was too honest for your liking, yet he didn't laugh or dismiss it. "yeah," he said quietly. "it can be."

a beat passed. "but i'm still the same guy you had coffee with," he said softly. and those words land, harder than anything else he's said.

you study him for a second, searching for something—ego, arrogance, anything that would make this easier to categorize.

but you don’t find it. instead, you're only able to find that same calm, steady version of him. the one who stopped his car for you. the one who let you decide whether to text him. the one who didn’t even bother to impress you.

“…okay,” you say finally. and you mean it.

there was a small shift in the air between you, the tension softening— but not totally disappearing.

“so,” he says, pushing off the car slightly, “you still letting me drive you home?”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i have a choice?”

“you always have a choice,” he said. a beat passes. "but i’d prefer if you said yes," he confessed playfully.

you huffs out a quiet laugh. “you’re very subtle.”

“i try.”

and for the second time that night, namjoon opens the passenger door for you. and this time, when you got in, it felt different; reality swirling around you and settling into your head.

the drive back was quieter than the one there. it wasn't awkward or empty—just filled with unspoken words and incredibly thick tension.

his gaze was fixed on the road, but you couldn't ignore the way you caught him glancing over at you multiple times in the corner of your eye. the music is low, humming softly through the speakers before another song comes on.

you glance over at the console, then over at him. "did you make this one too?" you ask, half teasing.

he doesn't look at you right away, a smirk pulling at his lips, leaving a sharp shadow along his jaw. "maybe."

you roll your eyes, fully smiling now. "you're never going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"not all at once, pretty girl."

there it is again. not just the nickname that sent heat through your spine and in between your legs—but that confident, indirect promise of you sticking around long enough to unlock every thing about him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're looking out the window, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes everything feel more noticeable. but you're not really seeing or looking at anything, because you're too aware.

too aware of namjoon. the way he drives—one veiny hand on the wheel, relaxed but precise. the way the scent of his expensive cologne and shampoo made your knees weaken. the way he continues to glance over every now and then, quick, like he’s checking something without making it obvious.

you shift slightly in your seat every time he does.

suddenly, his hand moves from the wheel for just a second—resting briefly against the center console as he adjusts his grip. but through that movement, his large fingers brush lightly against your thigh.

he dragged them ever so softly on your thigh for what felt like forever—but only lasted two seconds—before moving his hand back to the center console. his fingers were barely there, not lingering or deliberate enough to call out. but it wasn't exactly accidental enough to ignore either.

your breath catches for just a second, but he doesn't react or apologize. he doesn't even look at you, and somehow that makes it worse.

you swallow hard, turning your head slightly towards the window again. but now you're even more hyper-aware of the space between you. your heart was doing something very annoying again, and you knew it.

he knew it.

he slows the car as you reach your place, parking smoothly before killing the engine. and just like that, everything went still.

neither of you moved right away. you looked down at your hands, then back up like you were about to say something. but you didn't.

he simply watches you for a second, less teasing in his eyes and more focus. he took in every inch of you, sitting so still and pretty in his car. looking at him like he was still the same guy who jumped your car, not like he was a guy who made every hit song. "you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you keep saying that."

"because you keep doing it."

you glance at him. this time, you don't look away immediately. "i'm just thinking."

"dangerous," he murmurs, pulling a small smile from you.

you reach for the door handle. "thanks for dinner," you say, like you're trying to keep it normal.

"yeah," he replies with a soft smile.

you open the door, stepping out thinking that the night is wrapped up. that he'll pull away and let you go. but then, you hear his door open too.

he rounds the front of the car, meeting you halfway up the short path to your door. he took his time not rushing—because he never did.

when you stop in front of your door, you turn to face him. and suddenly, it's close. closer than it's been all night. there wasn't a table, a center console, or any distractions now. just him, towering over you and filling your entire vision with nothing but him. his musky cologne quickly filled your nostrils, throwing your mind off balance.

"you don't have to walk me up," you say quietly, close to a whisper.

"i know," he says. but he doesn't step back.

a long pause fills the air, stretching long enough for the tension to feel intentional. his gaze drops briefly, to your lips—then back up to your eyes.

your breath catches again, softer now. but you were too close for namjoon to not notice it. "are you always this—" you start, then stop.

"this what?" he asks lowly, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the mere sight of you fumbling with your words in front of him.

you shake your head slightly. "i don't even know."

a faint smile pulls at his mouth. "good." he took another step closer, not enough to trap you, but enough for the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

then, his hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he does it carefully, like he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away. but you didn't.

"you're overthinking again," he murmurs, low eyes scanning every inch of your face.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "you keep saying that like it helps."

"it does," he suggests casually.

"how?"

he leans in barely. he doesn't completely close the distance between you, but it was enough to send a bolt of warmth down your body. "because you're still here."

you tilt your head up just a little, before he leans in just a sliver more. and for a second, the moment is right there, sitting heavy in the little distance there was between you.

and then, he stops. just barely, coming to a small still when you could practically feel his breath on you. just enough that it didn't happen.

your eyes flicker across his face, confused, a little breathless. he watches your reaction carefully, low eyes trained onto your every movement.

and suddenly, there's that faint smirk again—but it's softer; barely there and more restrained than usual in a way you almost didn't catch.

"goodnight, doll," he said lowly. "sleep well."

like nothing had almost just happened.

he steps back, ripping the thick air that had just sat between you like a third person. breaking it and leaving you there standing with it.

“you’re—” you start, but you don't even know what to call him.

he tilts his head slightly, licking his lips and averting his gaze down you one last time. “what?”

you exhale half-laugh and half-frustration. “annoying.”

he smiles, dimples pulling at his cheeks. “i know," he says, before turning around and walking back to his car.

from the doorstep, you watch him get in, turn on the engine, and leave. leaving you there with more thoughts than your racing heart could keep up with and a miserable dampness in your panties.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's place is quiet again. too quiet.

he tosses his keys down, walks a few steps in, then stops—like his body forgot what he was about to do.

because his mind was entirely somewhere else.

it was still at your door. still immersed into that moment.

he leans back against his kitchen counter, exhaling. he's replaying everything now, like dinner—the way you didn't switch up when you found out what he did. you weren't suddenly impressed or started asking the wrong questions.

you stayed the same. maybe you were a little quieter, a tad bit more aware. but you didn't completely fold.

that absolutely sat under namjoon's skin now. he was completely enamored by you, and didn't want to pull a girl like you into his chaotic world. didn't want you to adjust to him because of who he was, like most people did.

but you didn't. you just took it in, and kept going. you stayed exactly the same—you still called him annoying and told him he wasn't impressive.

he looks at his phone sitting a few feet away. he already gave you control once. he let you decide whether or not to text him, to decide if it was going to go anywhere or not.

but he wasn't going to do that tonight.

him: you always look at people like that or was that just for me?

he sets the phone down, but not far. because you've consumed every inch of his mind again without even trying to. he thinks about the your eyes dropped to his lips, the way you didn't pull away.

his jaw tightened slightly. he knew he was in trouble.

his phone lit up again.

her: like what?

he lets out a quiet breath, a smile pulling at his lips. the way you played it off, like you always did, made him only want more. made him think that maybe he should've kissed you right then and there—should've forgot about being a man and taking his time with you and—

he slowly took in a deep breath through his nose, dragging a hand across his face.

him: like you were about to do something you'd regret

her: don't know if i'd call it regret

namjoon liked that a little too much, licking his lips and leaning back. because now, he knows you felt it too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days and several text conversations later, namjoon sends you a text on a night he knows you're not working. no question or explanation, just;

joon: be ready at 7

when he picks you up, the air already shifts when you walk outside. it was in the way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't hiding it at all anymore. he takes his time, eyes trailing from your shoes, to the way your skirt falls, the jewelry at your wrist, to your face.

"you always dress like this, doll?" he asks lowly, stepping closer to you.

you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way the name made your brain feel like mush. "like what?"

"like you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked that."

your lips pressed together slightly, trying not to smile. "maybe i did."

a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "yeah," he agreed. "i think you did."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the driver is longer, along the coast again. his tinted windows are cracked, music low with the sky fading into the darkest blue that only happens by the water.

you and namjoon talk, but it's far from that careful, first date way. the conversation flowed between you easily. you interrupted each other, went off on tangents. doubled back to things you both said earlier. like you both have done this together longer than you actually had.

when you arrive, the place is even more secluded than last time. a quiet overlook with soft lights and the ocean extending endlessly in front of you. the sound of waves clashed below in a way that was steady and grounding.

it felt private, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

you and namjoon sit closer this time without question. dinner stretches and the conversation flows. you don't even discuss all the big things, but it's the way you talk about the small ones that makes it feel different.

you tell him about what hobbies you have, about your job—how it's routine, how people underestimate it, and how sometimes you feel stuck. and he doesn't brush it off or give you empty encouragement like most people did.

"you're not stuck," he corrected you firmly.

you scoff every is slightly. "that's easy for you to say."

"it's not about me," he replies softly. "you just need to find what you want."

you pout slightly in a way that makes his heart falter. "and you have?"

he pauses for half a second. "yeah." that same confidence remained in his tone, and for a second it felt like he might have been talking about something else.

at some point, his hand settles at the back of your chair. but this time, it stays. it wasn't touching you directly, but it was close enough to make you aware of it. aware of him.

you shift slightly and his slender fingers brush at your shoulders. they rest there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back. his warmth and his actions sent an unbearable heat between your legs.

after dinner, you both step away from the table, walking along the edge of the overlook. the night air is cooler now, ocean breeze slipping through you. you and him walk a little closer than before, shoulders lightly brushing with every few steps.

you wrapped your arms around you slightly, and his jacket is already around your shoulders before you can say anything.

you glance back at him, stopping in your steps to look at him properly. "you know... you're very sure of yourself."

"that bothers you?"

"no," you admit honestly. "it's just—different."

he pauses for a small moment. "from what you're used to?" he asks.

you nod slightly. he studies you for a second. "you're trying to figure out how old i am again."

your eyes widen slightly. "i'm not—"

"you are."

you exhale. "okay, maybe a little."

he lets your confession sit in the air before he nods slightly toward a couple walking past you two—a generation older than you, quieter, and settled. "you think i'm closer to them, or closer to you?" he asks.

you look back at the couple, then back at him. you really look at him, thinking about the way he carries himself. the way he speaks. the way he doesn't rush anything.

your expression shifts. "...okay," you say slowly. "how old are you?"

he pauses for longer than just a few seconds. "thirty-three," he answers finally.

you can't help but blink. once. twice. "...really?"

"yeah."

you study him again, like the answer didn't quite align with what you were seeing. "you don't look thirty-three."

"i know," he answered casually.

"that's kind of unfair," you said playfully.

he smiled softly. "i've heard that."

a quiet beat passes as namjoon watches you carefully, curiously watching your expression.

you shrug slightly. "okay."

he tilts his head. "that's all?"

"what?" you ask. "were you expecting something else?"

"most people... adjust," he stated.

you look at him deeply, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "well i'm not most people."

he steps closer, lightly closing the space between you. his scent filled your head once again, making your breath catch.

"yeah," he said lowly. "i noticed."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

later, when you leave the restaurant together, you don't rush out. you never do.

namjoon walks slightly behind you first as you both headed towards the entrance, one hand finding its way onto the small of your back. it became natural now, something you didn't react to—externally, at least.

his hand was there, guiding you carefully down the steps.

two hostesses near the front glance up. then they glance at namjoon. then to you, then back at him.

a quick look exchanged between them followed by a few whispers and positive smiles. he catches it immediately. of course he does.

namjoon doesn’t look directly at them—he doesn’t acknowledge it—but there’s the faintest change in his expression. then his hand presses just slightly firmer at your back.

a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. not to show off. just to keep you close—and slightly focus the attention on you.

you don't notice the whispers, but you do notice the presence of his hand grow warmer. "what?" you ask, glancing back at him.

"nothing," he says easily.

the lights from the restaurant glowed behind you, the cool night air and a soft breeze coming off the water hitting you all at once.

there's a small set of marble steps leading down towards the parking area. you start down them without thinking—mind entirely captured by namjoon—and suddenly your heel catches slightly.

it's quick—barely a stumble, but it's enough to throw you off balance slightly. his large hands instantly find their way to your waist firmly, tightening his grip and steadying you before you could even process anything.

"careful, baby," he murmurs, low and close. the name slipping out like it had always belonged there.

you freeze for half a second, breath catching slightly before you steady yourself, hand instinctively brushing against his arm.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, beginning to continue a careful ascend down the steps and ignoring the heat on your cheeks.

namjoon however, doesn't move his hands right away. they linger on your waist a second longer than necessary, making sure you're fully balanced. "i know," he says calmly.

you look up at him, trying to play it off. "you don't have to—"

"i know," he cuts in softly.

and when you reach the bottom of the steps, his hand doesn't leave your back. it stays there, steady, guiding you towards his car like you're already part of his space.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive back is quiet, the low vibration of the music and the city lights and palm trees flickering past practically lulling you to sleep.

and namjoon's presence, of course.

his large hand rested on the wheel, the other on the center console. close enough. by the minute, you swear it continues to get closer.

"tell me about him," namjoon says suddenly, the deep baritone of his voice making your thighs press together slightly.

you frown slightly from confusion. "about who?"

"your ex."

it catches you off guard. "...why?"

he shrugs lightly, sharp eyes still on the road. "i'm curious."

you hesitate before sighing. "he was..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word. "lazy."

half a second passed. "immature," you added. "didn't really pay attention to me unless it was convenient."

and as you talk, namjoon's jaw tightens slightly. it's subtle and controlled in a way you don't notice, but it's there.

"he just-" you shook your head slightly, looking out the window. "i don't know. it felt like I was always asking for the bare minimum."

for a long second, silence fills the car. namjoon's fingers tap once against the console. then, they shift. his hand moves unhurriedly, eventually finding its way to rest against your thigh, making a sharp bolt of warmth shoot down your body.

"yeah," he says finally, voice low and rough. "that sounds about right."

you glance at him. "what does that mean?"

he paused for a second. "guys your age," he continues, calm but edged with something sharper now. "they don't know what to do with a woman like you."

your stomach flips in a way that is impossible to ignore. "and you do?" you ask teasingly, trying to keep your tone steady.

his thumb shifts slightly against your thigh slightly. butterflies erupted in your stomach and your thighs shifted in a way you couldn't help, trying to disregard the heat between your legs.

"i wouldn't ignore you," he says simply.

the air in car seems to shift as you swallow hard, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "you barely know me."

"i know enough," he answers.

your breath catches slightly. namjoon's hand stays sat on your thigh steadily, like he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

"and i definitely wouldn't have you asking for anything," he adds. his words land deeper than they should, etching themselves into the back of your mind without asking.

you let out a quiet, almost nervous laugh. "you're very confident."

"i'm honest," he says. he pauses for a moment. then, his voice drops just a little—"big difference."

you look at him again, thoroughly scanning his face this time. "you always talk like that?" you ask.

"only when i mean it."

another silence settles between you, this time sitting thick; heavy with everything both of you haven't said. his hand finally shifts, but not away from you. it only slides higher along your thigh before settling again.

"relax, doll," he murmurs softly, voice low and deep.

you exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?"

you shake your head slightly. "you know exactly what."

a faint smirk pulls at his lips. "yeah," he answers. "i do."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the rest of the drive feels too short.

namjoon pulls to your curb, parking swiftly with one hand before cutting the engine. silence fills the space, neither of you reaching for the door immediately.

you look down at your hands, then back up, like you're about to say something—but the words don't come as easily now. because everything, from the restaurant, the drive is still sitting in between you. his hand, his voice. doll.

"you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you make it hard not to."

he stills ever so slightly, like your words had pulled something out of him. "do i?" he asks.

you look at him, holding his intense gaze this time. "yeah."

he pauses for longer than normal, eventually moving his hand before his mouth. he starts slow—not to your thigh this time—but higher. his fingers lift, brushing lightly along your jaw. just the tips, tracing the line like he needed to memorize it.

your breath catches immediately, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you seemingly couldn't look away from his face. he tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction closely.

"you always look like this when you're thinking?" he murmurs.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "like what?"

his thumb lingers beneath just beneath your chin for just a second. then it shifts slightly, guiding your face just enough so that you're looking directly at him and nothing else.

"like you're trying to figure out if this is a good idea," he says.

your heart practically stumbles. because he absolutely was right. "and?" you ask quietly.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. but this one was softer, like it was more certainty than teasing. "i think you already decided," he murmurs. his gaze drops briefly, down to your lips, then back up again. this time, he doesn't even try to hide it.

"you're dangerous, you know that?" you say, barely above a whisper.

he leans in slightly, his scent taking over your lungs. "yeah?"

your breath is uneven now. "yeah."

his gaze drifts again, over your face, slower this time. fully taking you in. "you still thinking about the age thing?" he asks.

"no," you respond, holding the burning eye contact.

he studies you for half a second, like he's deciding if you're telling the truth. then, he exhales quietly, almost amusedly. "yeah," he says. "didn't think you would."

his hand lifts from your chin before resting lightly at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly before easing.

"probably better for you," he adds, voicer lower now, teasing but grounded in something real and deep, "if you didn't get used to someone like me."

your stomach flips instantly. "who says i'm getting used to you?" you shoot back, trying to play it off.

a smile tugs at his lips. "doll," he murmurs, softer and closer, the warmth of his breath hitting your neck. "you're already here."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days later, namjoon sends you an address located in the corner of a private street in LA telling you to meet him there. telling you that he wanted to show you something.

a building tucked slightly off the main road, close enough to the water that the air already feels different when you step out of the car.

you hesitate for a half a second before going in. not nervous, but just a little too aware of what you were walking into. with a few instructed taps on the door buzzer, you were let in.

inside, the hallway light is dim, soft lights lining the walls that were decorated with award cases, album posters, and framed vinyls. the floors were sleek and bass echoed through the walls.

you followed the sound the sound down the hallway, until you find a studio door that's slightly open. the gold plate on it reading, "kim namjoon" then below it, "head executive producer."

you exhale softly, heart slightly stopping at that and swallowing a little too hard before you push it gently, and that's when you see him.

sitting at the main console, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting near the soundboard. one hand adjusting a dial, the other resting against his chin like he's listening too closely.

he was so immersed that he hadn't noticed you yet.

the room was lowly lit—colored LEDS instead of overhead lights, the glow from the equipment reflecting softly against his face.

and there's something about him like this—focused, quiet, and completely in his element—that hits differently, making your stomach twist into a knot.

his sleeves are pushed up again, glistening watch catching the light as he moves his hand. a chain rests below his collar, barely visible, but sparkling in the light.

everything about him is so simple, but it fits him all too well. you don't mean to stare, but you definitely do.

and then, like he felt it—namjoon finally glances up. your eyes immediately meet, and you swear you felt a spark flash through your body.

for a split second, he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, gaze taking you in deliberately.

then, he licks his lips so lightly you almost don't catch it. "you just going to stand there," he says, voice low and soft. "or are you coming in?"

you blink, snapping out of your trance slightly. "i-i didn't want to interrupt."

"you didn't," he replies easily. but his eyes linger on you for a second longer, almost like he knew you were watching him.

you step inside, softly closing the door behind you. the white lighting from the hallway had disappeared now, fully engulfing you into his world—his studio, his creative space—the place where he made every hit even possible. the big room suddenly felt smaller now, more private.

you look around, taking it all in. the walls are boarded with soundproof panels, and large speakers are placed around the sleek equipment. there's two chairs, a beanbag, and couch with folders of music sheets and lyrics scattered on the floor and on counter tops. "this is... really nice."

"mm," he hums, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly. "it works."

you glance at him. "you say everything like that."

"like what?"

"like it's not a big deal."

a faint smirk. "it's not."

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. he gestures towards the seat next to him. "come here." it wasn't a question.

you walk over, sitting beside him—closer than expected, immediately greeted by his warmth and the musk of his cologne.

he turns towards the console, grabbing a pair of high-end headphones. "listen to this," he says. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before carefully placing them over your head.

music plays—smooth and layered. it had no lyrics, but it was already catchy. you hummed in delight. "it's really good," you said softly, gently taking the headphones off.

"i know," he replies casually.

you laugh. "you're insufferable."

he glances at you, a smirk forming. "you're still here though."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

after a few minutes of namjoon showing you some buttons, he glances at you. "you want to try something?" you look at him, a bit hesitant. "like what?"

he shifts slightly, turning your chair just enough so that your angled more towards the board. "come on," he says, nodding towards the controls. "i'll show you."

"...i feel like i'm going to mess something up," you say.

"you won't."

"how do you know?" he leans in slightly, his breath hitting your neck ever so slightly. "because i'm right here."

your stomach flips again. he reaches around you slightly, one hand bracing lightly against the edge of the console near you, the other guiding your hand toward a dial.

“turn this,” he says, voice lower now, near your ear.

you try to focus. you really do. but namjoon is close. too close. his warmth spilling all over you, hitting you in all the places that made your thighs pull closer together.

you turn the dial slowly—and immediately the sound distorts in a ridiculous way. you both pause.

"...was that supposed to happen?" you ask.

he stares at the board for a second before a short laugh escapes him, dimples tugging at his cheeks. "no," he says.

you burst out laughing. "i told you!"

he shakes his head with another laugh, reaching forward to fix it, his arm brushing yours again. "you didn't break it," he says. "relax."

"i definitely did something."

"you did," he replies with a smile. "just not what i said."

you laugh again, softer this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're standing now, not sitting anymore.

because namjoon told you to.

“stand here,” he said, guiding you lightly by the waist until you were in front of the soundboard. no asking, just placing you there. you stiffened under his touch that sent a light shock through you.

"relax, doll," he murmurs behind you. the deep baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

you exhale slowly, trying to focus on the board in front of you—but it's hard when you can feel him right behind you. he steps in closer, practically pressing you together.

one hand reaches around you, bracing against the console. the other finds yours, fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grip on one of the controls. "not like that," he says, low. "too quick."

"i'm not doing anything fast," you defend weakly, trying your best to sound steady.

you hear a quiet, almost amused exhale behind you. "yeah?" he murmurs deeply.

his chest brushes lightly against your back as he leans in closer, guiding your hand again—slower this time. "you rush when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous."

"mm," he hums, unconvinced. his hand tightens slightly over yours, turning the dial with you. the sound shifts, smoother this time. "like that," he says.

but he doesn't move away, not even a little bit. you swallow, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. his hand over yours, his chest behind you, his voice vibrating your ear. and you definitely tried to ignore something hard resting against your ass.

"you do this with everyone?" you ask.

"no," he answered simply.

at to that, your heart stumbled. his hand left yours, but only came to settle at your waist, firm and steady. in his grip he turned you slightly—not fully, but enough to turn your attention away from the board and onto him. "you're distracted again," he murmured.

you let out a soft breath. "you keep saying that like it's my fault."

a smirk pulls at his lips, one that you can practically hear in his voice. "doll," he says lowly, "you haven't been focused since you walked in."

your stomach flips as you turn your head slightly, giving just enough space to look back at him—but it's a mistake. because he's already looking at you, his face much closer than expected and barely any space left between you now.

"you always get like this?" he asks softly.

"like what?"

his gaze drops slowly, then back up again. "quiet." he pauses. "...when you feel something."

your breath catches. "you act like you know me," you say.

"i do," he replies casually. those words shouldn't hit you as hard as they do, but they do anyway—causing your heart to leap.

he shifts you fully this time, making you fully face him as his large hands still rested at your waist, thumbs pressing in ever so slightly.

"or maybe," he adds, voice quieter now. "you're just not used to someone who pays attention."

your chest rises slowly. "and you do?"

"to you?" he asks quietly, something flickering across his eyes. "of course i do."

a small pause. "i wouldn't ignore you," he mutters in your ear, breath hot down your neck in a way that makes your hairs stand up. his hand tightens slightly against you. "not like they did."

his words land, striking the base of your heart deeply. "and i definitely wouldn't have you guessing where you stand."

your breath is uneven now, but you can't seem to look away. "confident," you murmur.

"experienced," he corrects simply. his voice and his head dips lower just slightly—"difference is...i know how to treat a woman like you properly."

and suddenly the last thread holding you steady is already gone. you exhale softy, almost a laugh, but not quite. "you always talk like this?"

"only when i mean it."

silence fills the space around you, heavy and close. one of his hands lifts from your waist slowly before coming to your jaw and tracing along it deliberately, just like he did before.

his thumb sits at your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. it takes everything in you for your knees to not buckle right then and there, taking in his low, piercing gaze.

"you keep looking at me like that," you whisper.

"like what, hm?" he asks, voice low as he tilts his head lower, leaving little space between your noses. you felt like your whole world was spinning, trying to ground yourself properly without clinging onto him.

"like you're about to do something."

he pauses for a split second, licking his lips while his eyes practically swirled with darkness. then—low and certain—"i am."

and this time, namjoon doesn't stop himself. he leans in, fully closing the last bit of distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours. it's immediate—but not rushed. he kisses you slow, deep, like he's been holding it back for too long and finally had decided he was done.

you respond quickly, completely melting under the contact and moving your lips into his. your breath catches against his, one hand instinctively finding one of his big arms, while the other gripped on his shirt to steady yourself— because it hits you all at once.

the way he pulls you closer against him, one of his hands firmly settled at your waist while the other holds your head possessively, gently tilting your head at an angle that allowed him to kiss you deeper.

you lean into him without thinking—and he feels it, of course. he hooks his fingers around the belt loop of your denim skirt, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens—but it isn't overwhelming. it's certain, like he wanted to take his time with his lips against yours.

your fingers tightened against him, causing him to exhale quietly against your lips, like he had been waiting for that exact response from you.

when you both pull back, you barely move an inch. foreheads close, breath uneven, and neither of you pulling away. his hands remain at your waist, yours still on him.

and after a second of catching your breath—namjoon leans in again. not because he's testing it anymore, but because he wants it—no, he needs it again. and you seem to meet him there just as fast.

his lips capture yours for the second time that night, practically taking your breath with him. your thighs press together slightly as you kiss him back, your hand sliding higher along his arm, gripping his bicep and pulling him closer without even realizing it.

his grip tightens slightly. "don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he murmurs quietly against your lips, voice rough.

the kiss suddenly shifts, not messy or rushed—but hungry. namjoon's hand slid shamelessly down your waist and onto your ass, sliding up and down its curve like it was already his.

that pulled a gasp out of you, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. you allow him, opening your mouth more to let him further explore it with his tongue. your lips practically molded together, saliva mixing as he swirled his tongue around yours.

"look at you..." he mutters, barely pulling back, his thumb brushing your jaw again. "so responsive."

your stomach flips more times than you can count. "don't—" you start, breath uneven, but you can't even finish the sentence before you feel dampness between your legs.

"don't what, baby?" he asks lowly, smirking faintly against your lips. "don't notice you?" he kisses you again before you can answer. his hand slides up from your ass, up your waist to your side—slower and more deliberate, before settling it there again, like he's grounding you there with him.

your grip on him tightens, deepening the kiss without intending to. "doll..." he murmurs, quietly now like it's a warning.

but he doesn't stop, and you most certainly don't want him to. all of a sudden namjoon is moving, guiding you back without breaking the kiss, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

you exhale softly in surprise—before you're sitting and he is too, pulling you with him. now, you find yourself on his lap—straddled on top of him with his hands firmly gripping your thighs and with everything much closer.

your hands find his broad shoulders, this time holding onto him like you desperately need to steady yourself, leaning into him once more. and namjoon notices, like he always does.

a low exhale leaves him, almost like a quiet laugh. "not pulling away anymore, are you, baby?" he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw slowly while his big palms drag up and down your thighs.

his plush lips trace the line of your jaw, littering soft kisses and your head tilts slightly to give him space without even thinking about it. "good," he praises quietly against your skin, lips trailing their way down your neck.

as he presses soft kisses along your neck, one of his hands presses a little firmer into your thigh, keeping you against him as the other rested gently at your neck—not enough to put pressure—but enough for your mind to go blank and make your thighs noticeably shift.

your breath hitches just above him, and his other hand soothes slowly against your thigh to steady you. "you have no idea..." he murmurs, lightly digging his teeth into your skin, making you shudder. "how hard i was trying to take my time with you."

your fingers tighten against him, struggling to ignore the unbearable ache in your core. "then why aren't you?" you manage softly, voice weaker than usual, knowing you didn't want that.

he paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tingling down your neck and through your spine. his voice comes lower this time, but steadier. "because you stopped me from wanting to."

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, dark and low eyes trailing every inch of your face. his hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear slowly, slower than before.

"you're trouble, princess," he says lowly, another nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. "but i like it."

your breath is still uneven, your heart racing faster than your mind—but you don't look away. "good," you murmur.

namjoon's jaw tightens slightly at that—not in frustration, but in complete restraint. what's left of it, at least.

his hand that rested along your neck slid up, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb once again, making sure that you were really looking at him. "you sure about this, doll?" he asks lowly.

you nod without hesitation. "yes."

a small pause fills the thick, small space between you, but his smoldering gaze doesn't leave yours. his gentle hold on your jaw tightens ever so slightly—not to harm you, but to ground you into the moment. "you understand...i'm not the kind of man you forget after this."

your breath catches, but you don't pull back. "i know," you say softly, holding his gaze.

his hands return to your waist, firmer this time, pulling you just slightly closer to him—close enough that space barely existed anymore. "yeah..." he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly along your skin. "then stay with me."

you nearly shuddered from his words, the warmth of his body on yours surrounding you and making your skin tingle. "i will," you nearly whispered, praying that he couldn't feel the dampness between your legs at the thought of never leaving his side.

"good," he grunted in your ear, hot breath spilling down your neck. he pulled back just slightly before closing the space between you once again, tilting your head with his thumb and pulling your lips in with his unhurriedly.

you immediately softened into him as you moved your lips together, your chest immediately becoming flush against his and practically folding underneath his touch. his hands left your waist, finding their grip lower and onto your ass, holding you steadily against him while his tongue explored you once more.

his lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses—sloppy and open-mouthed this time, sucking harder and marking a trail of red marks down to your collarbone. you whimpered with every suck, thighs noticeably shifting against his legs.

namjoon's slender fingers found their way underneath your top, sliding it up slowly—like he was waiting for you to stop him—but you never did. you only complied, lifting your arms up. and in one swift motion, your top was off, and his lips already found themselves on your cleavage.

"so beautiful, baby," he murmured into your skin, tongue lightly lapping against the mark he had just made on top of your breast.

suddenly you felt his big palms on your waist once again before he manhandled you—lifting you up and lying you gently across the couch before his large figure quickly filled your vision and filling up your entire view.

all you could see in the ambient light of his studio was his broad shoulders, his low, piercing eyes, and glimmering chain now hanging in front of your face before he captured your lips again. you practically moaned into it, fingers gripping tightly into his shirt like you needed more.

"fuck," he murmured against you between kisses, intertwining his long fingers with yours, dragging your palm deliberately up his chest. your hands moved before your mind, tugging him closer by his shirt and immediately fumbling with the buttons.

he smirked, large hands moving to help you take it off. once he tossed it somewhere in the room, your hands danced around his body greedily, trailing over his abs, from his chiseled chest and to his swell back.

"should be taking you to my house like a fuckin' man. should fuck you in my bed slow 'n proper. but i've lost my patience with you, doll," he breathed lowly, licking his lips with hunger.

you could only bring yourself to whimper, as namjoon's big palm creeped around your thigh, trailing every so slowly inwards before stopping. your legs couldn't help but twitch helplessly underneath his touch, causing him to let out an amused breath of air.

"but you don't want that, do you?" he asked lowly in your ear, the desire in his voice making your core ache with unbearable need. his hands trailed closer to your heat, dragging his fingers leisurely against your inner thigh.

you shook your head desperately, but that wasn't enough for him. his fingers hooked around your skirt. "wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours, baby."

"i—yes—" you blurted breathlessly, struggling to find the words. "i want it—want you. here, joonie. right now."

his cock strained even harder against his pants. "good girl," he muttered before pulling your skirt down. when it was disregarded, namjoon's hands found your thighs again and you suddenly felt his long fingers trace against slowly against your sopping heat barely shielded by your lacy thong, sending a shiver down your entire body.

"wet for me already and i haven't even started with you," he smirked, finally hooking your panties to the side and letting your soaking core be hit by the cold air. your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but he quickly stopped them with his big hands.

"so sensitive, doll," he murmured, placing one big thumb just above your clit while the other fingers outlined your inner thigh. "guys your age don't take their time like this, do they?"

you shook your head immediately, whining out before his fingers glided up slowly against your wetness, his index finger swiping in between your folds. his thumb rubbed your clit in a long circle, pulling out a desperate whine out of your mouth.

finally, he pushed one long finger in between your folds, sliding into your hole that sucked him in, your wetness gushing his fingers. you whined loudly as he dragged it along your walls before plunging back in.

namjoon closed the distance between your faces, capturing your lips in with his and sucking on your bottom lip as he inserted another finger, thrusting into you at a steady pace while his thumb remained on your clit.

when he pulled away, it was only to align his face at your entrance. his hand firmly gripped onto your thighs, holding you in place. his fingers slowed inside of you as his nose came close to your core, the warmth of his breath directly hitting your pussy and making you twitch underneath him.

a small smirk pulled at his lips before he poked his tongue out, licking a light, gentle stripe against your folds. "mm, taste so sweet, baby." you reacted immediately, thighs clenching around his head in a way he enjoyed a bit too much, his free hand wrapping around your leg firmly as he lapped delicately at your entrance.

you moaned his name, legs finally relaxing under his grip as he took his time with soaking your taste on his tongue. namjoon couldn't help but smirk against your folds, his plump lips completely enveloping your pussy into his mouth and sucking your wetness in hungrily.

it wasn't long before you felt his tongue greedily prying through your entrance, crying out in breathless moans. his two fingers stretched open your walls to allow more room for him to explore you with his tongue.

namjoon was absolutely driving you over the edge—his tongue plunged through your tight walls like no other, slender fingers stroking your insides while his thumb massaged your clit vigorously. he ate at you like he had starved for this—your back immediately curving off of the couch as you felt unbearable pressure twine into your stomach.

"that's it, doll," he cooed against your folds, his nose sitting on top of your clit. then, his voice dropped lower—"cum for me."

and so you did—completely letting go as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. your legs shook around namjoon's head, his free hand rubbing against your thigh gently while his two fingers slowed inside of you. his tongue moved against your folds slowly, taking in every last drop of your release between his lips.

when your body was finally at ease from the state of euphoria he took you to, namjoon trailed kisses from your stomach and up, his hands gently caressing your sides.

"look at you taking me so good," he murmured between kisses, lips on yours now. "think you're ready for my cock, hm, baby?"

you nodded quickly, practically squirming beneath him. "yes joon—need it so bad." your fingers found his belt loop—his large hands finding yours immediately, helping you take off his pants entirely.

it was then when you saw the largest imprint strained tightly against his boxers, making you swallow hard without even realizing. his fingers looped around the hem, taking them off in a swift motion as he stood up.

his cock sprung out in front of you—thick, long, and angry with pre-cum glistening at the end. you sat up straight, jaw slightly slack without even realizing. namjoon's lips fought a smirk as he hovered over you, large shoulders swell and thick member curving up.

his low eyes looked down at you, clouded with darkness. he wrapped his large hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking slightly while taking in the sight of you in front of him.

"fuck," he grunted, "don't got any condoms, baby." "it's okay, joon," you replied softly.

"you sure, doll?" he asked, tracing his fingers lightly against your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him fully.

you nodded. "wanna feel all of you," you said almost shyly.

"have no clue what you're doing to me," he responded lowly, almost to himself. then namjoon leaned down, grabbing your hips and lifting you up swiftly. you yelped in surprise as he sat down, bringing you back on top of his lap. only this time, you were skin to skin, your arousal miserably smearing onto his legs.

but he didn't seem to care. his large hands rubbed softly down your sides as he licked his lips. "you're so small, baby," he muttered in your ear, his thumb pressing into the side of your hip. "might break you."

"that's okay," you whispered, peering up at him with big, needy eyes.

"yeah?" he asked darkly, like your response had just snapped the last bit of restraint left in him. he held onto your hips firmly as he pulled you up, aligning your entrance with his cock. "gonna ruin you then, baby."

your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders immediately to steady yourself, his fat tip pushing through your folds and breaking into your tight entrance. you moaned out in a mix of pleasure and pain, feeling every inch of his width pushing slowly into your walls as you sunk down fully on his lap.

his grasp on you became tighter as he guided you further down, hissing in pleasure as he split you open widely with his cock. your eyes shut tight as your inner thighs kissed his. slowly, the tip of his member found the back of your walls, your head throwing back from the overwhelming stretch.

namjoon held you against him firmly, allow you to fully adjust to his length before he captured your lips into a kiss. "it's okay, doll," he murmured against you. "you're taking me so well."

after a minute of soft, warm coos in your ear—namjoon began to slide you up and down his vast length slowly with his large hands, emitting a loud whine from your lips. soon, he picked his pace, his cock repeatedly kissing the deepest part of your hole. "good baby... that's it," he praised lowly.

your head was filled with nothing but the thought of you, him, and his fat cock curving up inside of you and exploring your walls. he took you to a pure state of euphoria as he thrusted up in you. his hold was firm on you as he bounced you up and down his cock.

your eyes fluttered at your view, melting under his piercing gaze— his jaw tightened in pleasure and concentration, low eyes scanning your fucked-out expression hungrily. you nearly screamed in pleasure.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted in your ear, one large palm trailing up your sides before resting along your neck. his fingers wrapped around it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to apply pressure that made your mind dizzy and your pussy clench his member tightly.

his other hand came firmer around your waist before suddenly you were moving—your head being guided back down on the couch while your body was being manhandled by namjoon while he kept his cock buried deep inside of you. one hand settled beside your head while the other remained grazing your throat lightly.

once you both fully adjusted to the new position, namjoon continued to thrust in you, roaming your pussy at an entirely new angle. your wetness gushed around his cock sloppily, filling the room with lewd slapping noises. "you fit around me so well, doll," he muttered breathlessly, breath shooting down your spine as he littered messy kisses along your neck.

his hand traveled from your throat down to your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it softly. you were a moaning mess beneath him as he fucked you relentlessly now, tip slapping messily against the spongiest part of your walls, making your mind go blank.

his palm found its way around your thigh, lifting it above his shoulder. he closed the distance between you two, cock greedily marking a place inside your hole in a way no one had ever done before as his chest pressed against yours.

he rutted his length inside of you, making your eyes roll back and the couch move back and forth with every movement. "gonna fill you up tonight, doll. gonna make you mine," he murmured. "what do you think, baby?"

you could only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his cock buried so deeply inside of you. "nuh uh," namjoon ticked lowly, his thrusts becoming brutal. "wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby."

"mmph—yes~ make me yours, joon," you whined breathlessly.

you cried out—heat coiling unbearably in your stomach, pure bliss clouding your mind as namjoon picked up his pace, feeling your walls hugging him in tightly. "yeah... right where you belong baby," he muttered. "taking me so good like this."

your second orgasm of the night hit you even harder this time—ripping through you like a monstrous ocean wave. he fucked you through your high, your legs shaking violently against him; release spilling all over his cock as you moaned out his name breathlessly.

"that's it, baby," he grunted lowly as he made his final, slower thrusts, burying himself inside you as deep as possible before releasing his hot seed into your walls. "come on my dick, pretty girl."

your vision was practically filled with stars as your body became limp under his grasp. he milked his cock deep in your walls before he pulled out with a sharp hiss, laying down beside you—lengthy body half on the couch and half off of it.

you both laid there next to each other breathless, chests moving up and down in sync as you processed what had just happened.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the studio is quiet again.

it wasn't completely silent—just the low hum of equipment filling the room with one of his tracks still looping quietly in the background.

clothes half-on, curled against him on the couch with his large arm around your waist, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting you drift away.

for awhile, neither of you say anything. namjoon's fingers moved slowly against your side, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. the movement only grounded you into him more.

then finally, a low exhale left namjoon's lips. "c'mere," he murmurs softly, even though you were already pressed against him. his big hands slid higher along your back, pulling you in even closer anyway until your head was resting properly against his chest.

it only made your cheeks flush a bright red—the moment feeling possessive in a way that was ever so gentle. like he just needed to make sure you were still there. now, you can hear his heartbeat. it thumps steadily now against his large chest.

"you okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod against him. "yeah," you reply softly.

then his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss that lingers. "good," he murmurs.

something about the way he said it made warmth spread through your chest again. his hand settles at your waist once more, thumb brushing lightly beneath the fabric of your top. "you still overthinking?" he asks after a minute.

you let out a small laugh against his chest. "maybe a little."

a quiet hum leaves him. "don't."

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. his expression is softer now. his gaze still intense—because he always looks intense when looking at you—but softer. "you regret it?" he asks gently.

you shook your head immediately. "no," you replied, meaning it with everything in your chest.

at your words, something in namjoon's expressions shifts. it wasn't surprise, it was only something deeper. his hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.

"good," he says again, quieter this time. then, like his confidence had just made a return—"would've been a problem if you did."

you laugh softly, cheeks warming again. "you're crazy, joon."

"for you?" he murmurs. "starting to think maybe."

your stomach flips all over again. namjoon studies you for a second, gaze moving slowly across your face like he's memorizing it. like he still can't believe that you're here. with him, and in his arms.

his hand slides along your thigh gently. this time, it isn't teasing. instead, it feels familiar and warm. "come back to my place," he says quietly.

you hesitate for maybe half a second, but only because your heart is racing faster than your mind. his thumb brushes lightly against your leg. "you don't have to leave, doll," he murmurs.

"you sure?" you ask quietly. because in your past, once guys were done, they were done with your presence for the night—or even forever.

"of course," he says. then, a faint smile touches his mouth, voice dropping a little. "i'm not doing being around you."

and it only seemed that you weren't exactly done being around him either.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

two months later, being with namjoon feels easy. and it wasn't because he was simple. it was the exact opposite.

he's still intense, but still composed. he still walks through every room like he owns it without needing attention from anyone in it. but with you? he's soft in all the places it matters.

namjoon becomes part of your life so naturally it almost scares you sometimes.

mornings tangled up in his expensive sheets while sunlight pours through the massive windows of his house that overlooks the city. his large hand resting on your waist while he scrolls through emails lazily with the other. his bright smile on display every time he made you laugh or blush.

in his free time, he'd show up to your work with your favorite dinner meal. sometimes, he'd sit at a table in your section and order food just to be able to talk to you any chance you'd get.

afternoons where he pulls you into his lap while he's working on music. he'd barely let you sit more than a foot away from him before he was already touching you again somehow.

his fingers through your hair, your legs draped over his. his mouth against your temple when he quietly tells someone important over the phone that he'll "call back later."

and of course, he spoils you constantly. it wasn't in a loud way either. it was more like taking care of you and putting a smile on your face had just become his instinct.

he buys you things you casually mention liking once. he leaves designer bags on the bed like it's nothing. he'd get annoyed when you'd check price tags. he would sneakily place things in your basket at sephora as he trailed behind you, filling it up with everything you simply picked up and looked at.

you even tried to avoid going shopping with him sometimes because you never happened to pay for anything again.

"doll," he murmured one night, pulling your back against his chest, wrapping his large arms around you while you stared at a pair of brand new, christian louboutin red bottoms that he bought you. "if you like them, they're yours. stop thinking so hard."

and god, he hated it when you worked too much. he hated it even more when work stressed you out.

"you should call out," he tells you one morning, voice rough from sleep while you're leaving his bed for work.

you laugh softly. "some of us have to work, joonie."

his buff arms loop around your waist, pulling you back into the mattress effortlessly. "i know," he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling his nose into your warmth. "that's the problem."

eventually, namjoon starts saying it more seriously.

"quit," he says.

you look at him like he's insane every time. "be serious, joon."

"i am serious."

his hands slide along your thighs as you stand between his knees while he sits at the edge of the bed, looking up at you with that same, calm certainty he’s always had.

“i’ll give you whatever you need,” he says simply. “why are you stressing yourself out when you don’t have to?”

and the craziest part of it all to you, was that he meant it entirely. it wasn't because he wanted control—it was because taking care of you pulled at his dimples and his heart more than anything else ever had.

somewhere along the way, you became each other's favorite part of life. people notice too and eventually, the internet catches on.

a photo of you two start surfacing of you leaving restaurant in west hollywood, his hand firm at the small of your back. then, photos of him opening the door for you. and photos of him looking at you instead of the camera.

one set of paparazzi pictures blow up incredibly fast—you climbing into his car while he stands beside you in sunglasses and all black. one hand casually resting against the roof above your head, the other firm on your thigh as you settled into the seat.

neither of you comment on it, not publicly at least. but namjoon doesn't hide you either. because if anything—he loved being seen with you.

you noticed it in the small moments. the way his hand settled on your thigh more confidently when people recognized him on a date. the way he pulled you closer when cameras appeared. the way he looks almost amused by attention instead of irritated.

it was like he was always thinking, yeah, she's with me.

namjoon flexed you more than the music plaques on his wall or the collection of sleek cars in his driveway.

because throughout his entire career, no success, no hit record, or no amount of money—had ever made him look at proud as you do sitting beside him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

4 months later~

the city outside namjoon's windows is glowing gold and white beneath the dark sky, soft music playing quietly somewhere in his giant house.

you're curled against him on the couch in one of his hoodies. legs across his lap while he scrolls lazily through something on his phone with one hand resting absentmindedly along your thighs.

you both had been like this all evening. quiet and comfortable; surrounded by the kind of silence that only exists when two people know everything about each other completely.

honestly, it could scare you a little. because somewhere along these four months, you and namjoon had stopped feeling temporary. it stopped feeling like some kind of whirlwind or fling.

instead, it just started feeling right. it just felt like you and him and nothing else completely belonged.

you looked over at him. observed the sharp line of his jaw that was softened by the warm lighting. the expensive watch sitting around his wrist. the reading glasses he only wore at home that sat low on his nose while he checked emails.

the realization hit you about a month ago so hard and your chest had felt tight ever since. you were completely, undeniably, and utterly in love with him. but now, you couldn't seem to hold it in anymore.

"you're staring again."

your heart jumps slightly. namjoon doesn't even look up from his phone when he says it. you roll your eyes. "you're obsessed with yourself."

a smirk touches his lips. "no," he murmurs calmly, finally looking over at you. "just obsessed with you."

you look away before he can see your flushed face, but of course he already noticed it. because there simply wasn't a thing he didn't notice about you. his phone turned off immediately. "hey," he said gently.

your eyes lift back to his. immediately his expression changes into something softer, but more serious. his hands slide up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you a little closer across the couch until you're practically in his lap. "what's going on in that head, hm?" he asks.

"nothing."

"liar."

the words are gentle, affectionate in a way. you laugh softly, but it comes out nervous. he catches that too. one hand comes up, brushing lightly along your jaw. "talk to me, doll."

you swallow. your voice comes out quietly—"what if... i love you more than you love me?"

the room goes completely still. namjoon stares at you for seconds that stretch far too long, like you had just said something completely. unbelievable.

his brows pulled together. "baby," he says softly, confused, "what?"

your heart pounds instantly at the name. you try to laugh it off, suddenly embarrassed now. "i don't know, i just—"

"no," he cuts in, hands tightening gently at your waist. they weren't harsh, but it was enough to stop you from spiraling away. "no, don't do that."

you looked back at him. and the way he was looking at you now—god. like this mattered. like you mattered.

"you really think you're ahead of me here?" he asks quietly, eyes boring into yours.

your breath catches as namjoon shifts closer, forehead resting lighting against yours. "i've been in love with you for a while now," he admitted softly.

for a second, you felt like you actually stopped breathing. his thumb brushed slowly against your cheek. "you just took longer to realize it."

a shaky laugh leaves you instantly, eyes burning now. namjoon smiles softly at that, an expression you only ever get to see.

"i love you," he says again, quieter this time. but it was certain, as if it were the most obvious thing it the world.

and suddenly every fear you had—about the age gap, about his fame, about his feelings for you—had totally disappeared. because this man—this calm, confident, impossible man—loves you so deeply that he didn't even hesitate to say it.

your eyes fluttered in disbelief, laughing away the butterflies in your stomach. "i love you too."

the smile that breaks across is face is small, but almost disbelieving. but it was unquestionably proud, like he had just won something prized. after that, he kissed you slowly. he enveloped your lips with his tenderly, soaking in all of your warmth beneath him.

"there you are," he murmurs softly. like you were always meant to end up here with him.

and somewhere between the side of the road and his arms, your little street thing had become everything.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a/n : hope u guys loved this as much as i do eee! sorry there was so much relationship building... this is the longest bts fic i've made (on this app at least) omg..but joon is actually so sexy i could die.

read part two here

Young Jeongguk was terrified at the mere thought of making eye contact with a girl. 

He’d spend most of his time practicing dances and singing anyway, so he just came to the conclusion that he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. He wanted to become the best idol that he could be, that was his main focus. 

As said earlier, he’d spend a lot of time in their shared dorm, refusing to go out if the situation involved many people (which was most of the time).

The rest of the members went out to the city, while he stayed in the room, cleaning it and singing something quietly under his nose. While organizing stuff set by the window, he noticed a figure sitting in the open window in the building opposite. 

You had a laptop sitting in your lap, headphones plugged in, looking at the screen with an intense focus. Your hair softly moved under the wind. 

He knew you were one of the other trainees, a solo one. Sometimes he wondered how he would navigate becoming an idol on his own, without his hyungs and how difficult it would be. You caught his attention immediately, cleaning completely forgotten as he stood in the window, staring right at you like a creep. He heard the door open, signaling him to turn around but he couldn’t. You rapidly typed on the keyboard, eyes quickly roaming around the screen analyzing what’s appearing. You looked so calm yet so focused and motivated. He assumed you were probably writing lyrics or in the process of producing an instrumental, but he couldn't tell. He saw Yoongi working a million times, yet he still wasn’t able to grasp the whole process as it looked really difficult. 

“Is there a ghost Jeonggukie?” - he heard Jin’s voice behind him along with a few chuckles coming from other members. 

He turned around to greet them, showing the clean dorm. 

“There’s someone in that window, over there-” - he pointed, turning around to see the window closed and empty. - “Actually, never mind.” - he dropped the topic. 

For the rest of the day Jeongguk hoped you’d appear in the window again, but you didn’t. He didn’t bring you up to the members. Just ate dinner with them, talking about the schedule. 

For the next few days Jeongguk would catch himself standing by the window, just like he did when he first noticed you sitting there. The thing was, you weren’t there. Days passed by without your presence on the other side of the road. You were probably busy with your own trainee schedule. His mind made up scenarios of watching you in your dance practice or hearing you sing. Those did not help with the empty feeling that built up in his chest. There were moments when he thought that it was imagination playing with him, and that even though you were a trainee at the same company, you lived somewhere else, and that he never really saw you in that window. 

Then a warm Sunday evening came by, other members were out in town, he stayed in his room. He sat on his bed, drawing and softly humming a made up melody. As he got up to take a drink from the desk he froze in place. You were there, sitting in the window, laptop in lap with headphones playing loud. 

For the first time Jeongguk worked up the courage to talk to a girl. He thought about opening up his window and yelling to get your attention but it probably wouldn’t work since you were wearing headphones. He had to think quickly because he had no idea when other members would come back and he had no idea when he would get another chance to catch you. 

He looked around the room in panic, acting like the walls would come up with a plan for him and tell him what he should do. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t about to happen.

He found a piece of paper laying on the floor and tried his best to make a paper plane out of it. It had to be pretty sturdy and needed to fly pretty well, so he put all of his artistic effort into it. When the plane was ready he gave it a quick fly test inside the dorm and ran back to the window. The second he opened it, he froze in place. Was he really doing this? If it did reach you, what would he say?

Before more thoughts could form inside his head he threw the plane out the window, praying that it would make it to yours.

As Jeongguk was probably good at everything he tried, the plane made it safely to the other side and landed on your keyboard immediately catching your attention. You took off your headphones and looked right at him, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Hi” - a shy, nervous noise escaped his lips the moment you made eye contact. 

“This yours?” - you asked,  a smile forming on your lips as you held the small paper plane between your fingers - “I’m reader.”

“Jeongguk. Nice to meet you.”

You talked for what felt like hours after that. Getting to know each other from across the narrow road. You held up most of the conversation, since he was really shy but you didn’t mind, it was kind of cute. 

And Jeongguk?

He was insanely grateful that you were talkative. He found out that you are a year younger than him and that whenever you sit in that window you mostly write lyrics and sometimes put together melodies - just like he thought. 

When you told him that you have to go for your dance practice, he gave you an honest smile and a small wave. Just as he was about to close the window he heard your voice again.

“Same time next week?” - you asked, a glimpse of hope in your eyes. 

He gave you a shy nod, for which he received a big smile from you. 

The window conversations became a regular thing for the both of you. Getting to know each other more and more. Jeongguk was truly impressed how you managed to fulfil all of the trainee responsibilities, write music and take care of yourself all at the same time, all on your own. He had his hyungs with him most of the time and he knew he could always count on them, he couldn’t imagine doing this without them. 

You told him many times that being a trainee on your own is better for you, that you have more control over the situation and if you fuck something up it’s only you to blame and no one else. He understood your point, the scenario still pretty terrifying for him especially since you’re younger than him. 

Eventually you met the rest of them.

You were in the middle of your regular conversation as they entered their dorm room. At first they were confused at what’s going on, but then they got used to the situation. They loved to tease how he could barely let out a coherent sentence in front of you and how he’d blush every time you fixed or played with your hair. 

They weren’t there for every meet you’ve had with Jeongguk, but they would show up every now and then. 

He didn’t mind their presence, but he preferred having you all to himself. 

Without realizing he’s gotten a bit possessive, he wouldn’t really show it but he felt it deep inside. 

Then he invited you over. You baked a batch of cookies for him (which was insanely difficult because of your tiny dorm room) which he instantly fell in love with and demanded that you should come over more often. 

Your hangouts got regular and the window talks would happen only when you had little time during busy days. You’d come over with your work and show it to him, sometimes to his hyungs too. Yoongi would give you producing tips every now and then, showing you different software and all round helping you get better with the process. You’ve grown close with him too, he saw a lot of potential and you and he couldn’t let it go to waste. 

Jeongguk had grown quite jealous of Yoongi paying this much attention to you, but he refused to acknowledge it. 

As soon as the other members would leave the room he’d invite you over. Sometimes you wouldn’t even talk, just focus on your own tasks and enjoy each other's presence. You still had the habit of sitting in the window while working, and Jeongguk found it adorable. He liked the way the sun rays landed on your face, the way your hair would sway slightly in the wind when the window was open. He could stare at you for hours. 

His notebook for “important notes and schedule” turned into a museum full of sketches of you sitting and working. All of them were almost the same, but he kept drawing them either way. 

That’s how it all started, about ten years ago. 

Around a year ago, a rumor broke out that you and Jeongguk were dating. In reality, it wasn’t true. Your relationship stayed as a close friendship and nothing more. The only romantic occurrence that happened was that one, awkward kiss about a year into your friendship. It wasn’t even something really romantic, just a “I haven’t had my first kiss and I feel like I should've” kinda situation. 

throwback 

“I just feel like… it’s lame you know?” - Jeongguk shrugged, standing awkwardly in front of your bed in your dorm. 

“Why? We’re still teenagers, this kind of stuff takes time.” - you replied, not looking up from your laptop. He was overthinking it in your opinion. 

“Easy for you to say, you’ve already had yours, all of the hyungs probably already slept with a girl by that point and i’ve never even kissed one! How embarrassing is that!” - he slightly raised his voice, pacing around the small space.

You closed your laptop and sat up properly on the bed. You looked at him, brows furrowed, thoughts racing in your head. 

“If it bothers you that much, I could help you, you know?” - you said nonchalantly, looking at him with focus. 

“Y-you can help me? But… How?” - his whole body stiffened as he looked at you nervously. 

“I could kiss you, if that would make you feel better. I know I’m just your friend and not your crush or something but I’m always here to help.” - you said like it was nothing. 

Not your crush Jeongguk thought to himself. Yeah sure…

He could feel his cheeks heat up, heart pounding. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to be his first kiss. He was going to lose his mind. 

“So…?” - you pushed for an answer. 

“I don’t want to- to force my… insecurities on you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to help me…” - you heard the frustration and slight panic in his voice but stayed calm. 

“It’s okay Gguk. We're friends, we should help each other out, right?” - you tilted your head slightly, looking him deep in his eyes.

His legs turned into jelly and brain into mush. He watched you stand up from the bed and head towards him. You stood right in front of him as you both stood in the silence awkwardly. You signaled him with a nod to answer. He nodded, agreeing to your suggestion. You took his face into your hands and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His breath shook afterwards, face full red. 

He thought about this kiss every night for the next 3 months. He even had dreams about it. 

One night Jin woke him up in the middle of the night, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Wha-What do you want?” - he asked, confused, still half asleep.

“Can you shut up? You keep chanting reader's name like a mantra. Control yourself Gguk, I don't want to hear your wet dreams.”

end of throwback 

Deep inside though, it awakened something in you, something that you decided to never say out loud in fear of messing something up. He was someone you really wanted to keep close forever, and didn’t want to risk losing in any way. So you shoved those feelings away and focused on important things. 

You’ve seen him flirt with other women, taking them to his hotel room. The thought of him being with someone else made you nauseous. Still, it was probably better to stay silent.

Little did you know, he felt the same way and he had the same worries.

The thing that was probably getting him the most was probably seeing you change, grow up. You weren’t that silly teenage girl from the window anymore. You were a gorgeous, intelligent and insanely talented woman. Your voice changed, matured. Your producing skills were now perfected and you were creating songs that received many nominations and awards. 

He was so in love with you in every stage of your life he’s seen you in. And those feelings never died down, if anything they only got stronger.  

He watched you get into relationships, get cheated on, get your heart broken and then the whole cycle repeating. He would always be your shoulder to cry on, always stopping himself from killing the guys who hurt you, stopping himself from telling you that he’d treat you better. 

He wanted to be the one who kissed you goodnight, he wanted to be the one who cooks you dinner, he wanted to be the one who got to touch you and see your face twist in pleasure. 

But he was just as afraid as you were. 

He thought of himself as a coward. 

His hyungs tried to talk some sense into him, pushing him to confess his undying love for you. And every single time, he refused. 

“Is reader coming over?” - Jimin asked.

“No, she’s with her fuckass boyfriend.” - Jeongguk snapped, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so jealous, it’s getting annoying.” - Hobi huffed out. 

Then both of you were single for a while. No relationships, no situationships, nothing. You would hang out more, just like the old times. You stayed up late at night, talking about things that weren’t important, you started bringing him cookies again.

“At this rate, I’m gonna be 300 kilos by next month!” - he fake-complained when he saw you making another batch. 

“You’re not supposed to eat them all in one sitting, Jeongguk!” - you laughed at him. 

You’d spend more time at his place than your own, everything got so cozy and comfortable. At some point you started acting like a married couple, but refused to acknowledge it. 

Then the rumors broke out, plastered all over headlines, social media drowning in pictures of both of you walking by the Han River late at night sharing a cigarette. 

A relationship and smoking? The fandoms were freaking out. 

Then you both got called into a meeting at the company. It was short, serious and honestly? The biggest nightmare for the both of you. 

No contact, they said. Something about a small font in your contracts and not being able to change the situation. The whole situation was a blur. 

You left the room, tears in your eyes. 

“Jeongguk?” - you asked, not sure what for.

“We’re gonna figure this out.” - he promised. He grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. 

You looked at him, tears slowly spilling from your eyes. He’d never seen you like that. You’ve cried in front of him many times for various reasons. Somehow, the look in your eyes that day spoke to him. He saw the love in your eyes and was too scared to act on it. That became his biggest regret. 

A year later, you haven’t contacted each other. You both tried and failed each time. The company kept an eye on both of you. After 2 months you gave up, depressed, losing hope. You weren’t sure if he did too or if it was the company doing a great fucking job at keeping you apart. 

At about a 6 month mark of no contact both of you attended the same award ceremony. The company people made sure that you wouldn’t cross paths at any point that night. Then you won one of the major awards. Tears in your eyes you expressed gratitude towards your family, your team, even the company that was controlling you. When you were standing on the stage you saw them. The whole group cheered loudly for you. Yoongi gave you the “I knew you would make it” look. 

And you saw him. 

Tears in his eyes as he stood there mesmerized. 

“Go talk to her.” - he heard Jimin’s voice beside him. - “Congratulate her. Do anything.” - he added, full of courage. 

Later that night Jimin made sure to put the two of you near each other. So he went up to you himself and talked to you. At first he made a normal conversation with you. Then at the end he added. 

“I need you to see him, please. Go to the emergency exit 4, I’ll figure this shit out.” - he said and disappeared into a sea of people. You stood there, not sure what to do and what to think. Then it felt like your legs grew a mind of their own and you made your way to that exit, gathering your heavy dress in your hands, trying to be quick so no one would notice what was about to happen. 

You pushed the door, not sure what to expect, heart beating so hard you could swear it was about to leave your body. 

He stood there, cigarette between his lips, hands in his pockets. His head shot up when he heard the sound of the door opening. A sigh of relief left him. He had no idea what to say, stunned by the fact that you were standing right in front of him. He wasn’t sure if it was another one of his dreams about you or if it was real.

“Gguk?” - you called, looking at him like he was the most gorgeous piece of art ever created. 

Without a word Jeongguk threw the cigarette on the ground and rushed towards you smashing his lips into yours. He poured all of his emotions into the kiss, knowing that he couldn’t express them with words properly anyway. Your lips moved in sync, the kiss full of yearning, exposing how much you missed each other. You put the palm of your hands softly on his face as his hands traveled down to your waist. There was nothing lustful about the kiss. Just two people trying to show each other their unconditional love without saying it out loud, scared of consequences, knowing that their public image still matters. 

Jeongguk could swear he was getting lightheaded. Not because the kiss was so intense and he didn’t want to break apart to breathe, but because he couldn’t believe this was happening. The woman of his dreams, the woman who he adored for so long finally in his arms, kissing him like she was afraid he might disappear. He for sure was afraid you were about to disappear. 

You broke the kiss first, panting, trying to catch your breath and collect your thoughts at least a little. You looked up at him, his lips all swollen and cheeks flushed. He looked at you with hope and so much love. He softly brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, giving you a warm smile, the one you missed so much. You leaned your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

Both of you stood like that in silence for a moment, you listened to his quick heartbeat and he put his chin on top of your head, the smell of your hair products filling his nose. 

You were about to pull away and say something when you heard the door slam open. Before you could even turn around to look who it was you heard the low voice of your manager.

“The car is ready for you.” - he said, not acknowledging the situation that he walked into. 

“But I was supposed to leave later-” - you said, confused but he cut you off.

“The car is ready.” - he said firmly. 

“You can’t just-” - Jeongguk raised his voice, stepping forward.

“You have other people to worry about Jeon.”

You turned to Jeongguk, gave him a small nod, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“We’re gonna figure this out.” - you promised as you left with your manager. 

Jeongguk stood there, looking at the door like he had to be sure you wouldn’t walk through them again any second now. He could feel his chest physically aching for you. For some reason though, this time he had more hope than ever before. 

With that hope in mind, next week he started packing for the military. He was scared, of course, but the thought of Jimin going with him raised his spirits. 

So far he called you about 30 times in the past week. None of the calls went through. He had no idea where you were, what you were doing and if you tried to contact him too. From what he last gathered, you moved apartments and everyone from your circle refused to help Jeongguk, afraid of the consequences they might face (or money they could lose). 

During the preparations for the military, Jeongguk packed a small picture of you and Bam, from the day he took his lovely son home for the first time. He remembered how excited you both were, and how you constantly reassured him that he’s going to be a great dog dad. Now he wasn’t sure if Bam still remembered your face or your smell. That thought made his heart hurt a bit. 

The days in the military were long and brutal for Jeongguk. He cooked meals for the unit, spent most of the day with a knife in his hand, his nostrils filled with various smells, constantly sweating which was caused by different broths boiling in the kitchen. Each morning he would follow his usual routine and follow it by checking to make sure if the picture of you with Bam was in the pocket on his chest. During the tougher nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he would take out the picture and look at it for a while before putting it under his pillow. Logically, it wouldn’t change anything, but he could swear it helped him fall asleep on those nights. He didn’t really have any connection to the outside world beside a small radio in the corner of the kitchen which (apparently) was put there for better communication but in reality served more of an entertainment purpose. Every now and then he could hear one of Bangtan’s songs playing, or if he was lucky and landed the night shift he could hear your voice, because for some reason that’s when they played most of your songs. He would always smile to himself when he heard your voice and Jimin loved to tease him about it. 

“You’re blushing and she’s not even here.” - Jimin said, softly poking his side. 

“Can you focus on the task at hand?” - he replied with a fake-annoyed voice, rolling his eyes at him. 

Both of them let out a small laugh as your song ended and the man on the radio started speaking. 

“And that was reader’s award winning single! Her career is blooming just like her love life!” - the man said melodically. 

Jimin and Jeongguk looked at each other as the older one turned up the volume on the device.

“Her and her partner announced their engagement today! Congratulations to the happy couple!” - he added with excitement. 

Jimin looked worriedly at Jeongguk who dropped the small spoon into a pot full of stew. His shoulders slumped as he could feel his chest starting to ache. Thoughts rushed through his head trying to put the pieces together but none of it made sense to him. 

About 10 months ago you made a promise to him that you’ll figure this out. Every day, during his breaks he would try to come up with a plan for you both to finally be happy. Those 10 months he spent thinking about you constantly, counting down days til he gets discharged and has a chance to see your pretty face again. All those days of you occupying his mind and you’re out there… engaged? 

Even though this was public knowledge now and you were probably on every headline, for some reason he didn’t believe it. 

He imagined the instagram post you made to announce it. Probably wore a gorgeous dress, your hair framing your face perfectly and a person you were in love with. Maybe it was the jealousy speaking, he wasn’t sure, but he had no intention of believing in this announcement. 

A specific memory of you flashed before his eyes.

throwback 

You were sitting on the freshly mowed grass in Jeongguk’s backyard. Both of you watched as Bam was running around, enjoying the slightly cold breeze of the evening. You sat there in comfortable silence, until Jeongguk decided to break it. You could tell by his face that whatever he was about to tell you made him nervous. 

“Would you ever get married?” - he asked, playing with his fingers. 

“I don’t know… I guess, yeah?”

“You guess?” - he looked at you, confused.

“I mean…” - you sighed. - “This may sound silly, but… I’m terrified of losing myself in a relationship. I’m scared that when I get married I will be just reduced to a wife.” - you sighed, looking up at the sky as it started to get darker. - “You know how hard I’ve worked for everything I have today. I just don’t want it all to get lost along the way.”

Jeongguk nodded as he listened to your confession.

“It’s not silly, but if you marry the right person, surely it won’t happen.” - he said, poking your side trying to cheer you up. 

He admired the amount of respect you’ve had for your work, your time, the sleepless nights. You’ve made a name for yourself and you took good care of making sure everyone else put respect on it because you’ve worked your ass off, just like he did. He couldn’t imagine someone seeing you just as a wife, only focusing on your marital status. He admired you not only as a girl he was in love with, but also as an artist, as a creative mind, there was so much more. 

That night he realized he had to make sure you always knew that even to the people who didn’t know you personally, you were much more than whatever relationship was happening in your life. He wanted you to know that to him especially you were a beautiful soul. 

end of throwback

“Gguk? You there?” - Jimin asked, waving his hand in front of his face. 

“It’s not real.” - he answered in a serious tone as he took the picture out of his pocket. He slowly traced his finger across your face as he stared at it. - “Someone’s behind this.”

“Gguk I know it hurts, but you can’t just deny it because you’re against it. We’re not sure, we’ve been stuck here for almost a year, we don’t know what the situation looks like.” - Jimin said, putting his hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder. He could feel him being all tense under his touch. 

“You’ve seen her! You know what the situation looked like! We kissed, Jimin! She said we would work this out and we will.” - he said, his voice raising. 

Even after the announcement he kept the picture of you in his pocket. The hope you gave him was stronger that whatever shitshow was happening on the outside while he was stuck in the military kitchen. 

And while he was working his ass off in the military, you felt like you were slowly losing control over your own life. 

After getting caught at the award ceremony you got really… lost. You were meant to follow rules that your team dictated, you were supposed to keep up the image especially after winning the award. At the moment though, the award felt worthless in your hands as you realized that your life wasn’t even yours anymore. 

You called Jeongguk the same night that you kissed. For the first time in what felt like ages, the call went through. 

“Gguk, oh my god.” - you let out a sigh into the microphone. 

“Don’t call him again, I mean it.” - a female voice said harshly. - “Don’t contact Jeongguk ever again or we’re taking it to court.” - she added before hanging up.

You had no idea who it could be and why she was the one to pick up the phone. Tears welled in your eyes as you put your phone back on your desk. You let out all your emotions, sobbing, covering your face with your hands. You dropped to the floor, the dress from the ceremony that you were still wearing, spilling around your exhausted figure on the floor. 

That night kept replaying in your head for a while. It was a mess. Why would he meet you there if there was someone else? Was he a cheater? Jeongguk would never do such a thing. 

You had to move on, at least to some extent. You still didn’t quite believe that he wouldn’t want to contact you, and you refused to believe he was dating someone. You decided not to call him, at least for a while, just to stay out of trouble for now. 

A few weeks later a notification came through on your phone about Jeongguk and Jimin enlisting in the military. There was no way of contacting him now. After that, you kept thinking about him before bed, wondering how he was doing, if he was tired and if he was keeping the spirits high over there as he would here. 

The big mistake that has led you to the position that you were in now was agreeing to a collaboration song with a “rising star” - Hajoon. He seemed sweet, really ambitious and had a huge talent. Everything was going well, you did everything to keep the relationship as professional as possible for the sake of your own mental health. You had no energy for a rumor, not now or ever probably. 

The truth is that, when the promo for the song started you were mentally exhausted and the company kept pushing you to write another album, when you wanted to take a step back for at least a few months. They said that there was no time for it and that you should keep appearing in the headlines. Your mind was all over the place and writing another album was the last thing on your mind at the time. 

The company then came up with a different idea to keep your name trending. 

You sat at the table, opposite of your manager, the whole team gathered in the room. A piece of paper slid across the wood along with a pen. 

A contract. You and Hajoon. PR relationship. 

You weakly looked around the room. Then you looked closely at the document, reading it carefully. 

“So if I do it, you let me rest for a while?” - you asked, without looking up from the desk.

“Pretty much.” - someone on your right answered, you didn’t care who exactly.

What you didn’t realize when you signed that document, was the fact that the rules would change as the year went on. At some point you ended up engaged. And Hajoon didn’t mind the whole situation at all. You wouldn’t really say he fell in love with you along the way, but he became really possessive of you, even when you two weren’t in public. It concerned you a little.

“I don’t understand why you’re so bothered, I just talked to my friend and you’re acting all baffled. This whole thing isn’t even real.” - you said, standing outside the club.

“You’re trying to embarrass me! We’re supposed to act like a happy couple! You’re mine out here.” - he said firmly.

“No, I’m not yours at all. You sound insane. I was supposed to get some rest, and instead I have to deal with you out here!” - you started to get annoyed.

“Why won’t you give me a chance, huh? What does he have that I don’t?” - he asked as he stepped closer to you. 

Hajoon has brought up Jeongguk in your conversations before, but every time he refused to say his name. Maybe it was an ego thing, you weren’t sure. 

During this whole situation of you “dating” Hajoon, you never stayed at his place and refused to let him into your apartment. You only gave him a small kiss when it was necessary and restricted the physical touch to minimum. You never really opened up to him emotionally either. 

It wasn’t the fact that Hajoon was exactly lacking something. It was the fact that even after all that drama and after all these years, your heart still belonged to Jeongguk. You couldn’t move on. And neither could he. All you wanted was for him to come back from the military and help you resolve this situation once and for all. 

“Can you stop?” - you asked, taking a step back. 

“No, because I’m out here, working my ass off to make all of this work and you’re out here making it difficult. It’s been years, move on. I’m trying so hard for you, baby.” - he said, stepping closer to you, caressing your cheek with his fingers. 

You slapped his hand away quickly. An uncomfortable shiver ran down your spine as you decided to head back home. 

What you didn't know was that Jeongguk and Jimin left the military this morning. 

As soon as they were done with their comeback live he went home and went through all of the papers stacked in his desk. He searched for any address, name or a phone number that would help finding you. What he found was probably the most helpful thing he could but it was about to be a real challenge. 

Hajoon’s phone number. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” - he mumbled under his nose. 

He had to swallow up his pride for now and do what had to be done. Even though he hated the thought of him being near you, he had to be respectful during this conversation or it would make the situation even worse. 

He had to be really careful.

He typed the number in carefully, checked 4 times to make sure it was the right one. His thumb hovered over the phone, hesitation starting to kick in. 

What if you really moved on and he was about to make a fool out of himself? What if that kiss was meant to be a one time thing? Maybe you just kissed him out of pity? Maybe you were hoping he’d forget your promise of figuring it out? His mind quickly started racing with no intention of stopping. Before he could spiral completely he pushed the green button. 

beep, beep, beep…

“Hello?” - Hajoon’s voice echoed through the room. 

“Hi, I- eh… It’s Jeongguk here. I uh.” - he stumbled over his words. He should’ve prepared better for this phone call, think through literally anything. Now he was here and had no idea how to ask him for any information properly. 

“Oh! Didn’t expect a call from you eh… Can I help you with anything?” - he could hear the annoyance in his voice. 

“Yeah… Uh, is reader there with you?” - he asked quickly, hoping that he would be kind enough to let him get through to you, even though he owed him nothing.

“She’s about to leave, why?”

“Could I maybe… Talk to her for a second?” - he asked, terrified. 

“Well, I’m not sure…” - Hajoon trailed off. His voice wasn’t filled with worry, he wasn’t hesitant because of what consequences he might face. He wanted something in return for letting Jeongguk make contact with you. 

“What is it? Just tell me.” - Jeongguk asked, his voice softly laced with defeat. 

“Well, first thing first. How are you so sure she hasn’t moved on? You haven’t seen her in ages. Do you even know her at that point?” - Hajoon attacked him, questioning everything he ever had in common with you. 

He was making a fair point - Jeongguk thought. He had no idea if you wanted to talk to him, let alone see him. He let out a heavy breath. 

“Look man, I don’t want to be mean or anything but I’m engaged to her after all.” - Hajoon added, a smile on his face could be heard in his voice.

Jeongguk wanted to throw the phone out the window, punch a wall, find that fucker and knock all of his teeth out one by one. He wanted to say something aggressive, attack Hajoon, say that there was no chance that he knew you how Jeongguk knew you. 

The thought of Hajoon touching you flashed through Jeongguk’s mind and it made his blood boil, but he had to keep it cool. He was on a mission to make it all work and he wasn’t going to get disrupted by his imagination. 

“I just wanted to talk to her. You know I just came back from the military, all that hard training and all.” - Jeongguk tried hinting that he got stronger in order to intimidate Hajoon. - “Wanted to see how she’s doing, a little catch up and all, it’s been a while.” - he tried to play it cool.

He couldn’t tell if Hajoon could see through him, catch his real intentions. 

“What will I get in return? I mean, you’re trying to get through to my girl for god knows what. Not sure if I could trust you with her.”

My girl. My girl. The words echoed through Jeongguk’s mind, bouncing around like a tennis ball. 

“What do you want?” - Jeongguk asked, frustration apparent in his voice. - “Money?” - he added, even though the thought of someone demanding money for your presence like you were some kind of prostitute made him sick to his stomach. - “Just tell me where I can find her, I’m willing to pay if that’s what you want.”

“You’re that desperate?”

“Answer my question, I don’t have time for your stupid games.” - Jeongguk was losing his patience. 

“You know, I can’t believe I have the Jeon Jeongguk at my mercy right now. All over some girl. You’re really that easy? That weak?” - Hajoon decided to play with his patience even more. - “Fine. You can find her *here*. I’ll text you the bank info. Don’t disappoint me Jeon. I know my worth.” - the phone call ended. 

Jeongguk could swear he was on the verge of having a heart attack. He never put on his motorcycle jacket and helmet so quickly in his life. He sped through the streets almost like a lunatic, hoping no police patrol was near. 

In the meantime, you’ve entered your apartment and taken your heels off. You looked into the fridge, not necessarily hungry, just out of boredom. A few minutes later, you heard a knock on your door. You thought Hajoon drunkenly stumbled here to try to get into your bed again (and fail). 

“Go home!” - you yelled at the door.

The sound of another knock bounced off of the walls again. You let out a frustrated huff and went up to open the door. 

“How many times do I have to-” - you cut off yourself as you open the door. - “Gguk?” - you asked, completely caught off guard. 

“Hi” - he stood there, trying to catch his breath. He looked like he ran up the stairs. - “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” - you open the door wider, gesturing to him to go inside. - “You’re back from the military.”

“Yeah…” - he trailed off. - “Sorry, I know we haven’t seen each other in ages and everything, but can I get some water? The elevator broke down on the 20th floor and I ran up the stairs through like 15 floors…” - he let out a small chuckle. 

You reached into the fridge to hand him a bottle of water and watched him as he chugged it. His visible Adam's apple bobbing in the process, making your imagination run wild. Even after all this time he still had the same effect on you without even trying. You admired him as the low kitchen lighting reflected on his face, accentuating his sharp jawline and big nose. You would think back to the times when you both were teenagers, insecure about your looks and now he was standing before you, all grown up. The black shirt hugging his broad shoulders tightly, his biceps flexing slightly, making heat crawl up into your lower stomach quickly. You played with the hem of your dress, nervously, hoping he wouldn’t notice the state you were in.

“So…” - he snapped you out of your thoughts. - “You’re engaged?” - he added, pointing at the ring on your finger. 

You look down at the piece of jewelry, mixed feeling sitting deep in your chest. You weren’t sure what to say, the whole situation was complicated and you weren’t sure where to start.

Hey so actually I’m on the verge of breaking down so I gave into this stupid deal in order for the company to leave me alone for a while?

You let out a heavy breath, trying to collect your thoughts.

“It’s really complicated. I uh…” - you play with your fingers, feeling his burning gaze on you. 

“Then tell me about it.” - he said, crossing his arms over his chest, veins on his hands popping out in the lighting. You could feel that he was tense. - “We were supposed to figure it out, no?” - he added, not trying to attack you but his frustrations were getting the best of him. 

“Well, you didn’t even mention you’d go to the military so quickly.” - you snapped back, you brows furrowing in annoyance. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t promise something to someone important to me and then ran off with another person the moment I was alone again.”

“Then what do you want? Why are you here Jeongguk?” - you asked, throwing your hands in defeat. - “I thought you’d come up with something better to say than whatever the fuck you’re doing right now.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Both of you giving each other a sharp look, heat creeping up your neck. He walked towards you and pinned you against the counter, the solid marble pressing hard into your lower back. 

“I don’t believe it.” - he snapped, his breath hitting your neck making you let out a gasp. - “Whatever show you’re putting on with that joke of a man, whatever you’re trying to sell to the public eye, I don’t buy it. You don’t love him, do you?”

“Gguk…” - you say breathless, trying to form a coherent thought but his body being so close to yours made it difficult. 

“Please tell me it’s not real.” - he begged, not as frustrated anymore. He sounded… scared. 

He was scared it was too late. He was scared that in reality he really didn’t know you anymore. He was scared that you moved on. He was terrified that you fell in love with somebody else. He felt like a coward, he could not forgive himself for waiting for so long. He was scared of your rejection through all those years and now he was terrified that he was about to lose you completely. 

He rested his forehead against your shoulder while he waited for your answer. You took his chin between your fingers and made him look you in the eye. You could see the raw emotion in his gaze, eyes open wide, scared, full of regret but also begging you to say what he wanted to hear. You caressed his cheek with your fingers, tracing his scar. 

“It’s not real Gguk.” - you sighed. - “It’s all a contract. The company wanted people to talk about me but I refused to write another album. I was so exhausted Jeongguk. I just wanted a way out and I made everything worse.” - you confessed, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally faced the truth. - “I just want to be with you again.” - you added, quietly, almost like you didn’t want him to hear. 

“I’m here now, pretty girl.” - he tried to calm you down, laying your head on his chest, the pet name making your heart skip a beat. - “You don’t have to face it alone, we’re gonna make it work. I’m not gonna leave you with all of this.” - he said, smoothing out your hair. 

You let the warmth of your body embrace you, your breath calming down, tension in your muscles now gone. You pull your face away from his chest to look at him, his eyes filled with worry. 

You disappointed each other in the past, leaving the other one with a messy situation without any explanation. You believed him but the worry about the future still sat deep in your chest making it ache slightly. There was no fear about the feelings anymore, it was about the both of you going against every battle and every obstacle that would step in your way in the future. 

You traced the scar on his cheek again, admiring his face. 

Jeongguk on the other hand couldn’t believe that all of this was actually happening. His friends called him insane for denying your relationship. All of this made his heart race at the highest speed it could. You still didn’t admit how you truly felt about him, but you saying that you want him next to you was enough for him. If you weren’t ready to say it out loud now, he was willing to wait even more if that meant you’d be happy by his side (hopefully for the rest of his life). He didn’t want to push you, but he wanted you to know how he felt. 

“What’s on your mind?” - you asked, seeing his face twist in wonder. 

“This is the last time I promise you to work on this mess.” 

For a moment you were thinking it was him giving you the last chance to pull your shit together and actually make it work. You thought it was him giving you a sign that if you fuck this up he’s going to leave forever and move on with his life after waiting for you for so long. You realized that it was your last chance and that you gambled with your luck one too many times. 

“I will stand by your side, I’m not going anywhere. I’m so in love with you, I don’t think I could stay away even if I tried” - he added, taking a slight step back, looking at the kitchen floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the world now. 

His sudden confession caught you off guard, not because you didn’t know but because you didn’t expect him to say it like that out loud. 

“I’m glad you couldn’t because I’m so in love with you I don’t think I could live my life without you like that ever again.” - you said looking up at him. 

Jeongguk took a quick step towards you again, smashing his lips into yours, which caught you off guard. Your hands found their place in his hair, softly pulling at his roots. The action caused a small noise to slip through his lips, which he hoped you didn’t hear. You just confessed his feelings for him out loud and that alone made the need for your body against his grow. His hands landed on your waist, holding you in place carefully but possessively. His lips moved against yours in a slow rhythm, letting his feelings pour out as his yearning for you was finally satisfied. You let out a low hum against his lips, signaling that you were slowly running out of breath but neither of you really cared. 

Not long later you pulled away, gasping slightly for air, looking at Jeongguk. His cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen and mildly wet from the kiss, his hair dishevelled. He stared at you, pupils blown wide. 

“Gguk…” - you said, breathless. - “Please… I need you.” - you looked up at him doe eyed. 

He wasted no time as he connected your lips again and started walking you back to the living room. His hands explored your body, his fingertips grazing your skin carefully. The back of your knees hit the edge of the couch as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking a hickey under your ear. You let out a quiet moan in sensation. You fell back on the couch as he stood tall above you, taking a sight of you in. His gaze trailed down your body, making a shiver run up your spine, your face turning hot. His lips found their way back to your neck again leaving wet kisses. 

“Are you sure pretty girl?” - his voice barely above a whisper. He earned a small nod from you. - “I need you to use your words, where’s that smart mouth that I missed so much?”

“I’m sure Gguk, stop teasing.”

“Oh she’s getting brave now.” - he chuckled as he unzipped your dress, sliding the straps slowly down your shoulders. His thumbs ran along the hem of your bra, tracing the soft lace. - “So beautiful.” - he murmured to himself. 

His hands trailed down your sides to take off the dress completely, as his lips made his way lower down your body, peppering kisses over your bra and between the valley of your breasts. You let out a small whine when his fingers started toying with the edge of your panties, your hips squirming in search of friction. He smiled to himself as he noticed a wet patch on the fabric as it stuck to your skin. His fingers softly rubbed against the slightly darker spot on the panties making you let out another moan. He took it as a sign and slid off the barrier separating his hungry touch from your drenched core. His gaze landed on your wet cunt. The sight made him lick his lips, his stare turning almost predatory. His finger made light contact with your wet folds, gathering some of your wetness. The action made you let out a whimper, your body covered in goosebumps. 

“Look at you, poor thing. All needy for me.” - he says, mocking the state you’re in. You only nodded in response. 

He licked up a long stripe up your heat, letting out a low growl. His tongue traced messy patterns, his whole face quickly covered in your arousal. He kept your tights open firmly with his strong hands as he plunged his tongue in and out. You buried your fingers in his hair, caressing the scalp and pulling at the ends. 

“Gguk- it’s… ah!” - you try to form a cohesive sentence as you throw your head back against the couch, but fail as one of his hands makes his way down to your centre, slowly sliding inside with a wet sound, curling up to hit the right point. 

“I know baby, I know. Just let me take care of you.” - he mumbles between your thighs. 

You reach out to grab his other hand, trying to stabilize yourself, your loud noises filling the room. He slides his fingers between yours, feeling the heavy ring of your finger, a reminder of something that was about to be terminated by the morning, if not sooner. 

“Did he not treat you the way you deserve?” - he pulls away, his fingers still working inside you in a steady rhythm. - “Did he not satisfy you?” - he adds, his other hand playing with the ring on your finger. 

“He- ah! He never touched me, Jeongguk. I-ngh!” - you try your best to answer him as your mind gets hazy. - “I never let him.” - you finally confess, your words followed by a loud moan as his fingers abused the soft spot deep inside of you. 

The moment Jeongguk hears your words, something unlocks in him. Hajoon was never in the equation, you never ever tried to give him a chance. Your confession only proved to him that you didn’t even think about being intimate with another man after that award ceremony. Your noises get even louder, face twisting in pleasure giving him a sign that you’re about to cum, your whole body squirming trying to escape his grasp but chasing the high. 

“I’ve got you, pretty girl. Let go for me. Let me see you.” - he says, leaving soft kisses on your inner thigh.  

He takes you right over the edge, your legs shaking, vision blurring. His eyes never leave your face, admiring the view - your brows slightly furrowed, mouth opening wide in a silent scream. He could watch you like that for hours. While he works his fingers through the climax, he takes a moment to gently slide the ring off your finger and hide it in his pocket. You’re too focused on the pleasure to notice it happening. He chuckles to himself as he feels the piece of jewelry dropping down, deep into the pocket. The ring sparks an idea. He shakes those thoughts off now, focusing on you laid out in front of him. 

He leaves wet kisses up your thighs, slowly crawling back up your body. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to catch your breath. His hand slips behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it fall loosely before dropping it on the floor. His knee comes up higher, your slick falling onto the fabric of his pants, making you let out a quiet whimper from the sensitivity. His lips make contact with your neck again, sucking the skin into his mouth, leaving a mark behind. 

“You still with me?” - he asks quietly, his voice dripping with care. You give him a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak properly. 

His fingers come up, tracing along your ribs, his touch hot on your skin. Then they climb up, outlining your nipple, while he bends down to take the other one into his mouth. The sensation of his warm mouth along with the coldness of his piercing makes you arch your back off the couch, pushing yourself further into his mouth. 

“Jeongguk!” - you yell out, your state still vulnerable. - “I-I’m sensitive.” - you admit, a pout forming on your lips. 

He sucks the nipple harder, before releasing it with a quiet pop. He moves his attention to the other one, licking around the area and carefully grazing his teeth along it. 

“You can do it, beautiful. So perfect for me.” - he praises, his voice low. 

You tug at his shirt, desperately wanting it off. He raises up to pull it over his head, revealing his toned body and the colorful sleeve covering his arm. You let out a small moan at the sight, tracing your nails down his abs to then playfully tug at his pants. 

“Getting greedy, are we?” - he smirks, sliding his jeans down along with his boxers. 

His cock sprang free, slapping against his lower stomach. You reach out and wrap your hand around him, stroking it slowly. He hissed out at the sensation, biting his lower lip. You move your palm up and down his length before he stops you, pinning your hands above your head. 

“Slow down, we’ll have time for that later.” - he says, his breath unsteady. 

“Is that a promise?” - you ask playfully. 

“There’s that smart mouth of yours. I missed it.” - he says, smiling while leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

You can feel the weight of his cock on your inner thigh as he slips his tongue into your mouth, exploring and claiming every part of it. You feel him push inside of you, the stretch having a delicious sting to it. He groans at the sensation, feeling your arousal coating him, your warm walls slightly clamping down. Behind your closed eyelids, your eyes roll back as your jaw falls agape letting out a sinful moan. He stills inside you for a moment, trying to collect himself and not cum right away, but it’s difficult to him when your pussy hugs around him so tight. 

“You’re so- fuck! You’re made for me, pretty girl. Squeezing me like a vice.” - he says through his teeth, his head falling forward on your shoulder. He pushes his palm down on your lower stomach, feeling a bulge. - “Look at you.”

“Jeongguk, please…” - you beg him to continue. 

He pulls out and snaps his hips back forward in a harsh manner, making you let out a high-pitched moan. You squirm beneath him, feeling so full. 

“So responsive.” - he whispers, as he licks a long stripe behind your ear. - “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

The name sends a shiver down your spine as he continues to rock his hips in slow but firm thrusts. 

“I- Gguk..” - you trail off, trying to form a sentence.

“I know pretty, I know” - he responds in between the thrusts, his hands gripping your hips to keep in place.”

“I- I love you- ah!” - you manage to say, tears escaping your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure and intense emotion sitting deep in your chest. 

He leans down again to capture your lips in a kiss. This one full of intention and much more intimate. It wasn’t filled with lust or need but with love. 

“I love you my sweet angel.” - he breaks the kiss, his eyes filled with emotion and hope. 

His hips start to stutter as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him, your core throbbing. 

“Ngh- fuck!” - you moan as your vision goes blurry and your legs feel weak. 

Your cunt clenching down onto him hard, pulling him in even closer if possible. The room filled with wet sounds. His hips lose rhythm, now moving in frantic motion. Small whimpers make their way past his soft lips as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel the warm liquid covering your insides as he comes inside with a loud groan. He works his way through his high, making you even more sensitive causing you to squirm and whine. He softly drops on top of you, careful not to crush you. 

You both lay there in silence, trying to catch your breath, still riding the high. He turns both of you over so you lay on his chest, your finger softly tracing random patterns on his toned chest. You can feel your body getting slightly numb, the exhaustion kicking in. 

“I’ve got you baby. We’re in this together now.” - he says quietly, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

The next day you wake up in the bed, thankfully. Jeongguk takes care of the breakfast, to show off his cooking skills and also providing you with a little catch up on how the military was. You feel like your life came back to the one before the rumors broke out. The morning felt safe and slow in the best way possible. 

“I need to stop by the company, take care of something.” - he says as he takes the plates back to the kitchen.

“Everthing okay?” - you ask.

“Yeah, never been better.” - he responds with a wide smile. 

Later that day, Jeongguk makes his way to the company building. While in the elevator he plays with your "engagement" ring between his fingers. The elevator plays a melodic sound while announcing that he arrived at the 11th floor. He made his way down the hallway and without knocking barged into the room.

Inside, behind the desk sits Hajoon with his manager and a music producer he didn’t really recognize, not that he cared anyway. Not acknowledging the company, he stepped confidently through the room. 

“Jeon, you're being rude. No knocking? Being an idol doesn’t exempt you from having manners.” - Hajoon complains.

Jeongguk stood tall in front of him. Without a word he put the ring on the desk. The manager looked at it with wide eyes and even let out a small gasp. 

“I thought you might want it back, we really won’t need it. We’re even now, so don’t contact her ever again.” - he says, his voice low and steady.

Life motto: try something three times before calling quits. After three tries of your cycling class, you knew a lifetime of a sore coochie wasn’t tangible. Gave dating apps the same chances as well and the results were as expected: disappointing, borderline revolting. You’ve stuck with some things — sashimi, 10K daily steps, and coconut body moisturizer. Thing is, everything you’ve stuck with after the third try enriched your life. If you wanted to play technicalities, you’ve only kissed Jungkook twice. You don’t know if you could ever kiss him the third time for you could only extend the trial or never kiss again.

As much as the experience enriched a part of your life … you’re ruined. Have not stopped thinking about Jungkook since that night — how his lips felt against yours: soft for the entire four second duration and fleeting towards the end when they inevitably pulled away. 

Pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate.

Right. Only for Jungkook.

Wasn’t your full intent to avoid him for the past week. Work got busy and you’ve been dealing with Mina for the last twenty-four hours, asking if you were available for a last minute project at RkivedShots. You’ve sworn to give something three tries before quitting, and while you’ve only filmed once with RkivedShots, you don’t know if you had it in you to do it again. Had Mina been a little less nice and more curt with you, declining would’ve happened quicker and easier.

Asking Jungkook for his opinion would’ve been ideal, but again, you haven’t spoken to him in a couple days. Taehyung wouldn’t be able to give you an answer, defaulting the choice back to you.

You wanted someone to tell you it wasn’t a mistake to accept the project. Wasn’t a mistake as you drive to RkivedShots’ headquarters and not some random warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Because if it were a mistake, you’d have no one to blame but yourself.

“I promise it’ll be a quick shoot! Namjoon’s trying something new and he thought you’d be the perfect addition to the project.” Mina reasoned.

She greets you again at the entrance of their company building and briefs you on the assignment.

“He wanted to title it ‘vanilla’ … with a vanilla ice cream emoji next to it.”

Your mind wanders to the endless possibilities. Were the actors going to be drenched in vanilla ice cream? Worse … what if it had nothing to do with ice cream? The set up makes you question the theme even more: just a queen-sized mattress with soft yellow-hued lighting. A regular bedroom. If it’s one thing you’re sure of, the term ‘regular’ and RkivedShots do not go together.

“Our actors are still getting ready, so we’ll call you when we’re ready to shoot. Enjoy the snacks I prepared in your break area.” Mina smiles and points to a discreet location with your name printed on a piece of white paper.

You’re a little less nervous this time around after learning the project only involved a couple. Nothing better than starting off with one extreme such as an orgy to another production just between two actors. RkivedShots has prepared you well. Also prepared you for the excitement of the many amenities you’ve yet to explore. You wonder what kinds of snacks they’ve set out this time. Hands parting the divider between the set and your break area, you startle from a familiar voice.

“Pixie?”

It can’t be. Not again.

Of course, none other than Jeon Jungkook in the flesh. Or … well, in a robe. Dangerously opened, might you add.

You stand there, deer in headlights, before Jungkook laughs and wraps his hand around your wrist. He tugs you into your break area, barely catching the words coming out his mouth over the loud pounding in your ears. 

“What’s your game, Pix?” He simpers, eyes matching the glimmer of his lip piercings. 

“Game?” You ask in a stupor, having just processed you’ve bumped into Jungkook at another RkivedShots production set yet again. Seems like your whole relationship’s built on surprises and random meetings.

“Avoid me for a week only to surprise me at work?” He teases. 

“I’m not avoiding … Been busy, that’s all.” Half-truth. “Wasn’t aware you were gonna be here.”

“Could’ve known if we’ve been talking.” He shrugs, no malice behind his words. “But I get it. Life happens.”

Jungkook happened too. He rooted himself in a part of your life you’re not sure how to navigate around. He’s left you with no oars, and no certainty over what your next words should be.

“Sorry …”

“You’ll get wrinkles like that.” He taps your forehead. “‘S fine, no biggie.”

His words don’t exactly match his smile — meant to reassure you, but only leaves you wondering whether he really is alright. Perhaps things were easier when Jungkook only reached out to you regarding film.

Jungkook sits on the arm rest of one of the couches in your break area and you take a seat on a small stool on the opposite side, untrusting of yourself if you were any closer to him. His exposed thighs peep through the slit and if it opened a little more … alright, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. But it still makes you swallow thickly, eyes wandering around the secluded space.

“Thought you said you weren’t signing with RkivedShots. Change of heart?” He tilts his head.

“More like Mina. Have you ever tried saying no to that girl?” You huff. Jungkook takes the chance to make it known you and him were within the same vicinity with his full laugh. 

“Five years of working with her and I still find myself questioning why she isn’t in negotiations.”

“Right?” You chuckle. “Just another one-off job though.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say.” Jungkook winks. Was that what Jungkook believed after his first job? Speaking of jobs, you realize you’re both on the same set, which could only mean …

“Are you also a part of this production?” Dumb question, but Jungkook’s kind enough to grant you a simple answer.

“I am.” He confirms.

“Oh.” Your lips press into a thin line. “I-Is … would that be weird for you?”

“Would that be weird for you?” He parrots with his arms crossed, and your eyes drop to his chest.

“A little? I mean, we didn’t know each other the first time on set.”

He stares and exhales through his nose. “We’ll be fine, P. Just gotta separate things, remember? A job’s a job.” He reminds.

You and Jungkook fall into regular conversation. He asks about your schedule for the upcoming month, then you ask what he’s planning to eat for dinner, to which he questions whether that was your way of asking him out for dinner. Wasn’t your intention at all, but food with Jungkook sounds nice. The potential plan gets shot down when he tells you he already has other plans tonight. 

He looks at his watch and sighs. “I gotta head back to the makeup chair. Stella’s gonna throw a fit.”

You’re reminded in just a few moments, you’ll be filming your friend fucking another person. It doesn’t sit right with you, but like Jungkook said … a job is a job — you can separate your feelings. 

You have to.

Following closely behind him, you fall into your usual habit of overthinking, questioning if you can actually do this. There’s no denying your crush on Jungkook, but you were not ready to make it known — not ready to complicate the situation or relationship you’ve barely started with him. After all, the secret crush you have on your friend will crush you; if not, seeing him fuck someone else will finish the job.

Deep into your thoughts, you hadn’t realized Jungkook stopped before you bump face first into his back.

He turns, “You gonna be okay, Pix?”

“Yeah.” You lie.

Jungkook reads you easily. He hesitates, but then his hand nudges yours, and his pinkie hooks onto yours. You don’t move away.

“It’s not an orgy at least.” Jungkook tries to joke.

Yeah, it’s not an orgy. No, far worse. It’s Jungkook with someone else. Will it always feel like this?

“I suppose.” You reply. Feeling guilty for the damper mood, you try to joke too. “As long as you aren’t doused in vanilla ice cream or something.”

“God, I hope not. Namjoon’s done too much in the food category.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” The words leave your lips before you could fully register their insinuation.

“Are you now?” His pinkie curls around yours tighter, unwilling to let go of the thought — of you. “What other videos have you seen from RkivedShots?”

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks. Flashes of his thick fingers wrapped around his manhood threaten to make you black out entirely. “Nothing else.” You stutter.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He unhooks his pinkie with a mischievous grin and takes a step back. “I’ll see you out there, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” You nod, heart hammering even after he’s long gone from your space.

Jungkook’s costar was absolutely stunning. Skin free from blemishes or scars, breasts lifted and perky, and god, does she have a pretty smile. They seem close … friendly. Makes sense to have good chemistry before any bed chemistry.

True to Mina’s words, the script fits exactly what the title of the production suggested … vanilla. Nothing crazy, which is the crazy part considering Namjoon is all about breaking barriers. He wanted a shock factor for his audience. What better way to do it than to do something conventional?

“Totally going to rock RkivedShots’ fans.” Namjoon chuckles, going over the script with you and all the different angles he’d like you to film in.

It’s a simple scene: a couple waking up the morning after their wedding and making sweet love.

From behind, the girl and Jungkook de-robe. You should be used to seeing Jungkook naked at this point. Third time’s the charm, but you don’t feel quite lucky at the moment knowing what’s about to happen. You know the freckles on his chest up to the one below his lips. They say your moles and freckles were a result of all the kisses you received from your lover in your former life. And now, you’ll watch as someone else kisses them.

This is work.

A small fraction of both yours and Jungkook’s day which has nothing to do with who you are off set.

Though, if this is purely work, why does your grip tighten around your camera as Jungkook winks and smiles in your direction? 

He sways his head to the side, shrugs his shoulders, and climbs into bed with his co-actress. You fight the laughter bubbling in your chest at the cringy lines being regurgitated between the woman and Jungkook — not so funny when the blanket slips below their waists, revealing his cock buried deep in her cunt. His mouth hangs open, a red flush spreading across his chest.

It really is soft-core porn at its finest.

Namjoon’s scripts are good, but the actors make it better. The kisses, murmurs of love, compliance to requests of reaching further, deeper. It’s the closest thing to love when Jungkook has her in missionary, arms embracing her as his lips press against her forehead. So tender — the complete opposite of everything happening below the waist.

The fucking issue is when he dares to look up at the camera — at you. Hooded eyes, mouth pouty, and hips unfaltering.

You swallow. Startled, almost struggling to keep the camera still. It would definitely capture your every quiver if you weren’t a professional.

Something in Jungkook shifts. He cracks a smile, his strokes become more frantic, causing the woman below him to moan even louder. He pays no mind, his only attention is on you and how you’re now biting down your lip.

Your eyes jump between the display screen and the tangible scene unfolding beyond it, ultimately choosing to fixate on the screen. Not only in a wrestling attempt to ground yourself, you remind yourself you’re here to work — that this is your job. As an attempt to escape his sliced stare, you angle the shot moving slightly downward to focus on his middle rhythmically meeting the woman’s. Doesn’t make it entirely better, maybe not at all, but at least you’re not forced into a staring contest with the devil himself.

“Cut! Less looking at the camera, Jungkook.”

This goes on for another three takes until Namjoon calls for a powder touch-up.

The co-actress detaches from Jungkook and scurries off to her chair.

Jungkook barely passes you and you whisper, heated and flushed, “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Just working.” He picks up his water bottle and chugs down a good amount. All while still maintaining eye contact with your glossed gaze, like this is some sort of joke.

Thankfully, Jungkook lessens his antics. Probably more to do with everyone’s time and not at the expense of your feelings.

The final scene transitions to the woman falling to her knees and ripping off Jungkook’s condom. She kneels between his legs; consequently, so were you on the side. The camera faces her, filming every second of her fast handjob, mouth open for his inevitable orgasm.

She looks up at him, and begs for his cum before taking half his length in her mouth. 

You unconsciously shift in your kneeled position, thighs tensing — the action so minimal, one could easily miss it. Not by Jungkook. Your mouth parts, and although small, your warm breath reaches Jungkook’s bare skin. Jungkook moans, left leg tensing and shaking at the first sign of his orgasm. 

“Gonna cum.” He rasps, looking down. At you. “Fuck baby, ‘m gonna cum all over you.”

Oh, how you wish you were the one kneeling between his legs, taking his length in your mouth like his costar is now. You’re uncertain what you’d do, having never given anyone head in the past. He’d guide you, right? Tap the head of his cock on your lips before entering? Tell you how he likes getting sucked off? Praise you for a job well done and if not, you’d have all the chances in the world to make it up to him in different ways?

His costar pulls his cock out her mouth, pumping him faster as his cum lands across her face. She envelopes her lips around the tip, sucking till he’s empty. He runs a thumb across her face, gathering his cum. Eyes never leaving yours, he pulls his softened cock out of her mouth and replaces it with his thumb. 

“You make me the happiest man.” Another cringe-worthy line, but it was the last line in the script. Namjoon cuts the scene and wraps up production.

Jungkook helps his costar up first, then holds a hand out for you — the same cum-covered fingers, momentarily in another woman’s mouth. Ignoring his hand, you push yourself up from the ground. He stands there, brows twitching in confusion with his hand still extended in the air. 

You shake your head.

“So mean.” You mutter, shoulder brushing his arm as you walk past him.

The only good thing about RkivedShots were their snacks and you don’t hesitate to empty the spread before leaving. You also know this was the final time you film with RkivedShots or any adult film production company for that matter. 

Jungkook doesn’t follow you — doesn’t come by to see you off for the day, but you see him. Are reminded of him for hours in your day through the clips you edit, keeping and reserving those intensified stares for yourself. 

A small part of you hopes none of the day was an act. It wasn’t just a job and he felt something too.

Jungkook was convinced his desire to kiss you was innocent at best and foolish at worst. He was so foolish. He fucked up building an attachment to someone he knew should be kept at a distance, and now, distance was all you granted him.  

You’re upset with him and he’s not too sure why. Sure, his teasing on set went a little beyond necessary … but you enjoyed it, right? He knew he did. Wanted to show you how good he was at separating pleasure, feelings, and work. What other better way to show it than through demonstration?

‘So mean.’ Not true. Mean is ignoring his well-intended text messages and check-ins. Mean is also leaving your read receipts turned off and he isn’t sure whether you’re alive or not. A quick search on your business website shows you actively posting your past bookings … so yeah, you fit the definitions of cruelty. Not answering his text messages. Not addressing the elephant in the room — the one he unfortunately led in. 

Alright, maybe he’s to blame in all of this.

After a week of crickets, he can’t be bothered to keep trying. Communication was a two way street and his unanswered messages stopped all potential forms of interactions with you. Aside from that, Jungkook’s taken some time off from work. No, the time off wasn’t because of the whole situation with you. His profession gives him the financial flexibility to not work all the time and as a result he enjoys work even more after a period without it. 

What does Jeon Jungkook do on vacation? Nothing, really. He’s traveled where he wanted to in his twenties, so vacations are meant to just live. He eats what he wants, goes to the gym, and catches up on movies he’s missed. 

Also, fucks just ‘cause he wants to and not for a script. 

Just like he’s doing right now with his neighbor, Yoona—a pretty, forty-seven year old divorcee living the floor above him. The sixteen year age gap should be off putting, but there’s something about the maturity and wisdom she brings in this no-strings attached relationship Jungkook would otherwise struggle to maintain with someone around his age. She can’t be bothered to start over, and Jungkook isn’t looking for anything serious. She wants a good fuck, he wants confidence.

“Fuck yes, use this pussy.” She takes him on all fours, bed creaking as Jungkook fucks himself into her. He could do anything with her. Today? He’s unkind and she’s content with it. 

She just paid off her kid’s hefty university tuition ‘cause her ex-husband demanded her to do so while still milking the alimony dry. How do you go from promising ‘till death do you part’ to depleting your ex-spouse’s bank account as an act of revenge? An unfortunate, double-edged sword for her to make more money than him, but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way. Better she’s self-sustained than having to rely on a deadbeat man. Plus, Jungkook gets moments like these with her.

When Jungkook moved below her on the thirty-fourth floor, he hadn’t expected his neighbors to be this quiet. That is, until he heard screaming one day. Wishing he had a ladder and stethoscope to listen through the ceiling, he settled for the muffled conversation, eventually ruling as a classic case of cheating on the husband’s end. Some shit about Yoona not giving him enough attention and he wanted to feel like a man again. Boring and overused. After that night, Jungkook has not heard any form of human life upstairs. Maybe she forgave him. Maybe they moved out. Or—calling all crime junkies—maybe she murdered him.

Oh well, it’s none of his concern. 

Though, one encounter at the apartment complex’s gym, add the multiple shared glances, Yoona was in his bed before midnight. She finds him when she needs to blow off steam, whether it be from her ex or her children — and he finds her … well, whenever he’s horny. 

See. This is why Jungkook thinks marriage is a sham. He questioned the concept of holy matrimony when Hoseok told him he was thinking of proposing to Yoongi. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce and then you’re left to deal with the aftermath. Nah, no thanks. But he’s glad marriage is working for his friends so far. 

He finishes in the condom shortly after, restless even when Yoona notices and offers to suck him off as a thank you for making her cum four times this morning. He’d take it, but a notification comes in on his phone. Yoona knew how all of this worked. She isn’t hurt or bothered by the idea Jungkook wasn’t fully present—wasn’t fully hers.

She pushes herself up, unneeding of any form of aftercare. This part felt weird in the beginning as Jungkook couldn’t comprehend how anyone didn’t want to be taken care of after sex. He’d love nothing more than to tend to his partner’s vulnerable needs. But sex with Yoona was just sex. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Maybe her expectations for the relationship had been low considering her dried out sex life with her ex-husband. Or maybe she doesn’t expect anything from a young man like Jungkook other than a good dick. Everything works out for Jungkook in the end: Yoona’s in her bathroom cleaning herself up and getting ready for work.

Post-nut clarity lets him take care of things he actually cares about. He opens your message thread and gets greeted by an image. No words … just … 

Roasted persimmons.

The plate is perched on your lap. Thighs exposed, you’re in the same black shorts he saw you in the video that one night. They’re perfect—your thighs—something he’d grab onto if he were driving … hell, as you drive. Would you let him lay his head there? Squish his cheeks between them as he eases your mind after a long day? And maybe you’d let him and all would be well again. A good orgasm always helped Jungkook forget about his problems. Wished that was the case after the sex he just had, cock throbbing again underneath the sheets at the mere thought of you. 

He missed you. Missed talking to you and poking your knowledge on film and photography. Missed your presence. Feels terrible for taunting you. Feels even more terrible at the thought of wanting you when you’re naive to all his desires. 

Jungkook [9:13 a.m.]: Yum.

The message was vague enough to deter you whether it was aimed at the persimmons or your thighs.

🧚[9:13 a.m.]: Morning 🙂 🧚[9:14 a.m.]: Long time no talk

And whose fault was that? He doesn’t reply, watching the typing bubbles fade in and out for a couple minutes. 

🧚[9:20 a.m.]: That was lame. Sorry, I’m really bad at this. Jungkook [9:20 a.m.]: At what?

His phone begins ringing and as much as he’d like to answer, he’s literally laid up in someone else’s bed—someone else’s home—very much naked. He begrudgingly clicks on the Custom Message button and types out a quick excuse, but before he could hit send, Yoona walks out in a beige pencil skirt, hair pulled into a neat bun. She fixes her earring backings, pausing as she does a fast once over at Jungkook.

“Don’t think I can go another round, Jungkook.” She eyes his covered lower half, silk sheets doing little to conceal his hard-on. Though not for her this time around, he’s not going to bruise her ego. 

“Gonna head out.” She continues. “Feel free to stick around as long as you want, but Haemin’s stopping by around noon.” Haemin … her teenage son. Yeah, no, Jungkook wasn’t going to stick around for that.

No sappy goodbye kisses are required with Yoona. No well-wishes or check-ins either. Completely different from how he wishes things were between you and him. The moment Jungkook finds himself outside her home, he immediately calls you back.

“Hi.” Your greeting comes out hesitant even after answering at the first ring.

“Pix,” He breathes, “Sorry, got caught in the middle of something so couldn’t answer your call.” He opts to take the stairway, concerned the elevators might drop the call.

“It’s okay.” You reply. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” He answers, thumb pressed on the sensor to unlock his apartment door. “How are you?”

You laugh. Soft, with a hint of remorse. Was it awful of him to assume that you haven’t been alright? That, perhaps, your misery had something to do with avoiding him for the past month?

“Busy.” You pause, hesitating with your next words. “Found myself thinking about my friend often.”

Friend. Huh. He’s not sure how he feels about this title. Then again, what other label could fit?

“Which one?” His door gently clicks behind him, lungs unconsciously trapping his exhale as to hear your sheepish voice better.

“The mean one.”

He chuckles, with little humour in it. “Sounds like an asshole.”

“He is,” on the other side, Jungkook hears you shift and move, imagines you repositioning on your small couch. “I’m not sure if he even knows though.”

Humming, he plops down on his own. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“Does right now count?” You sigh. “Okay, no more games, Jungkook.” He hates the way his back straightens at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. 

“Look, I texted and you ignored me, P.”

“Only ‘cause you weren’t addressing the issue or apologizing. And you still haven’t.” Okay, fair, the couple of times he texted you after filming were dismissive and avoidant.

Still not fair enough for him to give up his stance, no matter if he’d happily drop this whole discourse with a single word of yours. He missed hearing your soft tone around them, and maybe that’s exactly why he keeps arguing. 

To hear more of you.

“If you were upset, why didn’t you say anything? We’re too old to be playing guessing games.”

“And we’re too old to not read the room. You were mean and you still haven’t admitted it.”

The crazy thing is, Jungkook knows what he has to do to fix all of this. He knew in his heart he was in the wrong, but it’s hard to admit it. Humiliating, even. He’s only as good as his pride and that’s something he’ll have to swallow.

Just as he geared himself to properly apologize, you sigh again. “Let’s just call a truce. I gotta prep for a booking this afternoon. We can talk more about it later. Glad to know you’re alive at le—”

“I can come help, if you like.”

You pause. 

“If you want.”

He does, that’s unquestionable, and quite obvious. He’s not as certain it’s the same for you, though. “Do you want me there with you?”

Another pause. “I do.”

Jungkook has about two hours to put together an appropriate outfit for a black-tie wedding. It’s the most excitement he’s felt all month since going on vacation. Which is foolish, considering he isn’t doing anything valuable going to a stranger’s wedding. At this point, he’ll take any form of you in any setting, even if it means wearing those godforsaken dress pants again.

You’re beautiful. Always been. Even more beautiful when you smile and throw a small wave in his direction as he gets out of his car. If you weren’t with your equipment, maybe it’d look like you two were each other’s plus ones for this wedding. He certainly wouldn’t mind.

He helps with your bags, carrying the heavier load and you let him without protest. That’s what he’s here for: just to help you. You guys weren’t dates for a wedding. You weren’t lovers — barely friends now, especially with how he treated you.

He finds himself on the cusp of an apology every single second of the event, but he knows to keep work and feelings separate. All he knows is his apologies to you in the past were not well-received. A wedding, let alone your place of work, was not the time and place. 

He makes up for his clogged up words by trying to sneak your favorite appetizers in your direction. Hard when the couple seems to treat their employees … less than employees. Your itinerary mentioned to bring your own source of hydration and food. Bunch of other dumb rules Jungkook couldn’t be bothered to follow through, because if they were strict with their employees, they’re probably just as strict with their wedding guests. And god, did they look gloomy during the ceremony and reception.

Of course, Jungkook charms one of the waiters into giving him a mini-charcuterie cup.

“Psst, Pix. C’mere.” Jungkook waves behind one of the stone pillars. Between the wine glasses clinking and utensils scraping against plates, the reception was utterly dreadful and miserable. To add onto the horrors, there wasn’t any music playing.

You look to the side and fix your camera on the tripod before sneaking away, eyes lighting up when Jungkook holds out a small cup full of both savory and sweet snacks. 

You gasp and whisper, “How’d you get your hands on these?” You moan softly after popping in a chocolate-covered pretzel. Maybe Jungkook didn’t need music.

“Employees in the back are manifesting a divorce, so they gave away a cup as a sacrifice.” He jokes. You giggle, another sound Jungkook preferred over the silence. Would add that single giggle to a playlist and loop it for hours. Does that sound creepy? Definitely better than whatever this function is looking and sounding like.

“Let’s get a bite after this is all over. My treat.” You say. Jungkook hums around a starved mouthful, crumpling up the empty cup after you’ve both demolished every single bite, even all the unfavorable treats you both typically wouldn’t reach for on a normal day.

For a wedding this expensive and extravagant, the couple ran a terribly strict program at a night meant to celebrate their love and unity. He could only imagine what the future holds for this couple if they were this rigid for a celebration of their unity. Oh well, whatever floats for their boat. He’s sure they own at least ten and never set sail.

He counts down every second of the event, holding onto the promise of spending more time with you outside of working. It’s when you both packed all your equipment into your trunk, Jungkook finally feels a surge of anticipation as you offer a neutral smile.

“There’s a diner I saw on my way over. We can go there unless there’s somewhere else you prefer.” You close the trunk to your car, waiting for his answer.

“Diner’s good.” He nods. “Let’s go.”

Jungkook follows behind your car, noting how you’d signal a little earlier, waiting for cars to pass so he’d always remain right behind you in view. He follows you through the windy roads — the most intuitive thing he’s done all month long. 

In the small diner filled with other patrons of all ages, your formal wedding attires are none of the surprising. Looking less like you were both tortured at a wedding, Jungkook slides into the booth with his hair slightly disheveled and the first three buttons undone. You, on the other hand, took out your bobby pins during the ride over, leaving your hair running in whatever direction it pleased. Jungkook orders pancakes and a decaffeinated coffee, you order an omelet and hot tea — a perfect balance of sweet and savory, because what’s a good meal if not shared?

“So, work keepin’ you busy?” Jungkook sips his coffee. Lukewarm, bleh. When you look up at him, the liquid takes immediate effect down his esophagus, setting his chest and the pits of his stomach ablaze.

“Unfortunately. But I’m expecting a slow-down during summer holidays. No one likes being outdoors when it’s too hot or too cold. Plus, not in the budget for couples to fly me out to a destination wedding.” You shrug. “You? How’s work?”

“Makes sense. The beach sounds nice right now.” He nods. “Ah, and I’m technically on vacation, so I can’t complain.”

Raising your brows, you speak around your cup. “Oh? For how long?”

“However long I want.” 

Unlike your choices of beverages, your food comes piping hot. You and Jungkook thank the older waitress before prepping all the proper condiments. The food is not of high quality, but after hours of nothing but pretzels and blueberries, this was a meal for the royalties.

“What have you been up to?” You ask, helping him slather an ungodly amount of butter on the pancakes.

“Trying to get back into gaming. Hiked last week and got some good nature shots.” He muses, cutting up the pancakes into bite-sized pieces. He drizzles globs of syrup over the pancakes to balance your butter. Pushing his plate to the center, you do the same with your plate of omelet.

“That sounds like a good time.” You acknowledge, joy spreading across your face at the first bite of pancakes.

“Mhm.” His fork stabs into one of the omelet pieces.

Silence falls between you both as you eat the subpar, but first, hot meal of the evening. Basic mannerisms called for no talking at the table; yet, you’ve hardly looked him in the eye. He should say something. Maybe start out with a long overdue apology — an appropriate heartfelt one because he cares about your feelings despite not fully understanding what he did wrong.

The wedding wasn’t an appropriate setting to talk; was a diner any better? Probably not, especially when trying to enjoy a meal. But every time he goes to swallow a bite, his throat constricts, tighter with each passing moment. Food is fighting to go down and words are in the way, trying to get out.

He continues eating; although, he’s slowly losing appetite the more you avoid his gaze, the mix of butter and syrup on your fork suddenly garnering your attention more than the man seated across the table from you. Half of him thinks, plans, and molds the perfect words for an apology. Curating something so foolproof, you wouldn’t be able to refuse it. The other half of him debates dropping the situation. Don’t try to fix what isn’t completely broken.

Instead, he buys some time by small talk, asking about how Gum was doing, to which he finds out you bought a second beta fish (separated by its own tank, of course) and named him Bubba.

“He’s pretty, isn’t he?” You lock your phone after showing a picture of the two fishes and their makeshift dividers.

Okay, Jungkook isn’t one to demand constant updates, but friends (if that’s what you are to each other) are supposed to share their lives with one another, right? In any other circumstance with his friends, they’d keep him posted on their whereabouts and small wins—losses too. Knows the silence between you two was a result of some mute animosity, but you’ve always been a terrible texter even before all this.

Not as terrible for you to keep fish-updates to yourself, though.

He rarely calls you by your actual name, but serious conversations call for a mildly serious introduction. 

You tilt your head. 

“I’m no stranger to things getting busy, but I don’t know …” He begins. “Makes me kind of disappointed to learn things about you after the fact.”

God, the moment those pathetic words leave his lips, he’s reduced to a fool begging for a hint of attention. So dumb having to ask your friends do the bare minimum — even dumber when his heart races at your frown.

Your voice sounds smaller. “I’ve always been like this.”

Great, he shows a little bit of weakness and now he’s going to be labeled as needy. Jungkook sits there, ready for your refusal — mouth agape, drawing in a sharp breath only to let out the air through a shaky exhale, no response following. He thinks your big eyes flickering over his face are making it harder to add anything else.

Lucky for him, you explain yourself further before he has to strip himself bare further. Not that he ever minded whenever he was in your company. Right now, the action carries a bit of shame with it.

“Maintaining communication’s hard for me.” You sigh. “I don’t mean to keep stuff from you. I’ll do better.” 

Jungkook only nods, content with your promise. You give him a tight-lipped smile and go up to the counter, striking up a short conversation as the cashier rings up the bill. 

Outside the diner, Jungkook is just a few steps behind you as he watches you make your way to the car, moonlight bright enough to light a pathway. Tunnel vision turned off, your skin glows underneath said moonlight enough for Jungkook’s attentive gaze to follow your every movement in the darkness. 

Then, the gravel underneath your heels crack as you turn.

Your steps grow bolder, but now you’re walking straight up to him, and for a split second, Jungkook thinks—no, hopes— you kiss him goodnight. Not the goodbye kind, a lingering, syruped-sweetened peck. But the punishing kind, where it leaves him wanting more as he’s been wishing for since the night he kissed you. 

You don’t, though, and that was enough punishment in itself.

You stop in front of him, breeze carrying your scent. “I’m still upset.” Your brows pull together, eyes wide as you stare up at him.

Ah, shit, he’s going to have to veer off from the script he curated in his head moments ago at the diner. It’ll still be a genuine apology, just not a well-versed one. Can’t be when you’re finally in his immediate proximity, and not at an arm’s length. He can feel your warm breath grace his skin, and for a second he’s teleported back to the very situation that made him you-starved for longer than he’d ever like — the very one you’re still upset over.

He inhales, “I know. I’m sorr—”

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m upset because I … I’m confused.”

So is Jungkook. Confused, because you’re both upset but still can’t help the fondness as you take the time to recount his moles — as he takes the time to count your every lash.

You swallow. “I don’t know how to explain these feelings, but I missed your company — I missed you.” The confession lands in a beat of silence too long. Heart in your hands, you continue. “I’ll try to be a better friend.”

A better friend. Huh.

He’s always in the market for friends. He has plenty of friends: good ones, ones no longer in his life, and ones he keeps for the sake of keeping. He intends for you to stay in his life if you wish to. Yet, your words burn like scalding water to the hand, unsure if it’s from the suggestion you were bad to begin with or that you only truly saw Jungkook as a friend.

Fuck that. He undoes your statement — voids it for a moment. 

Hands coming up to cup your cheeks, you’re pulled against him before you could register what’s happening. 

Even as Jungkook hovers over you, blocking all sources of light, moonlight is forever etched on your lips. So is the sweetness and everything good about you Jungkook desperately wants to savor. 

He has you now, moonlight on his lips and all.

Kissing always felt good. But kissing you? He doesn’t ever want to lose this feeling. You moan, helpless as your fingers cling to the bottom of his dress shirt. 

He pulls away just enough to speak, hoping his honesty reaches you. “You are good, Pix. So good. It’s me. All my fault, okay?” His lips brush against yours. “I’m sorry.” Another kiss. “Shouldn’t have done that at the shoot. I couldn’t help it.”

You nod, half whimpering as you kiss him back, repeating the same phrase you last said to him on set. “So mean.”

He doesn’t mean to be. And so he showers you with kisses, traps you against his car because he won’t chance the possibility of you leaving on bad terms again — a crucial moment to show you how sorry he is. If anyone were to come across you and Jungkook right now, they’d either whistle or yell something on the lines of getting a room. 

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook says again. “I’ll do better.”

Both you and Jungkook do better after that night. 

You attempt texting him daily — seemingly awkward and forced at first to Jungkook. He doesn’t allow himself to get too excited over a changed behavior early on in the event you revert to your old ways.

He tries his best to take things slow. Jungkook isn’t privy to relationships fizzling away after a short while, and is aware of their fleeting nature. Still, he hopes to build a solid one with you first regardless of his dislike of labeling you both as friends. Two things can exist at the same time … he’s just not sure where you stand in all this. Some people just wanna have fun; unsurprisingly, most people can’t envision a life with a pornstar halfway into a relationship and end up leaving. 

Here for a fun time, not for a long time.

Maybe you’ll be that for him — maybe that’s all you want from him.

Pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate.

The statement grounds him, but eats away at his core with every moment spent with you. Nearly two months have passed since he’s accepted any work. Granted, he’s gone longer without work in the past, though, a looming unease brews inside the more time he takes away from his job. Thinks he should go back — rebuild and secure his routine again.

He’ll think about it.

Time away from work is meant for living, so he relishes in your company, inviting you over for dinner to finally watch 27 Dresses. He laughs to himself after he sent over his guest entry code and you question what kind of complex he lives in to require a guest code.

He runs his wet hands through his kitchen towel at the buzz of his doorbell system, signaling your arrival. Though unneeded, he still glances at his intercom out of habit, finding you looking around the vicinity. You take your phone out from your pocket, seemingly going to text Jungkook of your arrival.

He presses on the red button. “What’s the password?”

You startle, confused. Once spotted the camera, you glare, mouth pulled into a small pout.

“Pixie?”

Funny how you think your nickname would be the key to opening the door. He didn’t have an actual password in mind; nonetheless, the name he chose specifically for you is enough to gain entry through every one of Jungkook’s doors.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He mimics the same cheesy line you used when he first visited your home. His home isn’t nearly as humble, even with its minimalistic appearances. Every carefully handpicked decor and furniture held an air of expense.

“Nice.” You compliment, taking off your shoes. Rarely caring about other people’s comfort in his home, he finds himself overly prepared for your visit, going as far as purchasing a pair of house slippers for your comfort.

What? Just a nice gesture he does for a friend who has welcomed him far too many times in their home. And secretly, he hopes you’ll continue to wear these slippers with every future visit, the compression wearing down and shaping perfectly around your feet as time progresses. 

From Jungkook’s height, he spots a hint of orange in the small brown bag you hold from behind. 

Persimmons.

“P, you know I can’t finish those on my own.” The small complaint carries a light jest.

Shrugging, your lips mirror his curled ones. “Well, I guess I would just have to help you.”

You follow closely behind him, and he’s suddenly conscious of his home. Did you fancy the candle’s scent he lit up about thirty minutes ago? He wasn’t going to tell you he spent his morning trying to find a scent matching closely to the one at your home.

He leads you to his kitchen where he has plates of ingredients washed and prepped. Saved the onion for last because … well, it’s onions and they’re the bane of his existence. 

You’re seated on one of his high stools with a glass of water he poured. It’s weird having you in his space for once — a new type of different where he grows accustomed to the view of you surrounded by everything he loves. He chases away the thoughts of you fitting just right in.

You talk about your day, stopping to giggle as you offer to help when he starts tearing up during the onion cutting.

“You’re my guest though. Shouldn’t be helping.” He sniffs, wiping away his tears with his forearm. 

“Got saran wrap?” You round the corner, now right by his side.

“Upper right cabinet.” He answers, going to the sink to rinse his hands and eyes. 

“I saw this tip on Facebook …” You tip-toe, reaching the box and taking the wrap out.

“Okay, Facebook Mom.” He grins teasingly, paper towel in hand to dry his hands and face.

“I’ll have you know, they give some of the best advice there.” You rip away a strip and walk over to Jungkook.

“Facebook’s just for nosey people.” He’s long deleted Facebook after a nasty post circulated about him early on in his career. 

“Missing out on all the food groups and marketplace.” You stand in front of him, crowding him against his own sink. “How else do you think I found Gum and Bubba?” 

Hands coming up to his face, the saran wrap covers his eyes and nose. He jerks his head back before complying under your hold when you giggle, fingers patting the plastic secure over his cheeks.

You snort, arms crossing like you’re proud of your intervention. “There. Have a go at the onions again.”

Jungkook blinks, unsure how to properly function with his sight and breathing impaired. “I’m happy you found something great from Facebook—”

“Many things.” You correct.

“But this is the genius advice you got, Pix?” His vision goes cloudy after his tenth exhale.

“Trust me! It works.” You say with your hands on your hips.

Lo and behold, it does. One point to Pixie … er, to the Facebook Moms.  

A comfortable silence falls between you and Jungkook as he turns away to cook. That is, until the legs of the chair scrape against the floor once again and Jungkook feels your heat on the left side of his body, front brushing his arm.

“What are we having tonight?” 

We. Feels nice to hear. You feel nice next to him.

“Chicken risotto.” He replies, throat bobbing as you press your chest closer.

You probably don’t even realize what you’re doing either. Even under the food’s strong aromatics, Jungkook picks up your scent by sheer proximity. He could abandon the risotto—right here, right now—in favor of crowding you against his kitchen counter and kissing you silly. What’s the need for food when your kisses do enough to keep him fed and satiated? 

Slow, he reminds himself. 

He hums, glancing at the top of your head, your eyes fixated on the pan. “Almost done. Just gotta plate and we can eat together. Wanna start up the television? 27 Dresses should be on Netflix.” 

You linger for another second before moving to the living room. He slows his movements on the stove as he listens for his television, tense shoulders dropping at the sound of the brief welcome introduction. 

Steaming risotto plated, he expected you to remain in the living room, but when he walks in, you’re nowhere to be found.

“Pix?” He calls out, setting the plates on the coffee table.

“I’m here.”

He turns, following the source of your soft voice, and he finds you staring out the large curtain wall. This time, as he steps closer, he’s the one standing behind you, front pressed against your back.

“It’s nice here. You see everything.” You murmur. Frankly, this part of his home was his favorite. Nothing beats waking up or coming home to this view. Might argue this view was his new favorite: you looking up to face him, round eyes dancing between his own eyes and lips.

He clears his throat. “Food’s ready. We should eat before it gets cold.”

You blink. “Right.”

Both you and Jungkook sit on the floor of his living room. Risotto’s good — your company is even better. Evening’s going well and you seem to be enjoying the food. He mentally cheers in his head at a job well done.

“My university cohort group page posted an announcement for a photography competition. Not sure if you’re interested. Would be fun.” You say, wiping your mouth.

Jungkook was no stranger to competitions having entered quite a few of them in his teenage years. They were fun in the beginning when there was still no pressure behind them. Things changed as he got older and while there was no pressure, his pride was on the line. People got better — more creative and competitive. He’d imagine that’d be the same with this contest.

He shrugs. “Hm, maybe.”

“I can help if you like.” You offer. “There’s nothing to lose.”

Jungkook smiles, but doesn’t fully agree to the proposition quite yet. 

People are lying if they say it takes a whole hour to eat. No longer than fifteen minutes into the movie, you and Jungkook finish your respective plates. You offer to wash dishes, but Jungkook refuses.

“I’ve got a dishwasher for that, P.”

Brows raised, you counter. “Okay, so do I, but it’s quicker by hand.”

He muses. “Why else would we have a dishwasher if not to use it to wash dishes?”

You shrug. “Store dishes?”

He chastises you for another thirty seconds before telling you to relax and enjoy the movie while he gets up to start the dishwasher.

Back next to you in record time, his teeth worry at the inside of his cheek. He never realized how big his couch was in comparison to your small two-seater. Far less cozy than yours, but there was never a need to entertain his guests out of comfort. They never stayed long and Jungkook valued aesthetics over ease.

Now as you’re both seated on his too-big-of-a couch, he wonders if you’re comfortable. There’s enough space on the surface where you don’t need to be side by side, but Jungkook didn’t mind you being close. 

He wanted you close.

Arm slung along the backrest, his urge to touch the nape of your neck intensifies at your small shiver.

Perceptive to your every shift and need, he’s eagerly ready to right any discomfort. “You cold? I could get a blanket. Turn on the heater—”

You shake your head. The single gesture has his restless nerves calming, while the side of his leg dips as you shift your body closer to him. Your shoulder presses into the side of his chest. 

“I’m good like this.” You turn your head to the side. “Are you?”

He fakes a cough. “Yeah. ‘m good.”

Jungkook wanted this hangout to be void of any talks of film or photography. He knows you both share love for those topics … still, what else was there? He’s finding it hard to rack up any other conversation starters with you this close to him. 

What does he default to? Babble about the different film styles of the movie, even though he’s positive he’s wrong about his knowledge and theories. Nonetheless, you nod and act as though all the concepts Jungkook mentioned were something new and praiseworthy. 

He’s about to transition to another analysis of the last frame in the movie when you suddenly shift to face him with a determined look.

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He freezes, body seizing up at your unprompted question.

“You can’t–can’t just say that.” He instinctively covers his face with his hand, can’t bear looking at you like he’s a teenager navigating his first crush again. The tips of his ears burn from your honesty and when he finally wills himself to look at you, you’re also just as embarrassed — adorably so.

“Forget I asked.” You mumble, inching away. “Sorry.”

“Wait! No, I mean, yes, I want to, just,” He stumbles over his words. “You caught me off guard.”

The movie’s long over, and Jungkook didn’t get to ask how’d you like it — what you thought about the sister’s betrayal and how he thinks Jane’s problems would’ve gone away if she developed some form of backbone to say no. Actually, he’s in no position to judge Jane. Jungkook has no backbone when it comes to you — can’t seem to refuse you. 

Doesn’t want to.

Knees planted on the sides of his thighs, you lean down to kiss him like you’ve intended to do so since the moment you walked through his door tonight.

Seems like every meeting with you has ended like this. Neither of you mind. You’re still hesitant when it comes to kissing, playing it safe as you press your lips on his, favoring his bottom lip only.

Cute. With every moment he lets you explore, you grow a little more confident in your actions. Just a little more time before he— 

“Mmp–” You pull back, breath heavy with a sheen of saliva on your lips. His, definitely. All his.

“What? Didn’t like that?” Jungkook tilts his head.

“Never done it.” You admit, voice small.

Jungkook had a feeling you’ve never french kissed before. Not an issue. His lips part, back hitting his couch as he pulls you closer. “Go on. Stick it in my mouth. Try it.”

Jungkook half expects you to shy away, but your hand holds the back of his couch, caging him in your embrace. Your nose grazes his before he feels your wet muscle push through the entrance of his mouth. Groaning, he wraps his lips around your tongue, sucking on it. 

He pulls away, “That’s how it’s done. You paying attention, Pix?” He doesn’t give you enough time to reply as he pulls you in again and you blindly stick your tongue back into his mouth another time.

Oh, it’s fucking filth.

Jungkook’s cock throbs painfully in the confinements of his pants. Doesn’t help when you roll your hips on top, seeking for some form of relief too.

And when you pull away, a string of saliva keeps you tethered to him for a millisecond. You’re saying something but Jungkook can’t hear anything through the pounding in his ears.

“My turn?” You ask.

And it’s only reasonable Jungkook agrees. After all, what’s a lesson without proper demonstration of your newly learned skills?

His hand cups your chin, fingers squishing your cheeks slightly to part your mouth.

Voice groggy, his smirk taunts you. “Show me what I taught you. You can do that, yeah?”

You nod, eyes growing heavy as Jungkook leans in. Without warning, he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. You moan, copying exactly what he did when he had your wet muscle tangled with his mouth. Such a quick learner, so keen to impress.

A minute goes by with you sucking and playing with his tongue. He loves it. Loves the way you sound—loves how you grow bolder if he reacts a certain way. His mind slips into territories of how you’d take his length in your mouth, cock growing stiffer in his pants thinking about it. You’d be just as clueless, right? Asking for guidance when Jungkook could quite literally bust a nut at the sight of you on your knees. Well, he has, but that’s besides the point.

Eventually, you both return to the normal pace of kissing, and even when you pull away, he can’t stop. Finds himself trailing kisses on your jaw, down the column of your throat.

“Jungkook,” You breathe, fingers woven into his hair.

“Hm?” He sucks harshly on the juncture of your neck.

Whining, you tug at his thick locks. “I-Is this normal?”

This? Whatever he’s doing with you? Probably not in the handbook of things to do with your friends, but alas, here you both are. 

“What is?” He asks, warm exhale hitting your skin. 

You take his hand, once rested on the curve of your hips, and place it dead center on your chest.

“This.” You swallow. “I know you said things should be separate. But … I don’t know.”

Your glassy eyes almost make him uncertain of his own strict belief. He hesitates when your fingers slip to his nape, curling at the base.

“Can be.” He corrects, feeling the hard thumps through your sweater. If he wanted, he could show you how his own heartbeat matches yours. But he doesn’t. Conjures something in his head convincing enough to slow its pace down. “It’s okay to not know. We’re just enjoying each other, right?”

“This is enjoyable for you?” You ask, breathless.

Jungkook mentally scoffs, as if the boner he’s sporting right now — which he’s sure you can feel, rock hard against your middle — isn’t enough proof. 

“It’s sufficient.” He jokes, and a playful smile spreads on his face as you lightly smack his chest. His expression morphs into tenderness. “I wouldn’t do something if I didn’t like it, P. Same needs to go for you. You are enjoying this, right?”

“I am.” You confirm with a small nod.

“Good.” He kisses you, soft and reassuring. “Good.”

The kisses get heated again, and you slide his hand down over your breast, silently giving him the okay to do as he likes. 

“You sure, P?” He murmurs against you.

Your palm over his presses harder, a silent yes. The pressure first comes from his fingertips, a tentative, experimental squeeze. You shudder, leading his hand under your sweater. His warm touch meets the soft skin of your stomach.

“Just so you know, this wasn’t–” Jungkook groans, kissing you once more, “my intention.”

“What were your intentions?” You push his hand up, guiding him to the valley of your breasts again. “Hm?” You push.

“Dinner. Movie.” He’s glad he didn’t make fun of you for your caveman-like responses a while back. He’s no better at the moment. 

His hand is over your tit now, and a light pinch spurs on a small moan. The bralette you have on is sheer. Could feel your stiff nipples through the cloth. 

“What were your intentions, P?” Jungkook asks, thumb swiping over the hardness.

You hardly suppress a whimper. “Spending time with my friend.”

That word — again, settling ickily in between you both — prompts him further. “Like this?” He squeezes harsher, knuckles pinching your covered nipple. 

Dropping your head into the crook of his neck, you whine.

“Uh-huh. Like this.”

“You’re killing me.” He hisses.

Somewhere between the kissing, sucking, and groping, you end up on your back on Jungkook’s too-big-of-a couch. Comfort was the last thing Jungkook cared about when he purchased it, mainly for the functionality and its general ability to seat and hold multiple people for multiple types of activities. This isn’t about the couch’s body count though. Right now, his too-big-of-a couch fits you both perfectly. There’s one less thing to worry about, but this small win brings other issues to light. Like how he’s somehow responsible for your pleasure and experiences or how you somehow get a whiff of insecurity.

“Jungkook.” You clear your throat.

You shake from how quick he parts from you, lips detaching from your skin, hand coming out from underneath your shirt. 

“Yeah, Pix? You okay?” He’s utterly unaware of how his looks affect you, as you drink in his kiss-bitten lips, messy hair, and blown out stare. You mirror his state, skin hot to the touch and clothes not in their original state from the time you entered his home.

Still, you sit up, pulling your sweater down to cover your midriff.

“Sorry.” You chew on your lips, noticing how this is definitely a shift from the previous activities.

Jungkook blinks, breaths regulating as he shifts up, but never too far from you. “What’s wrong? Did I…?”

There’s no throw pillow for you to shield behind. No where to run or hide. 

He’d never pressure anyone to have sex with him, but things were going well and suddenly they weren't. A part of him can’t help but go into that dark space of … was it his fault? Did he read the room wrong? Not the first time when it came to you.

Maybe his game was off.

Or maybe it was him. His profession — who he is.

He can’t help but question out loud now that you haven’t said anything.

“Is this about what I do?” He asks again, straight to the point. “I test every week and I’m all for safe sex. Or no sex too. I don’t mind us just hanging out.”

A small puff of air exits before you laugh. “I’m the exact opposite of you, Jungkook.”

When his brows only furrow further in confusion, you continue, “I am having a nice time. I enjoy this … but reality is, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He blinks. “Okay? I never expected that of you.”

Shaking your head, you look down at your lap. “You said you don’t want to be in the position to teach or lead.” 

Jungkook really needs to be careful with his words in the future. His words hold value and they are true to an extent. He just never felt like he was forced into the position to teach you. He does want to guide you, discover and learn — all that, alongside you.

He inches closer to you, pressing a small, careful kiss on your cheek you don’t move away from. He takes it as a sign to keep going.

“I don’t think I’ve been teaching or leading you.” He replies, the pressure of his body pushing you to lay on the couch again.

“You don’t,” your mouth gets covered momentarily from a quick peck, “understand.”

“Tell me then, so I do, Pix.” His hand cups the back of your neck and holds you there as he kisses down your neck.

“Don’t wanna be seen as some loser needing their hand held, but I’m afraid I might need it.” You whine and shiver from his touch.

“Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect.” He reasons, more to himself than ever. “Won’t hold your hand through it unless you want me to.”

You purse your lips. “I might not be able to give you what you want.” Rather, what he’s used to. Similarly, Jungkook worries he might not be able to give you what you want — what you need. And what you need is someone who’s patient and gentle. So accustomed to either falling in line with a script or fucking based on primal needs, Jungkook isn’t sure if a part of his brain is capable of rewiring for someone like you.

He wants to try, but trying comes with the price of feelings.

You kiss him, your ease and comfort slowly thawing again as you let out a soft sigh, breath fanning against him before uttering, “And what you want matters too.” 

What does he want? He’s well past the point of wanting filming lessons from you. He reached the conclusion a friendship was necessary, but it wasn’t the only thing he wanted. It’s certainly not a relationship like the one he has with Yoona … which he thinks he might need to stop if he were to explore more with you. For your sake, and for his too because he assumed you’d want something strictly between you two.

Wait, would you?

This is the fucked up part of starting stuff with a friend.

Even more fucked up for having to be careful and delicate with someone inexperienced.

For this very reason, he really does dislike inexperienced people. And yet, he likes you, a lot—more than he’d like to admit.

He’s not sure what he wants out of this. At the moment, all he can think about is what he wants to do to you.

Jungkook leans near you again, and your breath stills, waiting for what he says next. 

“Let me take care of you tonight.”

He doesn’t promise it’ll be good, not like how kissing is. Has perfected the art of kissing, but what he wants to do produces subjective outcomes. You might love it, you might hate it — that’s for both of you to find out. He kisses his way down your body, focusing a little more at your chest because that’s where you seem to react most … where he finds you softest. 

For now.

Your sweater lifts again, exposing your belly button. He kisses the side of it, and his cock twitches in his pants as you giggle and squirm. You quiet down when he nips at the button of your jeans, fingers splayed on top as he waits for your go-ahead.

“Didn’t shave, by the way.” You sputter.

“What are we, sixteen?” He jokes. He’ll be honest, sixteen year old Jungkook wouldn’t know right from wrong, and probably be repulsed only because he was taught to. Took a while for him to learn body hair was normal, no matter how much or little.

You offer a shy smile. “Just a courtesy notice.” 

“Not needed, but thanks, P.” He smirks, doing his best to alleviate your worries along with the trembles of your fingers on your button. “Warn me if you got teeth down there, alright?”

You laugh and Jungkook takes this moment to pry off your pants, leaving your underwear on. Jeans tossed somewhere on the ground, Jungkook kisses the top of your knee, spreading your legs wide enough for him to drop down between them. 

You should’ve worn a different pair of panties. You couldn’t have predicted reaching this level of intimacy with Jungkook tonight. Cotton blue does little to conceal the wet patch growing in the center, and Jungkook takes in the view a little longer than you would like. You cover your face with your hands.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Jungkook leans down, pressing his lips on your stomach. He feels it tense, squirming under his pecks.

Your voice comes out muffled and strained, “Nothing.”

The last time he said this phrase, he had different intentions. Wanted to show you how possible it was to separate pleasure, feelings, and work. He doesn’t think you’re saying this to deceive or deter.

“Can’t think.” You add, shoulders caving in as his hot breath warms your core.

“Try.” He kisses over your clothed pussy and you whimper, startled. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking, ‘kay?”

You nod, removing your hands from your face which ball up at your sides when Jungkook presses dainty kisses on the inside of your thighs. Your body still tenses here and there, not fully letting your guard down. Even worse, you weren’t verbalizing your thoughts as he asked.

Screw it.

He’s gonna give you something to think about—something to remember whenever you’re with or without him.

“Jungkook!” 

Your back lifts off from the couch, brows pulled together as you watch him lick one long stripe along your slit, from the bottom to the top of your covered cunt.

Parts your panties to the side and wets his lips in anticipation. You’re fucking soaked, pussy lips glistening with your arousal, all from the previous makeout session. You may not be able to verbalize what you think, but Jungkook reads the message loud and clear when he runs his fingers between your folds.

He groans at the warm feeling, smooshing wet kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Pretty pussy. Gonna let me play with it, Pix?”

“Y-yes.” Your chest caves and heaves from the pleasure, eyes somehow holding his hooded stare from where he looks up at your face.

He does this for a couple minutes, watching how you’d react when his fingers part for your clit before he scissors them closed again. Your breathy moans come out without control as he speeds up his ministrations. He spits on your cunt — lubrication not needed, but it’s something he hopes you liked.

And fuck, you do.

Jungkook said he wasn’t gonna hold your hand, yet here he was: one hand keeping your panties to the side and the other coming from under your thigh to tangle with your fingers. His thumb rubs the top of your hand reassuringly, doesn’t need words to tell you he’s got you. Can’t talk even if he wanted to with his mouth busy lapping at your cunt.

It’s good—so, so, so fucking good. He knows it by how you cry out, the tail end of your moans coming out like a question, a surprise at how good this foreign experience is. He’s enjoying himself too, eyes closing as he wraps his lips around your clit. He sucks, soothes over with his tongue, and does it again. Can’t tell if the pool of wetness under you is from your pussy or a mixture of his saliva. Fuck if he cares. 

“God, Pix, you’re dripping.” He peers at you. “So much.”

“Uh-huh.” You mewl. Your poor brain must be working overtime, unable to formulate a proper sentence. 

Your hand squeezes harder around his as he laps up and down your folds. He soon grows tired of keeping your panties parted, briefly unwinding his fingers from yours and sitting on his heels. His heart lurches at your little whine, assuming Jungkook was done or denying you of pleasure, front slightly jolting forward at the sudden loss.

Your first experience is important and he’d never leave you like this — not without taking care of you and seeing through your orgasm. Fingers hooked at the waistband, he’s uncaring how shitty of a job he’s doing at removing your panties. It’s a crumpled mess dangling off one of your ankles and neither of you are concerned enough to finish the task as Jungkook finds home again between your legs.

Naturally, one of your hands is already enveloped in his, so he takes your other one and puts it on his head. Your nails rake through his hair, settling nicely on the base of his head before you pull his face back to your cunt.

Good. He likes that. Can’t help the muffled, pleasured sound he lets out against your core.

“Keep going. Please.” Your mouth drops open at the feeling of him suctioning around your clit again.

He hums, his other free hand coming underneath to part your legs further. The pad of his thumb pushes at your entrance, not with enough force to enter; yet, enough for you to keen and grip his dark locks tighter.

He’ll stay there for as long as you want, or don’t want. Your thighs unconsciously close around his head, squishing Jungkook’s cheeks in the process. You murmur a small apology, half giggling and half moaning in the process. The couch he chose might be stiff and uncomfortable for a reason after all — he appreciates it even more when he’s able to drive his hips down for some much needed friction. 

“Koo–” A warning, wailed in the space of his living room. 

Jungkook takes the sign, coaxing you with matched eagerness. “I know, baby. It’s okay. Cum on my tongue, won’t you?”

You cry out, stomach tensing at the first wave of your orgasm.

Fucking hell, he could nut just by the way you sound. He nods, continues doing whatever he’s been doing. Keeps everything the same, up until when you start to shake and your toes push at the couch, trying to move away from him. No way he’s letting you rob yourself of a good orgasm.

“I’m cumming.” You gasp. “Oh my god, I-I’m cumming.”

He pins you down, no more hand holding, just thighs opened for him as he continues eating you out. And because it’s your first time, he’s got to set the bar high—that good head should always feel like this. Head turned sideways, Jungkook moves himself up and down, lips suctioning and tugging every part of your pussy. 

He finally backs off when your weak hands grasp his shoulders. Whether to stop him or to pull him back up your face, Jungkook moves and plants kisses all over your torso on his way to you. His forehead touches yours, nose nudging the side of your cheek. You can smell yourself on him. Can see your arousal shining on the bottom of his face. Everything Jungkook previously showed you goes out the window as you press your lips to his and stick your tongue clumsily into his mouth. Alright, to be fair, he only showed you how to handle another person in your mouth. 

Chuckling and exhaling through his nose, he massages his tongue on yours, slow and deliberate.

“So good.” He praises, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Did you like that?”

“Which part?” You breathe, hooded eyes looking into his. “But the answer is yes.”

He laughs.

“What about you? Did you like it?” You ask. Usually so sure of yourself, your voice comes out uncertain, anxious even at the thought he of all people might’ve hated everything he’s done with you. You avert your eyes under Jungkook’s confused stare.

He doesn’t verbally answer—instead, he drives his hips forward to your bare cunt. You gasp, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

His own mouth falls agape, then curls into a wicked smirk at your reaction. “What’s the verdict, Pix? Hm?”

You gulp, hesitate a little before you say: “Like it needs to be taken care of.”

“Can do that on my own, don’t worr—”

“I wanna see.” You admit.

“Why?” He teases, brow lifted. “Seeing it on RkivedShots wasn’t enough?”

Your mouth goes slack. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t.” His smile grows. “Now I do.”

He rolls over to the side. Looking down, he snorts at the sight of your shriveled up panties hanging on your ankle for dear life. 

With one hand, he loops the opening onto your other ankle and pulls your underwear up for some coverage. He’s sure you’re messy from below, but knowing you, you’d probably be in your head about your lack of clothing and his lack of exposure. 

How the roles have reversed. 

You turn to face him. “It was just one time,” you mumble, sheepish.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t know exactly which video you’re referring to. Hopefully not the grapefruit one. “Good to know, it’s supposed to be watched and enjoyed, so don’t worry about it.”

“Okay …” You scoot closer, his hard length pressing against your stomach. “What happens from here?”

Were you asking about his current predicament or the status of your relationship?

He tilts your chin, going with a safe answer. “World’s our oyster.” 

“Then, I want you to feel good too.” Your hand trembles as you trail down his front, stopping just shy of his metal beltloop.

Jungkook reaches down and helps you unbuckle his belt, undoing the zipper with no struggle. Hand wrapped around your wrist, he places it behind his head. “You gonna help me?”

“Did you want me to, um,” You look down, uncertain what to do. “Touch you?”

Jungkook needs something fast. Your touch is favored, but he’s unsure how long it’d take to teach you what he fancies and he’s in dire need of a quick release. Maybe next time, if there is one. He hopes there is.

“There’s other ways you can help.” He smiles. “Take off your top.”

“That’s not fair.” You protest. “Why am I the only one naked?”

Oh, you’re so predictable. Jungkook laughs, rolling you over so he straddles your hips. 

He reaches below his shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. He doesn’t worry about the state of his body. Knows he looks good with how you drink him in, a visible swallow before you drag your eyes up his torso and end with his locked gaze.

“There. We’re even now.” 

He decides then, you don’t even need to take off your top. Just pushes it high enough to reveal your bralette. Tucking the end of your sweater underneath your chin, his mouth waters at the sight. With all the time spent as a pornstar, he’s been faced with all variations of breasts: tiny, big, saggy, lifted … you name it, he’s seen it.

Yours are perfect on you—fit you so well. You gasp when he takes one in his hand, squeezing. Your hand covers his, while the other hides your other breast.

“They’re nothing special.” You murmur to the side.

Shaking off your palm, Jungkook leans down and places a small kiss on your covered tit. Does the same with the other one. Over and over, ‘till you’re worked up again.

“They’re perfect.” He runs his tongue over your bralette, but you feel the pressure on your stiff and sensitive nipple.

Finally, he dips his hand down his Calvins and free his cock from its confinements. Knows exactly what he needs to get himself off and knows it’ll be a quick finish with your help. 

He comes back to your lips, kissing you, whispering how good he feels. You trail down his jaw and the crook of his neck. 

“You can mark me up, Pix. Do whatever you want.” He rasps, head cocked to the side for better access.

“Won’t it be a problem for work?”

A complete misconception pornstars need to come to work unmarked. If that were the case, tattoos would’ve been long banned in the adult film industry. There’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix.

“Haven’t been to work in a while and–fuck–I’m resting.” He moans, hands going faster over his length. “Please? Come on.”

Just like his first kiss with you, you tentatively move in, wet lips smooshing against his hot skin. Your tongue darts out, wetting the area before you suction your lips to his neck. When you finally pull away with a victorious grin, Jungkook knows he’s marked.

Your eyes drop below, watching Jungkook jerk himself off.

“So greedy, Pix.” He purrs, slipping into an open-mouth moan as he moves faster.

“‘m not.” You answer, unsure of what he’s referring to.

“You so are.” He chides, his grip tightening around his length. “Watching my videos, filming me … now this? Greedy, baby.”

Your thighs close around his waist, flustered from his words. “I–” He drops his head and buries his nose in your hair. Moisture gathers from his heavy and uneven breaths vibrating in your ears, and Jungkook thinks he might die when your arms embrace him.

“What was your favorite part, hm?” He grunts as he lifts his face to look at you with hooded eyes. Jungkook traces his lips on your cheek, wanting to coax an answer out of you before granting you a much needed kiss. Your eyes widen for a fraction, teeth chewing the inside of your cheeks as you build the courage to reveal your secret. 

“When you cum.” You admit. “I love watching you cum.”

Jungkook knew he was gonna finish fast, but he never expected it to happen this soon — this abrupt. He tenses and shakes as he unloads all over your exposed belly. You gasp, fingers curling around the base of his head. That only spurs him on even more, hand moving at a punishing pace to let everything go for you.

He drops his softening cock, shivering as it hits against your warm skin.

You look down at the mess on your abdomen, eyes blown out and lips swollen from how hard you bit down on it. He tucks away a strand of your sweaty locks and presses a kiss on your furrowed forehead.

“Did you like that, Pix?” He murmurs, hot breath hitting your skin.

You nod, eyes fixed on the bodily fluid. “Can I touch it?”

He laughs. “Sure. Whatever you like.”

The hand behind his head uncurls and drops down in between your bodies. He watches as your fingers swipe and collect, drawing your hand closer to your face to examine his cum.

He thinks he’ll die if you stick your fingers into your mouth to taste him. But you don’t, instead, your hand hovers awkwardly in the air like you don’t exactly know where to place it without getting cum everywhere.

Jungkook cackles, telling you to hold still while he gets something. He tucks himself back into his pants and jogs over to his bathroom. When he returns with a wet warm towel in hand, you’re still in the same position, and he doubles over at the sight. You giggle, half-yelling at him to hurry.

“Cute.” He cleans your fingers first, then lets the cloth linger on your stomach to re-moisturize the dried up cum before he gives you a proper wipe.

“Stay here, Pix.” And he doesn’t know if he meant for the moment or for the night — he’ll go with whatever you choose. 

He cuts up a couple persimmons and refills your cup of water before grabbing a throw blanket on the way back to the living room. You’re seated upright, still in your underwear. It’s all so natural how your eyes light up and you settle next to him, blanket draped over your legs.

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but Jungkook wants it to be for you. 

Jungkook hasn’t gone back to work in the last two weeks simply because he wants to keep enjoying his time off, especially with how you’ve talked him into joining the competition. See? Can’t say no to you.

So he’s been out in different neighborhoods and parks taking random pictures. This time, he sits with you in a quaint coffee shop after a couple hours of nature shots. Photography’s fun for Jungkook until the dread of not being good enough hits. He refuses to voice these silly thoughts, letting you take hold of the very source of his anxiety, his camera, typically meant for a hobby and stress reliever. The shutter goes off multiple rounds as you capture the surrounding objects in the cafe. 

“Lemme see, Pix.” His hand reaches out for his camera.

You turn away, childish, with a pensive frown as you land on a recent picture you took. “Hold on, gotta delete this one … the lens didn’t focus.”

Jungkook snorts, sliding in your side of the booth to peek over your shoulder. There’s beauty in blurred images, similar to the relationship you have with Jungkook — similar to the static buzz in your ears as his hand covers yours on the device and his skilled fingers adjust the camera settings with a couple of clicks.

“Okay, I think it’s fixed.” He hands the camera back.

You cheer, fingertips pressing through the album for the pictures he took this afternoon. “I think you got some good shots today, Jungkook. Should have a good batch to send into the competition.”

He shrugs. “Mm, I’m not so sure. Feels kinda pointless.” There are so many skilled photographers out there. This competition is another beast in comparison to the ones he participated in the past. 

Your brows knit together. “Huh.”

“What?” His own brows mirror yours.

“Didn’t peg you for the insecure type.”

Jungkook scoffs, eyes narrowed. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, Pix. I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You purse your lips. Placing the camera on the table, his gaze follows your movement and settles on the device, even as your voice takes on a reassuring, less teasing tone.

“You have nothing to lose. This is supposed to be fun. You are having fun, right?”

Ironic you’re asking the same question he asked you that night.

“I always do.” He replies with a sigh. “And I guess you’re right. There’s nothing to lose.”

Jungkook feels like the biggest loser as you smile in triumph. And while he knows you mentioned you didn’t want your hand held figuratively (probably meant as a metaphor), all he finds himself wanting is your warmth enveloping him. 

Picking up the camera again, you turn the lens at Jungkook and another round of shutter goes off. A picture’s worth a thousand words, and he wonders if these encapsulate a time of his feelings for you.

Jungkook chuckles, scooting closer to you. “Take another one.”

“You’re barely in the frame.” You pull the camera further.

He leans in, temples touching yours. “This better?”

The countdown happens with his head, the want happens in his heart. A picture’s worth a thousand words, unsaid and unheard. And this one will mark the time Jungkook started caring for someone special like you. 

Later, he drops you off in front of your building, but no goodbyes have been said yet. You tell him you’ll be busy for the next coming weeks and all he tells you is to text him.

Mainly because he won’t be in the city for a couple days, and maybe because he can’t bear your absence longer. He doesn’t let you know of the latter. “I’ll be away for a weekend. Hoseok and Yoongi are hosting a get-together up in the mountains.”

“Have fun, and tell them I said hi.” You unbuckle your seatbelt. 

He nods, taking off his seatbelt too. Leaning over the console, he brushes your hair out of your face and plants a quick kiss on your lips. Not a verbal ‘I’ll miss you,’ though, it is as good as one.

The last words he fans over your mouth are, “Bye, Pix.”

The get-together was a cover up for a retirement party. Who would’ve thought Yoongi and Hoseok would retire at thirty-five? Well, Yoongi did. He hates working and Hoseok’s the type to follow suit.

“Long time no see, Jungkook. Whatcha been up to?” Ryan, a past costar, places his hand on the small of Jungkook’s back. Warm, enticing, but Jungkook doesn’t want any of that. What he actually wants is for the Wi-Fi to work since his data’s been shit the entire weekend. 

“Not much.” He replies. “Taking a little break from work. Been nice. How have you been?” He tilts the router’s antennas and checks if the signal’s improved on his phone. 

Nope.

“Oh, same ol’.” He shrugs, bringing the bottle of beer to his lips. His hand remains on Jungkook’s body, now holding his waist.

“Jungkook, quit messing with the router,” Hoseok calls out. “What are the odds we’d ever be one with the wilderness again?” Yeah, Hoseok definitely is at the moment ... sunbathing absolutely naked. 

“Say, if you’re free tonight, Kia wants the three of us to hang in the jacuzzi.” Ryan propositions, hand lingering on the small of Jungkook’s back. Jungkook’s no fool. The couple eyed him the entire weekend, throwing him subtle smiles and laughing extra hard at his jokes.

He can’t be bothered with their current offer while his top priority is his need to fix the damn router. After another couple of seconds, the light on the router flashes a solid green light. He checks his phone again and the picture of the tall trees he sent this morning finally delivers. Immediately, he receives a notification.

🧚[2:27 p.m.]: Pretty 💚

Just like the feeling in his chest. It aches prettily when he receives a picture of you at your work station, prominent bags underneath your eyes accentuating your exhaustion. 

“Maybe.” Jungkook replies to Ryan. Probably not, but Jungkook’s always been too nice … too cordial. He’ll make up another excuse later, or wait till alcohol skews Ryan’s memory of his offer. 

A bunch of other notifications on his phone come in, mostly random ads and spam in his inbox. 

Agent Lee [2:31 p.m.]: Hey, got a project for U. LMK if U r interested. 

He’s grateful for all the opportunities his agent has looked into for him. At the end of the day, it’s a transactional relationship. Jungkook gets a job, his agent gets a cut for the recruitment. There’s no rush to reply. After all, he’s one with the wilderness … or at least, should be.

The mountain’s perfect — air crisp and fresh in comparison to the usual pollution casted over the city. The cabin Hoseok and Yoongi picked out had ten bedrooms for around twenty-some guests and with his luck, Jungkook didn’t need to share with anyone. God bless the Airbnb hosts for placing four beds in one bedroom.

The weekend was filled with barbecue, outdoors activities, and way too much company. Jungkook holds himself well in social events, but he has limits. He preferred one on one time anyway — something more lowkey. 

Yoongi is inside the cabin drinking with a couple of their friends; whereas Hoseok and Jungkook remained outside with their bottles of beer and cigarettes.

Perfect way to end this weekend trip. Jungkook’s ankle moves happily in place. He looks at his phone, smiling as he sees another notification from you updating what you were having for dinner.

“What’s got you smiling like an idiot?” Hoseok blows out the smoke from his cigarette. “Or should I say who?”

Jungkook debates whether or not he should tell his friend. It’s not like you don’t know each other, but that was also part of the issue. He’s not one to kiss and tell, so he’ll keep details vague.

Jungkook locks his phone and sets it face down on his lap. “Your wedding videographer.”

Hoseok sputters into a coughing fit mid-inhale. “Wait, the same one who filmed The Silent Library Orgy?”

Jungkook nods. Doesn’t know why he feels like he’s telling a parent he’s dating for the first time.

“Interesting.” He brings the cigarette back to his lips. “She’s nice.”

“She is.” Jungkook concedes.

“So, she cool with the profession?”

Ah, there it is.

“Not sure.” Jungkook knows the whole rundown of dating someone not in the industry. Most of the time, they aren’t cool with the nature of the job. It’s hard to separate personal and work when much of his work encompasses activities he’d do with someone he was dating. Except, he wasn’t dating you and you aren’t dating him. And he’s keen on demonstrating you pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate, after all.

He’s not so sure he’s ready to face the reality of your feelings for him and his job. Just wants to enjoy you.

“Probably good to figure out soon.”

“Yeah, probably.” Jungkook waves off.

“Don’t do that to the poor girl.” He warns, as if the conversation wouldn’t be difficult for Jungkook either. 

A conversation does need to happen eventually. Selfishly, he wants to continue spending time with you just as things are. And unreasonably, he’s upset Hoseok’s right.

Better to rip off the bandaid now than later, he supposes.

Jungkook sinks further into the reclined lawn chair. Nearby frogs and crickets echo back and forth, filling the silence between the two men.

“Hate this part of seeing someone.” Jungkook mutters.

“Why’d you think I stuck to dating people in the industry?” Considerably less complicated when you’re with someone who understands the ins and outs of the job. “Hurts less parties.”

When his friend stays silent, pondering, Hoseok continues, “Keep putting that shit off and it’s gonna burn you. Promise.”

Jungkook smiles. “Alright, wise one.”

Pleased, Hoseok changes the topic. “Can’t believe Yoongi and I are finally kicking the bucket.”

A cloud of grey exits Jungkook as he chuckles. “You make it sound like you’re dying.” 

“Feels like a part of me is. Youth.” He mumbles. “Been doing this shit for damn near fifteen years.”

Jungkook has been doing this for almost ten years and he feels like he can go for a lot more, the inevitable ending still indefinite in his brain. He doesn’t know if it’s from actual passion for the job, or the comfortable lifestyle it offers. When his thoughts unconsciously flicker to you, he frowns. No matter all the luxury, there are still normal, regular things he can’t have in his unusual, exceptional life.

“It’s the right thing to do. No regrets.” Hoseok adds. “You’ll realize too.” He points at Jungkook with his cigarette.

“Realize what?”

“We all outgrow this field.”

Part of Jungkook knows he can’t stay in the industry until actual retirement. Though, there is a subcategory in porn with the elderly community and while he knows he’s years beyond that point, he isn’t sure his hips or back can handle anything strenuous as fucking seven days a week at the age of sixty-five or beyond. 

Regardless, Jungkook scoffs. “You’re just jealous I’m young and have the freedom of choice.”

“Maybe I am. Yerin called me ‘unc’ last week.”

“Well, you are her uncle. I don’t see how that’s an insult.” Jungkook taps his cigarette into the ashtray. 

“Called me that ‘cause I said her brows were fleeky. Apparently that shit’s ancient, can you believe that?” He huffs a laugh before clearing his throat. “Anyway. You really see yourself doing this for the long run?”

Filming porn is all Jungkook has known. It’s never failed him. It wants him, conditionally … as long as he looks good and performs. He’s always thought he’d work in this field long enough to not have to work anymore. Never thought there could be something more for him out there. Get a regular 9-5? Hard pass. He’d rather shit in his hands and clap. He isn’t into any form of manual labor either, so that puts him out of a job. Jungkook’s also a man of spite, doing shit where people would perceive as taboo or “wrong.” Quitting would only prove his doubters right. 

The closest thing he’d consider doing outside of his current field is photography. He’s not going to make jackshit with how saturated the market is, at least not the first couple of years. Again, he wants photography to remain a hobby. The climb to the window is far beyond his reach at this point in his life. He’s missed out on the networking, skill learning, and time needed to establish a clientele … let alone finding his niche.

He’d rather choose a familiar hell than run into the unknown, praying and hoping he’d find a safe haven.

Porn is easy and routine. Of course, bad days exist — if anyone says they love their job unconditionally, they’re liars.

“Ah, what the hell, who am I to question? You’re on your own path, Jungkook.” Hoseok presses the last bit of his cigarette into the ashtray. 

Knowing his friend, his dismissive nature isn’t like him. Jungkook benefits a lot from being the youngest in his friend group. He’s not considered young to the masses, but amongst his friends, he reaps off the fruits of their struggles. Learns to not make mistakes through their mistakes and if he does end up fucking things up, he always can turn to them for an answer.

“Does meeting someone special mean I should give up certain things?” Does meeting someone mean he needs to change?

His friend hums, takes a moment to ponder for an answer. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Risk management factors.”

“You really are unc.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Dumb it down for me.”

“Look, change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. I’ll be honest, no clue what Yoongi and I are gonna do, but we’ll figure things out—I’ll figure things out.” He corrects himself, an unconscious grin on his face from the thought of his husband. “I just know we can’t milk our time in this industry.”

Jungkook thinks about all the things he loves right now: his home, lifestyle, hobbies, and most importantly, freedom. Would he lose these things the moment he decides to quit the one thing maintaining these pillars in his life?

Perhaps Hoseok does have a point in this ‘risk management’ theory. 

Jungkook’s phone vibrates against his leg. Two notifications. One from you and another from his agent.

He takes one final long drag of his cigarette. Funny how smoking feels like it’s the only thing forcing him to breathe when it could also be the reason for his inevitable death. He replays your voice in his head, telling him he has nothing to lose. True, but he is losing something when he could only choose and go through one door. 

Hoseok’s right. A part of Jungkook dies a little as he only replies to one message thread.

He commemorates the last night with beers, company he otherwise wouldn’t see unless on set, and the powerful jacuzzi jets.

Jungkook makes an enemy of the fluorescent lights in his break area and blames them for his inability to stay hard ten minutes before he’s called on set.

Yup, definitely the lights and not something to do with how he’s been short with you all week, not fully going through with the plans you offered whether it be dinner or helping him with the photography competition. Yesterday, he let you know he might be free to come over tonight—would have to check-in later.

All vague answers. If you were truly upset, you’d confront him about it. And you haven’t, so business as usual.

He hates fluorescent lights, but more than that, he hates the lighting on his screen the most.

He sees your contact name and picture—the same picture you both took at the cafe. Hates this guilt-ridden feeling traveling to the tips of his fingertips as he presses the answer button.

“Hey—whoa, it’s really dark where you’re at.”

Jungkook chuckles and reaches over to the light switch. He has his phone angled just at his head and as unsuspecting as you are of his intentions, you offer a soft smile. You don’t tell him you’ve missed him, but he feels it — knows it.

“Hey, Pix. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to check-in if tonight’s still a go? I know you said you’d let me know—”

“Need actor and actress on set in five minutes.” The director’s voice blares through the intercom in the corner of his break area.

Jungkook swallows, sees the shift in your eyes, but you blink away the confusion.

“You didn’t mention you were back at work again.”

“Yeah, I accepted a new project.” He scratches behind his head. “And about the plans tonight, I should be free—”

“You know what? I forgot, I had some things to take care of tonight, so I think it might be cutting it close.” You interrupt. “We can find some other time that works for the both of us. Don’t wanna keep you from work.”

“Wait, Pix. I—”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembles slightly before you move the camera away from your face. “I’ll text you. Have a good day, okay?”

The call drops before he could respond.

His arm falls to his side, phone enveloped in his hand for a moment before he sets it on the vanity near his other belongings.

His costar is gorgeous, as all of them have been in the past. New, apparently, a little on the shy side when they first met to sign papers, but she’s thankful her first job was with someone like Jungkook. Kind, handsome, and experienced; well, he’s only two of the listed traits. He feels like the worst person in the world at the moment. 

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the video call with you didn’t help. Embarrassing for a pornstar like him to not be able to get it up. Rookie bullshit to let his personal life impact work. So much for the idea of pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate. 

The director and his costar were kind enough to give him an additional fifteen minutes to prepare himself. Some of his team even offered enhancers, which, frankly, felt insulting. He’s always been apprehensive about using medication for his job. He looks at the pills, slides it right off the counter and into the wastebin, ‘cause fuck that. 

Just as you’re the person responsible for his state, you’re also the person who ends up bringing him out of it. He thinks about you and how you sound, how you feel, how you look. And it’s enough to hold him through work.

He fucks himself into his costar. A little too rough, but thankfully, she said she was good with that beforehand and it fit the script. He just wants to get this over with and go home.

He loves sex. Loves how it eases his mind. It’s better than a cigarette. Better than any form of sugar or drug.

Yet, at this moment, it feels more like a duty, and all he could see right now were your dejected eyes. You have no reason to be sad, and perhaps it’s why the guilt is so all-consuming. You can’t voice your hurt and betrayal — not allowed to.

He feels himself soften inside the girl under him and he slams his eyes shut, praying these thoughts go away.

It’s sick. How he wishes he was inside of you instead, fucking you like he’s sorry for god knows what. He’s not a good person, but maybe if he could make you feel good in the only way he knew how, you’d forgive him. Right his wrongs.

Thinking about fucking you helps. His costar announces she’s going to cum, and it’s not fake like he’s used to on set. Jungkook doesn’t know if he is able to get there, but he still pulls out after she’s finished. His hand moves feverishly over his cock like he did the night with you. 

You. You. You.

He finally cums all over the woman’s stomach with a call of your name. 

Unlike him, your promised text messages never come.

a/n: beta’d by @lovieku she saved my AH with her suggestions and edits!!! this part couldn’t have reached flow state w/o her help. everyone go show her some love or else! 🫂

alright now… do any of yall hate me after reading this part? i hope to have some discussion heh or hear your thoughts!! i also anticipate act iii coming around late april or early may. as always, ty for your guys continued patience and support. toodles~

gentle reminder: no taglist ♡