#kookquettes

Stay ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

It had been seventy-two hours. And Jungkook had only gotten five of them.

Only five fucking hours to touch her. To kiss her properly. To bury his face in her neck and whisper things he’d never said out loud before she — once again, and not even on purpose — slipped right past his fingers.

They had finally sorted their shit out and finally crossed that line. Oh then she boarded a plane. The timing was almost laughable. If Jungkook wasn’t so irritated about it, he would’ve admired the irony.

“Yo, Kook!” The sudden hard pat against his back almost made his phone do a swan dive onto the puddle of gas. Clammy palm smacking leather jacket, a sticky, muffled thwap echoing against the hood.

“You’ve been glued to that screen all night. C’mon, man—last race for the night, hot ladies, drinks, loud music—you love this!” Taehyung rubbed under his nose with one finger, the other hand balancing a glass of whiskey.

“My mom,” Jungkook muttered. “Won’t shut up about… stuff.” He didn’t bother hiding the eye-roll behind his yellow tinted sunglasses — they were useless in the dim garage anyway.

“Still that blabbermouth of a mother of yours, huh?” Taehyung snickered, settling down next to him on the hood. Jungkook’s thumb idly rubbed the smooth curve of the phone case, almost as if caressing it could steady his pulse.

His mind wasn’t on Taehyung or the party or the race that was seconds away. It was on her. Y/n. That little whirlwind of chaos and sunlight that had invaded his life.

Taehyung took another sip from his glass, then tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing at Jungkook’s thumb that was swiping on his phone, like it personally offended him.

“Mm!” He chocked. “That the model chick?”

Jungkook’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Taehyung let out a quiet laugh and it was the kind that meant he’d already caught the reaction he needed.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, locking his phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

“What?” Taehyung spread his arms. “I’m just asking. Last time I saw you you were stalking her Instagram like a creepy little bastard.”

“I wasn’t stalking—”

“Bullshit,” Taehyung cut in immediately, snorting. “You checked her timeline for five days straight.”

Jungkook already felt irritation crawling up his spine like ants. He arched a brow, “you done?”

“Nah, not really.” Taehyung looked down at his drink and swirled the glass in a circular motion, grin spreading slowly.

“So what happened, huh? You went all… Romeo at her fancy-ass mansion, waited like some lovesick idiot, and then… what? Ghosted you?”

Actually, Jungkook didn’t tell anyone. Yet. Not Namjoon, not Taehyung, not Marquise — not anyone in Black Reign. Some secrets weren’t meant to be spilled. Jungkook also didn’t trust them — not when the first squeal of a rumor could put Y/n in the middle of his messy world. If Yoongi found out that way too, who knows what he’d do to either of them. He didn’t need Y/n caught in that storm.

“She didn’t ghost me.”

“Oh shit,” Taehyung laughed louder. “So she let you speak?”

Jungkook shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. Taehyung raised both hands.

“Alright, alright. Relax, tiger. I’m just saying—you disappeared that night to admit your feelings to her, then came back acting like someone ran over your dog.”

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah, but I’m also usually right.” Taehyung tilted his head again, studying him. “So—what—you two a thing now?”

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched for a second too long.

Taehyung’s brows lifted slowly. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t start—” Jungkook warned.

“You are, aren’t you?” Taehyung pointed a finger as he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Man, Yoongi’s gonna lose his damn mind.”

“That’s exactly why you’re gonna keep your mouth shut.”

Taehyung smirked, placing his palm against his chest. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.” Then he glanced at Jungkook’s pocket where the phone was. “But if that is her texting you…” He leaned closer, voice dropping teasingly next to Jungkook’s ear. “You better not let it distract you from the race tonight, lover boy. Would be pretty embarrassing if Black Reign’s leader wrecked his car cause he couldn’t stop texting his girlfriend.”

Jungkook scoffed, but his jaw tightened just a little. “Yeah,” he muttered, pushing off the hood. “Sure.”

Taehyung just grinned because Jungkook hadn’t denied it. He slammed a hand against the hood, loud enough to make Taehyung flinch and splash some liquor onto his nose.

“Alright,” he muttered, voice rough. “Let’s go crash some laps before I crash myself.”

Taehyung laughed. He gave Jungkook one last manly pat on his back before Jungkook slid into his black Porche.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the leather hugging his back like an old accomplice that already knew his habits. The car smelled faintly of gasoline, rubber, and the ghost of last week’s cigarette smoke — comforting in a gritty kind of way. Jungkook adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles rolling once before he started the engine.

The car growled awake, low and impatient, like a chained animal finally being let off the leash.

“Yeah, baby,” Jungkook purred under his breath, fingers caressing the wheel.

He rolled forward toward the starting line, tires crunching over loose gravel. The crowd was already loud as hell — people leaning over barricades, phones flashing, voices crashing into each other like waves. The air buzzed with cheap beer, gasoline fumes, and reckless anticipation.

Right beside him, an orange sports car glided into place. Jungkook glanced over.

Of course.

Park Jimin.

Jimin cracked his neck slowly, tilting his head side to side until something popped. Then he flexed his fingers, rolling his wrists like he was about to step into a boxing ring instead of a driver’s seat. Jungkook scoffed.

“Ay, midget,” he called through the open window, voice carrying easily over the engine noise. “You’re racing. Not fighting.” His grin slipped out before he could stop it — half amusement at Jimin’s dramatic warm-up, half because Y/n’s message was still sitting somewhere in the back of his head like fog that refused to clear.

Jimin glanced over lazily. “Who knows, Jeon,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “You might wanna take me down physically after I win.” That infamous sly smirk crawled up his blush-colored lips—the one that usually made people either swing at him or lose their cool.

Jungkook just snorted. “Keep dreaming.”

Across the track, someone lifted the gun. For half a second, everything held its breath. Engines snarled. The crowd roared.

Gunshot.

The world snapped into motion. Black and orange shot forward like bullets tearing through the night, headlights slicing the dark into blinding streaks. Tires screamed against the asphalt, rubber burning sharp in the air as the cars ripped down the road, turning the straightaway into a blur of neon and noise. The crowd behind them erupted. But inside the car, Jungkook’s world narrowed to the road, the wheel, the speed and soon, the faint buzz of his phone clutched in the holder.

The first stretch of road blurred past them in streaks of light and asphalt. Jungkook shifted gears smoothly, the engine roaring beneath him as the car responded like it was wired straight into his nerves. The steering wheel vibrated under his palms—alive, impatient. Beside him, Jimin’s orange car stayed glued to his flank, the bastard matching his speed turn for turn.

“Persistent lil’ shit,” Jungkook muttered, pressing the pedal harder.

Behind the barricades at the starting stretch, Taehyung cupped his hands around his mouth. “C’mon, Kook! Don’t let that short bastard pass you!”

Namjoon stood beside him, arms crossed but voice raised over the noise. “Hold the inside line, Jungkook!”

Across the track, the Silver Serpents crew were just as loud.

“Don’t choke now, Jimin!” Hoseok yelled, laughing as he leaned over the railing.

Marquise whistled sharply. “Dust his ass!”

Yoongi just watched with narrowed eyes, quiet but focused. Then—

Bzzzt.

A faint vibration came from the phone clipped into the holder beside his dashboard. Jungkook’s eyes flicked to the screen for half a second. The message lit up the dark interior of the car.

“Good luck, Racer King. Don’t crash 😉”

Butterflies didn’t just stir in Jungkook’s stomach —they shot straight to his chest, wings beating hard against his ribs until his breath caught. The nickname alone could’ve done it The way she called him ‘Racer King’ landed softer than it should’ve.

But what really fucked him up was the care behind it.

Care was something Jungkook usually dodged like a pothole at full speed. It came with expectations. With the terrifying obligation of feeling something back. He’d spent years locking that shit away where no one could reach it. Except Y/n had slipped past the locks like she had the damn keys. And now, the feeling was climbing his chest, restless and fluttering, making his heart beat like it suddenly had somewhere it needed to be.

Without thinking, Jungkook glanced at the phone again. A small, helpless smile tugged at his lips.

“Racer King…” he murmured under his breath.

Back at the barricades, Taehyung suddenly leaned forward.

“The hell is he doing?”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed, tracking the black car as it drifted slightly off its line. “Jungkook,” he muttered under his breath.

Up ahead on the edge of the track sat a stack of large metal gas cans, pushed back near the guardrail from earlier refueling. And Jungkook’s car was heading straight toward them.

Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Kook!” he shouted instinctively. “Watch the—!”

Namjoon stepped forward, voice cutting through the chaos. “Jungkook! Look at the road!”

Even across the track, the Silver Serpents noticed. Yoongi straightened slightly, eyes sharpening as he followed the black car’s trajectory.

“The idiot’s drifting,” he muttered.

Hoseok squinted down the road. “Uh—why’s he heading for the cans?”

“Jeon!” Marquise shouted suddenly. “Watch out!”

Jungkook’s head finally snapped up for a moment.

“Shit—!”

Too late.

The front tire clipped the guardrail and the car slammed straight into the stack of metal cans with a deafening crash. Metal exploded across the asphalt, the containers clanging and rolling violently as sparks spat out behind the car. The impact jerked the vehicle sideways, the engine screaming as Jungkook fought the wheel.

“Fuck!”

A flash of orange shot past him like a fucking missile.

Jimin.

The Silver Serpent driver leaned out his window just enough to throw Jungkook a quick salute as he sped ahead, the smug bastard already claiming the lead.

Jungkook slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Goddammit!”

The race wasn’t technically over yet, but he knew. Everyone knew. Jimin crossed the finish line first, the crowd’s roar exploding through the night like fireworks. Jungkook’s heart was still hammering in his chest — not from the speed or crash.

From the message.

The phone sat in its holder, the screen dimming slowly.

“Don’t crash 😉”

Jungkook let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh that sounded painful, dragging a hand down his face.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Too late.”

Jimin’s car crossed the finish line and — like the heartless jerks most of them were — Silver Serpents burst into cheers, swarming toward him like a pack that had just smelled blood.

“Fuck yeah!” Jimin whooped, punching his fist into the smoke-choked air before the car even fully stopped. The engine hissed and ticked from the heat as he swung the door open, stepping out with that cocky grin already plastered across his face.

Hoseok was the first to grab him. “Told you you’d smoke his ass!”

Marquise let out a sharp whistle. “Damn, Jimin! That was clean!”

Even Yoongi, who rarely bothered with theatrics, gave him a solid clap on the shoulder when he reached them.

“Lucky you,” he said simply.

Jimin just smirked, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “What can I say? Jeon handed that win to me on a silver platter.”

On the other side of the track, the mood was the complete opposite. The toppled tower of gasoline cans sat like a metal graveyard across the asphalt, some of them still rolling lazily as the sharp smell of fuel hung thick in the air. Jungkook’s black car was wedged right in the middle of the mess, engine coughing weakly. Black Reign were already sprinting toward it.

“Move—move!” Taehyung barked as he shoved past people. Namjoon was right behind him, long strides eating up the distance.

They barely reached the wreck before the driver’s door swung open abruptly. Jungkook’s heavy boots hit the ground first straight into a puddle of gasoline that splashed around his soles. He stumbled out of the car, one hand gripping the top of the door like it was the only thing keeping him upright. For a second he just stood there, swaying slightly. Then his knees almost buckled.

“Shit—!” Taehyung rushed forward, catching one of Jungkook’s arms. Namjoon grabbed the other, steadying him before he could faceplant into the asphalt.

Up close, they saw the damage. A thin cut split the side of Jungkook’s forehead, blood running down toward his temple, and another shallow gash stretched across his cheek. Not deep—but angry and red.

“Yo—the fuck happened?” Taehyung scoffed, half worried and half offended. “Were you even looking at the road?”

Jungkook just grunted, his weight sagging heavily between them as they started dragging—well, guiding—him toward the rest of Black Reign.

The crowd parted quickly when they saw him coming. Concern rippled through the gang as they cleared a path toward Taehyung’s car parked nearby.

“Shut it—just…get me to the car—” Jungkook hissed, voice tight. “Argh—fuck, my neck!” His face scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut as the pain shot through him.

“Think he got whiplash or some shit…” Namjoon muttered under his breath, slightly winded from hauling Jungkook’s weight. “Quick—get someone to treat him!” he called back to the others. A couple of the guys scrambled immediately, one already digging through a first aid kit someone kept in the trunk.

They finally reached Taehyung’s car, the boot already popped open. Jungkook dropped down onto the edge of it with a heavy exhale, elbows resting on his knees while someone pressed gauze against his forehead.

Across the lot, the celebration from Silver Serpents had quieted slightly. Yoongi and Marquise stood side by side now, both watching the trio limp toward the car. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Because the thing was — Jungkook crashing like that? Didn’t make sense. The guy was a freak behind the wheel. Half the time it looked like the road bent around him instead of the other way around.

Marquise finally crossed her arms. “The hell was that?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on Jungkook sitting at the open boot while someone dabbed at the blood on his face. Something about it felt off. Wrong.

“Go,” Yoongi said quietly behind her.

Marquise whipped her head around. “What?”

“See what happened,” he said, nudging his chin toward Taehyung’s car.

“And you’re nosy because…?” she raised an eyebrow.

Actually, Yoongi didn’t really have an answer for that. He just knew Jungkook’s accident felt too damn strange. Just unlike him.

Yoongi clicked his tongue. “Just go.”

Marquise dramatically exhaled, the kind that made it sound like the entire situation was personally inconveniencing her.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. Still, she turned and dragged her heels toward the cluster of Black Reign gathered around Taehyung’s car.

“Ah—shit!” Jungkook flinched the moment the cotton touched his cut again. “Chill on the alcohol!” The guy holding the cotton ball barely pressed it against Jungkook’s forehead, yet Jungkook jerked back like he’d been stabbed.

“Boss, I’m barely touching—”

“I said chill,” Jungkook snapped, teeth clenched.

That was when Marquise stepped up. She stopped right in front of the group assembled at the open boot. The moment she did, several heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. Black Reign’s eyes were already studying her. Judging. Annoyed.

“Get lost,” Marquise said flatly, jerking her thumb away from the car. “Needa talk to your leader.” Taehyung let out a pathetic little laugh, like she’d just told the world’s worst joke.

“And we should listen to you because…?” His brows dropped in exaggerated confusion as he stepped forward, crossing his arms. “Last I checked, you’re not his chick anymore.”

A few of the guys snorted quietly. Taehyung tilted his head, eyes dragging slowly over her like he was examining something mildly irritating.

“So move along, honey.” He even made a flimsy little fanning motion with his hand.

Marquise inhaled slowly. It was the same breath someone took when dealing with a spoiled child they were dangerously close to drop-kicking.

“Careful,” she said, voice low. “I don’t take disrespect.”

Taehyung grinned. “Oh? Then… what should I call you?” He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting. “Minx?”

The word had barely left his mouth before Marquise’s hand shot forward, clutching the collar of the undershirt beneath his jacket and yanking him down to her height. Gasps and quiet “oh shit”s rippled through the guys watching. Their faces were inches apart now. Taehyung blinked once—surprised. Then a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well damn,” he murmured. “If you wanted me close you could’ve just asked.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Marquise hissed. Her grip tightened. “Call me ‘honey’ again, I’ll knock your teeth out.” Taehyung’s eyes flicked to her raised arm.

“Oh? You gonna—”

Her fist was already cocked back. Ready to swing.

“Enough!”

Jungkook’s voice cracked through the tension like a whip. Every head turned toward him. Marquise and Taehyung were still glaring at each other, breaths sharp, neither one backing down. Jungkook dragged a hand over his face, wincing when it brushed too close to the cut on his forehead.

“Get lost,” he muttered tiredly. “All of you.” Groans erupted immediately.

“Seriously?”

“C’mon, man—”

Marquise still had Taehyung by the shirt. Namjoon cleared his throat behind him.

“Marquise.”

She didn’t move. Namjoon calmly reached forward, wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and peeled her grip off Taehyung’s shirt like he was removing gum from fabric. Taehyung straightened his clothes with a dramatic sigh.

“Jesus,” he muttered. As he turned away with Namjoon, he leaned slightly toward him and murmured under his breath—

“Fuck-ass cunt…”

Marquise rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach. Within seconds, the rest of the gang dispersed, leaving the area quieter. Even the guy with the first aid kit slipped away. Now it was just the two of them.

Jungkook sat on the edge of the open trunk, elbows on his knees, holding a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. He pressed it against his forehead.

“Ah—fuck—”

The sting made his fingers tremble slightly. Marquise walked closer. Without a word, she plucked the cotton from his hand. She muttered something before she tossed the bloodied cotton aside, grabbed a fresh one, soaked it, and gently pressed it to the cut. This time, far more carefully. Still, Jungkook hissed through his teeth.

Marquise sighed softly. “What happened?” Her tone had shifted. It sounded less like interrogation and more like a tired mother who already knew her kid had done something stupid. Jungkook stared downward for a moment.

“Distracted.”

“By what?” she asked. Another careful dab.

“Y/n isn’t here.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook muttered. “…but she was in here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger and let out a slightly cringed chuckle.

Marquise paused mid-dab. The silence stretched between them for a moment. The distant sound of engines cooling and muffled celebrations drifted from the other side of the lot. Marquise finally leaned back slightly, studying his face.

“Did… that night not go as planned?”

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh. “You could… say that.”

She raised a brow. “Meaning?”

He rubbed the back of his neck—and immediately regretted it. “Fuck—” Whiplash shot pain down his spine.

Marquise clicked her tongue. “Don’t move like that, idiot.” She steadied his head slightly with her hand as she checked the cut again.

Up close, Jungkook’s jaw was tight. His eyes looked irritated. But not just because of the crash.

“Something happen after she left?” Marquise asked.

“Well she didn’t… She didn’t really leave.” Jungkook’s lips twitched.

“…Then?”

“She stayed. In a way…”

Now Marquise fully stopped cleaning his wound.

“Oh.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Well…that sounds like it went according to plan.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Ya think.”

“So what—you two fought?” she guessed.

“No. I mean… not just fought.”

“Then what?”

Jungkook looked away. That alone made Marquise suspicious. “Jungkook.” He stayed quiet. Her eyes slowly widened. “Oh my god.”

Marquise leaned back a little, staring at him like he’d just admitted he drove the whole race blindfolded.

“Don’t tell me the big bad Racer King lost a race because he was daydreaming about a girl who’s now his girlfriend!” Jungkook shot her a glare that would’ve scared off most people. Marquise wasn’t most people.

“Shut up.”

She leaned back against the car, arms folding loosely over her chest. The metal behind her was still warm from the engine heat, breathing out faint waves of warmth like a tired animal. A slow, entertained smile crept onto her face.

“Wow.” She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Yoongi is going to love hearing this.”

“That’s the last thing I need right now, Mar,” Jungkook muttered, exhaling hard through his nose. His shoulders sagged like someone had pulled the invisible strings holding him upright.

Marquise grabbed another cotton ball and ripped open a band-aid packet with her teeth. “He wouldn’t take it well,” she hummed. Her fingers slid across Jungkook’s forehead as she pressed the band-aid down carefully. The adhesive stuck with a soft shk sound.

“Definitely not,” Jungkook chuckled quietly. The sting faded slowly, like a storm rolling away across the horizon. His muscles loosened just a little. Marquise moved to the cut on his cheek. The alcohol hit skin again.

“Fuck—”

“Relax,” she said casually. “You’re not dying.”

Jungkook sucked air through his teeth but stayed still.

“I got distracted by my phone mid-race,” he admitted.

Marquise paused. Her eyes lifted slowly. “You were what?”

“It was a message from Y/n,” he said, like that explained everything. His gaze drifted somewhere past Marquise’s shoulder—somewhere soft and distant, where the memory of that message was still glowing like a tiny bonfire in his brain.

“My attention was on it instead of the road.” Marquise stared at him like he’d just confessed to licking a live electrical wire.

“You’re actually stupid.” Jungkook shrugged weakly. “Worth it?” She asked it like a joke. But the question landed in the air between them like a coin spinning on a table—waiting to fall. Jungkook didn’t even blink.

“…Yeah.” No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just a simple, honest yes.

That answer hit Marquise like a shot of tequila. Her grin came back immediately—wide, wicked, delighted. “That’s… disgustingly cute.”

“Shut up.”

“No seriously,” she said, nudging his shin with the tip of her boot. “You crashed into a tower of gasoline cans because your girlfriend texted you.”

“Stop calling her that,” Jungkook muttered. But the corners of his mouth betrayed him. A smile tried to escape. His cheeks tinted faint pink under the grime and dried blood. Marquise caught it immediately.

“Oh?” she smirked, tilting her head. “So she’s… not your girlfriend?”

Jungkook hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. But that half-second silence screamed louder than any confession. She was his, and he was hers.

Marquise’s grin turned smug. “Thought so.”She tossed the used cotton balls back into the open first aid kit and wiped her hands on her jeans.

For a moment the night filled the silence between them. Engines cooling tick-tick-ticked like metal crickets. Somewhere across the lot, the Silver Serpents were still yelling and celebrating around Jimin’s car. Someone cracked open a beer. Someone else laughed like a damn hyena. The whole place smelled like gasoline, smoke, sweat, and burned rubber—the perfume of illegal racing. Marquise looked back at Jungkook. Still scraped up and sore. But calmer now like the storm inside his head had finally exhaled. Her smile softened.

“I’m happy for you,” she said. “You know.” Jungkook looked up at her. That caught him off guard.

“You’re not… jealous?” he asked slowly. “Or mad or some shit?” He squinted slightly at her. “I mean… don’t you girls have some girl code or whatever the fuck?”

Marquise barked out a laugh. “Hell no.” She pressed another band-aid onto the cut on his cheek. “I never loved you, Kook.” Her tone was casual, honest, and clean. “ Not romantically at least. It was just sex.”

“—just sex.” Jungkook snorted. They said it at the same time. Perfectly in sync. And yeah, they both meant it.

Their thing had always been physical—heat without a flame, sparks without a fire. Two bored people crashing into each other for fun, nothing deeper than that. No romance. No drama. Just bodies and bad decisions.

Marquise leaned back again, resting her palms against the edge of the car. “And besides,” she continued, shrugging. “You do things for Y/n that you never did for me.” Jungkook blinked, a little slower this time, like the words needed a second to land through the dull throb in his head. Marquise tilted her chin toward his bandaged face.

“You text her every day,” she said, counting it off like it was obvious. “Drove all the way to her house just to talk. And now you crashed your… damn car thinking about her.” There was no bite in her voice anymore. It softened, eased up, like she wasn’t teasing him now—just stating something real.

“That kind of stupid?” she added quietly. “Only happens when someone’s actually in love.” The words didn’t hit loud. They settled. Heavy. Like something set down between them that neither of them tried to move.

Marquise gave a small shrug, one shoulder lifting, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. “So yeah… I know.”

She glanced toward the dark parking lot, where headlights smeared long streaks across the pavement like spilled paint, colouring the mist that danced among the crowd.

“You really like her.” A pause. “And she likes you too.” Her lips twitched slightly into a subtle smile. “She was just in denial.”

Jungkook looked at her for a moment. Really looked. Even though their history had been messy and chaotic and physical in the dumbest way possible, he still appreciated the hell out of her. Marquise was honest—painfully honest sometimes—but honest.

The corner of his lip lifted. “You’re a good friend, Mar.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. The kind people gave when they didn’t want to admit they actually cared.

“I know.”

Jungkook leaned back against the side of the car trunk, finally letting his body relax. The night air brushed against his face, cool against the fresh bandages. He glanced at her sideways.

“Thanks, nurse.”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The airport was loud. A constant hum of rolling luggage, overlapping announcements, and chatter.

Jungkook leaned back in his — or rather — Taehyung’s car, fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel, eyes locked on the sliding doors. Too many waves of people came through, none of them her. Families, tourists, business suits, crying kids all blending into the gray sea of noise. Not her. Then, the doors slid open again. And there she was.

Camera flashes cut through the humid air like fireflies gone rogue. Fans screamed her name, voices overlapping, hands stretched out in desperation. Security moved like a shield of human barricades, keeping the eager crowd at bay while Y/n weaved through them with the ease of someone born to be seen. Her sunglasses perched on her head, hair perfectly in place despite the wind. She threw waves to the nearest cameras and fans, her gummy smile sharp and practiced.

“Y/n! Over here!”

“Welcome back!”

“Smile for me!”

Jungkook didn’t think. He just pushed the door open, already moving. The second his boots hit the polished floor, the world shrank to the space between them.

Y/n slowed just enough for her team to catch up around her — someone talking about schedules, someone else holding her bag, a bodyguard hovering nearby. It was controlled and practiced. She did it all without breaking stride, professional and effortless, until her gaze found him first. A pillar hid the car just enough so that only she could see. The sleek lines, the color not quite his usual black Porsche, and the subtle dents. But most importantly, she didn’t miss that recognisable figure clad in black.

Her lips curved immediately, a mix of amusement and exasperation. Jungkook’s head was bent slightly, scanning the crowd. Her gaze flicked to Jungkook again then casually—

“I’ll head home myself,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses like it was nothing.

Her manager blinked. “Are you sure? The car’s alre—”

“I’m good,” she cut in lightly. “Just already had other plans. I’ll text when I get back.” There was a short pause, like they wanted to argue. But they didn’t.

“Alright,” the manager nodded. “Rest well.” Y/n gave a small hum of acknowledgment and stepped away before anyone could change their mind.

Y/n gave the crowd one last wave and goodbye with the sweetest voice. Her heels clicked against the pavement towards the hidden car.

Once she got close, she’d finally saw her boyfriend. Without a second thought, she marched straight toward him, smacking his arm hard enough to make him grunt.

“Oi! What was that for!” Jungkook’s hand shot to his arm, ready to bite back, but she didn’t give him the chance.

Her lips crashed onto his before he could say another word. Warm, messy, desperate. One hand tangling at his hoodie, the other having her fingers brushing his cheeks. He groaned softly into the kiss, hands tightening around her like he was anchoring himself.

Before Y/n could let Jungkook melt fully into the kiss, she pulled back, letting their breaths puff into the cool air. She jabbed a finger into his chest, her hands landing softly on the bandaged spots on his cheeks as if inspecting for damage.

“You dumbass!” she snapped, voice a mixture of scolding and relief that rolled over him like a wave he didn’t know he’d been craving. “Did I not deliberately tell you—don’t crash? Why the fuck were you even looking at your phone on the road?” Her brows drew together, sharp and concerned, but her hands lingered on his face, feather-light, almost protective.

“Relax, Y/n. I’m not bleeding out or anything,” he said, smirking. His fingers brushed the pad of her hip in a way that made her heart skip, the casual touch commanding her attention. That smile — the one that always disarmed her — spread across his face.

Y/n huffed, softening but keeping her edge. “Next time you text me mid-race, I swear—I’ll climb into the car myself and drag your dumb ass out.”

He snorted, chest pressing against hers. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” His grin was wide, pearly whites flashing, impossible not to smile back at.

“It’s only been two days,” she said, shaking her head with a small laugh.

“Two excruciating days not seeing you,” he countered, voice teasing but low.

“You see my Instagram,” she shrugged, playful but still mock-scolding.

“Not talking to you,” he shot back.

“We text every day!” Her laugh was light.

“Not touching you,” he whispered this time, leaning close enough that his lips hovered near her ear. She shivered. That familiar zing of electricity crawling up her spine, the same one he triggered in his garage before.

Jungkook’s fingers traced the curve of her waist. His lips followed the line of her ear, pressing gentle, feather-light kisses that made her giggle despite herself.

“ I missed you…” he murmured against her skin, low and intimate.

Y/n’s gaze softened, her playful scolding fading under the warmth of him. Never would she have imagined looking at her brother’s rival like this, her chest fluttering, her mind hazy.

“I… missed you too,” she admitted, voice almost breathless.

Jungkook lifted his head slowly, letting their foreheads almost touch as he held her close.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” she said softly, thumb brushing along his cheek where a band-aid laid.

“Hmm… maybe next time don’t leave?” He whispered back, letting her hands settle on his chest.

For a heartbeat, the world outside — the airport chaos, the flashing cameras, the screams — didn’t exist. It was just them, warm and tangled, finally back in the warmth they wanted to be in.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at her, the smile in his eyes soft but teasing. “So…where to? You wanna eat, sit somewhere, or just… stare at me some more?”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at her lips.

“Somewhere we can actually be alone. Make up for…you know, the past two days of me being gone.” Her hands trailed along his arm, eyes trailing along as she leaned closer, voice soft but insistent.

“Hm…” Jungkook tilted his head, pretending to think hard. “Alone, huh? Got a place in mind?”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled, a mix of mischief and affection. “Yours. I mean… I haven’t… even seen where you live yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching. “Just a heads up, my place is no place for a…” His eyes raked down her figure, “high-end model who lives in a mansion with butlers and maids.”

She pressed a quick, deliberate peck to his lips and patted his chest.

“Perfect.” Then she hopped into his car like it was a goddamn go-kart. “Let’s go!” she yelled, already adjusting her seatbelt, energy bouncing off the leather interior.

Jungkook leaned his head back, chuckling in disbelief, shaking his head before he followed Y/n into the car and started the engine.

Jungkook found himself sweating. Not the kind that came with speed or adrenaline nor the kind that soaked through his shirt after a race or clung to skin after a long night in bed. This was different. It sat in his palms, made his grip unreliable, made his chest feel… tight.

Nervous.

The word felt foreign in his head. He doesn’t get nervous. Not before races. Not before fights. Not even before sex. So why the hell was bringing Y/n home making his hands act like they didn’t belong to him?

His keys nearly slipped from his fingers as he tried to unlock the door. The metal jingled louder than it should’ve, echoing through the narrow, quiet hallway like it was mocking him. Y/n stood a step behind, taking it in.

The building wasn’t fancy. Not even close. The walls were too plain, the lighting slightly dim, the air carrying that faint, old-building warmth. A little dodgy, maybe. But it was his. And for some reason, that made it feel fine.

After what felt like forever, the lock finally clicked. Jungkook pushed the door open, hesitation threading through his veins. Warm air spilled out immediately wrapping around them, heavy and lived-in. It was nothing like the polished, airy chill of her mansion.

“Welcome to my…” Jungkook paused, eyes flicking around the space like he was seeing it through her eyes for the first time. “…residence.” He stepped aside.

Y/n slipped off her heels at the entrance without being told, placing them neatly beside the door. Another pair added to the small, random collection of shoes already there. Something about that felt… weirdly permanent to Jungkook. Her feet padded softly against the floor as she wandered in.

It was small, yeah. But it wasn’t empty. The space wrapped around her like a quiet hug. The furniture was simple, a little worn in places, but clean. Comfortable. Lived in. There were small things that made it his — a big Hello Kitty soft-toy on the couch, a jacket hanging off the side of a chair, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air like it had seeped into the walls.

It didn’t try to impress. It didn’t need to anyways.

Y/n turned slowly, taking it all in, before her gaze landed back on him. And suddenly, the whole place felt warmer. Jungkook caught her looking. His throat went dry.

“I know it’s… uh” His eyes flicked past her shoulder, scanning his own apartment like he was judging it harder than she ever could. “…small. And kinda…” he huffed a quiet, self-conscious laugh, “…pathetic.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders tightening slightly.

“It’s all I can afford.”

Silence. Too long. It stretched just enough to make something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

“Y/n…?”

“I love it.” Just like that. Simple. Certain.

Jungkook blinked, brows pulling together like he didn’t hear her right. “…What?”

Y/n closed the distance between them without hesitation, her hands coming up to his shoulders. Her fingers pressed in gently, massaging the tension she could literally feel sitting there.

“It’s not pathetic, Kook,” she said softly. Her lashes lifted, eyes meeting his with something warm. Steady. “It’s your home.” Her thumbs brushed along his shoulders, grounding him. “And… because it’s yours,” she smiled, that gummy smile of hers breaking through, soft and a little blinding, “I love it.”

Something in his chest shifted. Not loud nor dramatic. Just settled. Like something restless finally found a place to sit.

Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, a small scoff escaping him as he shook his head.

“You’re weird,” he muttered.

Y/n grinned. “You like weird, don’t you?” He looked at her for a second. Then reached out, fingers hooking lightly around her waist, pulling her closer without much thought.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I really do.”

There was a pause. Not awkward at all. Y/n’s gaze softened as she looked up at him, her hands sliding from his shoulders to rest against his chest.

“You really thought I’d walk in here and judge you?” she murmured with an arched brow. Jungkook shrugged one shoulder slightly, eyes dropping for a second.

“Didn’t know,” he said honestly. “I mean… your world’s different from mine.”

“Hmm,” she nodded. “It is.” Her fingers curled slightly into his hoodie. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

That made him look back at her. Really look. Close enough to see the tiny details. The way her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks, the slight curve of her lips, the softness in her expression that wasn’t for cameras or anyone else, the mole below her eyebrow.

“Hmm,” he hummed quietly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against her waist, back and forth. Slow. Y/n smiled faintly, stepping just a little closer until there was barely any space left between them.

“Now…” she tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with something playful again, “are you gonna show me around or just stand here staring at me?”

Jungkook huffed a laugh. “Depends,” he smirked, grip tightening slightly at her waist. “You planning on using your sharp tongue on me?”

Y/n raised a brow. “When have I never?”

“Exactly,” he muttered. Jungkook didn’t let go of her immediately. For a second, he just stood there with his hand still resting at her waist, like he forgot he was supposed to move. Then he cleared his throat lightly and stepped back, scratching the back of his neck.

“Alright,” he sighed, glancing around like he suddenly remembered this place existed. “You wanted a tour, right?”

Y/n perked up instantly, already slipping past him. “Yes. I need to see how the infamous leader of Black Reign lives.”

He scoffed. “You’re about to be very disappointed.”

“Doubt it.”

She wandered ahead like she owned the place, fingertips grazing over surfaces, eyes taking in everything like it actually mattered. Jungkook trailed behind her, hands in his pockets, watching her more than he was watching where she was going.

“Where shall we start?” he asked, leaning slightly against the wall, trying to play it cool.

Y/n didn’t even hesitate. She pointed straight ahead, lips already twitching. “How about this huge Hello Kitty soft toy?”

Jungkook followed her finger and immediately laughed. “Oh my god.”

Y/n was already walking toward it, slow and dramatic like she’d just discovered evidence at a crime scene.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she said, turning back halfway, eyes wide in fake shock. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“It’s not mine,” he shot back instantly.

“Mhm.”

“It’s Seoyeon’s,” he corrected, pushing himself off the wall to follow her. “My younger sister—she leaves her stuff here.”

Y/n crouched slightly, pressing the plush’s cheek like she was testing it. “It’s huge.”

“Really—I didn’t notice.” He joked.

She looked back at him, barely holding in her grin. “You sleep with it?”

“Don’t piss me off.”

She laughed, full and unfiltered, the sound filling the apartment like it belonged there.

“Relax, it’s cute,” she teased, giving the plush one last squeeze. “Thank your sister. Adds personality.”

“Yeah, real intimidating,” he muttered.

“You? Intimidating?” she shot back. “Not with Hello Kitty watching over you, you’re not.”

He shook his head, a quiet laugh slipping out despite himself.

After browsing in the compact living room, the surprisingly filled cabinets of the kitchen, and even his irrelevant store room, Y/n was floating towards the room.

“…Alright,” she said, turning around mid-step and walking backwards, eyes locked on him. “What else are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he chuckled.

“Mhm. Sure.” She spun on her heel and headed toward the only closed door in the apartment. Jungkook clocked it immediately. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, pausing just for a second like she was giving him a chance to stop her. He didn’t.

“Bedroom?” she asked, glancing back at him, one brow raised.

Jungkook hummed.

She pushed the door open. The room wasn’t big. Same as the rest of the apartment. A bed that looked like it had been half-made and then abandoned, dark sheets slightly creased. A chair in the corner with clothes thrown over it like it had become a second closet. A low hum from the aircon. The faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air stronger here than anywhere else. It felt private. No shit it was a bedroom. But it was like stepping into something she wasn’t supposed to see yet.

Y/n walked in slower this time. Her fingers brushed along the edge of the dresser. Her eyes scanned the space taking it in piece by piece like she was trying to understand him through it. Jungkook stayed by the door for a second before stepping in behind her watching. Always watching. Y/n turned slightly, glancing at the bed, then back at him. A small smile tugged at her lips.

“So… this is where you bring all your girls?” she asked lightly.

Jungkook scoffed immediately. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just asking.”

“No, you’re not.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, turning away again but her smile lingered. Her gaze drifted, slow and unhurried, until it caught on something.

A frame.

Small. Almost easy to miss if you weren’t looking properly. But she was. Y/n stepped closer, like something quiet and magnetic had hooked onto her and tugged. Her reflection slipped into the glass as she leaned in slightly, her face ghosting over the image beneath it.

What seemed like a younger Jungkook sat high on a man’s shoulders — tiny, almost, compared to the version of him she knew now. His hands clutched a trophy that looked too big, too heavy for him, but he held it like it was the most important thing in the world. His smile — wide, careless, untouched — split across his face like nothing had ever gone wrong for him before. The man beneath him looked just as proud.

Y/n’s fingers hovered just above the frame, not touching. Like she was afraid she might smudge something that mattered.

Behind her, Jungkook moved closer. He stepped right up behind her close enough that the warmth of him bled into her back. Close enough that his breath brushed faintly against her hair.

“That’s my dad,” he said. His voice was quieter than before but not closed off. Y/n didn’t turn. She let him speak.

“That was his first win I actually remember being at,” he continued, eyes fixed on the photo instead of avoiding it. “I was… what, six? Maybe seven.” A small breath left him, barely there, but it carried weight.

“He used to always call me his good luck charm.” The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “Wouldn’t put me down the whole night.” There was no bitterness in it. Just memory softened by time but still intact.

Y/n’s chest tightened in a way that wasn’t painful but filled.

“I see why you love him dearly,” she murmured. This time, Jungkook didn’t go quiet in that defensive way or brush it off with a joke. He stayed there and let it sit.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. It felt like something he didn’t say out loud often, something he didn’t let people touch. And yet here he was, standing behind her, letting her look at it, letting her know.

Y/n’s eyes shifted slightly, catching the reflection of him. She turned slowly. Jungkook didn’t move an inch. He stayed exactly where he was, eyes already on her like he’d been waiting for her to turn. For a second, neither of them spoke. The air felt different here — quieter, heavier in a way that wasn’t suffocating. Y/n’s lips curved, soft but teasing, like she didn’t want to break it completely but she also wasn’t going to let it get too heavy.

“Well,” she said lightly, tilting her head up at him, “it’s the perfect picture to be framed.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

“You could definitely have more framed pictures of maybe… y’know” her eyes flickered with mischief now, pulling them both back up from that depth just enough, “…me?”

Jungkook blinked. And just like that, the tension cracked. A quiet laugh slipped out of him, softer than his usual ones, like it still carried traces of what he’d just let her see.

“Already planning on decorating my place?” he muttered. Y/n stepped closer — closer than she already was — closing that last bit of space like it didn’t exist.

“Just saying,” she murmured, fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt. “It’d really upgrade the aesthetic.”

Jungkook looked down at her. “Yeah?” he said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Then his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear — slow, deliberate, like he was learning the shape of her face through touch.

“Guess I’ll have to make some space then.”

Y/n smiled. And this time, it didn’t feel like she was stepping into his world. It felt like he was letting her stay.

By the time the sun started dipping, the whole apartment shifted. The light coming through the windows turned warm golden, soft, spilling across the bed in long stretches like it was trying to settle in with them.

Jungkook had one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped loosely around Y/n, pulling her into his side. Her back rested against his chest, legs tangled with his under the blanket that was barely doing its job. Some movie played on the TV. Something loud. Metallic. Explosions, dramatic music, a guy building a suit. Neither of them were watching.

Y/n’s fingers were busy. They traced slowly along Jungkook’s hand starting at his knuckles where ink sat on his fingers like it belonged there, then dragging up the lines of his forearm. Light, curious, repeating paths like she was memorising him. Jungkook clocked it a while ago. He didn’t stop her, however. Watched her instead of the screen. The way her brows dipped slightly like she was concentrating. Her thumb pressed a little firmer over certain designs like she was trying to feel something under the ink.

“You interested?” he murmured, voice low, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. Y/n didn’t even look up.

“Mm,” she hummed, tracing the edge of a design near his wrist. “Way more interesting than watching some guy spend two hours building a metal suit.”

Jungkook huffed. “It’s Iron Man.”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s Iron Man or Iron Auntie,” she muttered. “Your arm’s winning.” That pulled a real grin out of him.

His hand shifted on her shoulder, thumb brushing slow, absent circles.

“You like it that much?” he asked, voice softer now.

Y/n finally tilted her head back to look at him, lashes faintly brushing the top of her cheeks, eyes a little too focused for someone just messing around.

“I think I like the person it’s attached to more.”

That landed softly upon Jungkook’s tummy. Just sat there, somewhere under his ribs. His fingers tightened slightly at her shoulder before relaxing again.

“Careful,” he muttered. “You’re starting to sound like you’re in love with me.”

“Pfft—relax,” she scoffed lightly, but there was a smile sitting in it. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Silence slipped back in. Y/n’s fingers slowed then stopped.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, pushing herself up slightly so she could look at him. “I just remembered,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?”

“I’ve got a fashionshow next Wednesday. Big one.” He watched her, listening. “I thought… you’d like to come?” she added, trying to sound casual but not entirely.

“Fuck…” he muttered.

Y/n’s brows pulled together slightly. “W-what?” He looked back at her, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck with a worried smile.

“As much as I’d love to see you all dressed up looking hot as fuck,” he said, lips twitching, “I promised Seoyeon I’d take her out.” He shot her a look of guilt.

“The Hello Kitty boss?”

Jungkook snorted. “Yeah. That one.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “That’s okay,” she said easily. “You should spend time with her.”

He studied her face for a second, like he was double-checking she wasn’t secretly upset.

“You sure?”

Y/n shrugged with a nod. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not fighting a kid over her brother.” That earned a quiet chuckle from him.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer, something softer settling in his expression. Then he leaned in slowly. His hand came up, fingers sliding along her jaw before cupping her cheek as his lips pressed against hers. Warm. Intentional. Not rushed. Y/n melted into it instantly. Her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer.

“Consider that my apology,” he murmured against her lips. She let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

“Lame apology,” she whispered back. “You can do better than that, racer king.” Her fingers tugged at his dark locks. His eyes flickered.

“Oh yeah? You want better”

“Yeah…” Y/n gazed up past her lashes.

That was enough. The kiss deepened — not messy, not out of control — but heavier, slower. The kind that built instead of exploded.

His hand slid from her face to her waist, pulling her over him until she was half on top of him, bodies lining up like it made sense. Her other hand found his again, fingers slipping between his before drifting back to his wrist, his arm, tracing him like she couldn’t help it. Her feather like touches made Jungkook shudder.

“Keep doing that,” he muttered, breath starting to lose its rhythm, “and I’m banning you from touching me during movies.”

“You weren’t even watching,” she murmured against his lips.

“Was busy watching you, model.”

That made her pause just a second. Then she kissed him again. Softer. Jungkook’s thumb pressed into her waist.

Between the heated make out, his voice dropped, quieter. “She talks about you a lot, you know.” Y/n pulled back slightly, brows lifting.

“Seoyeon?”

“Mm,” he nodded, brushing his nose lightly against hers. “You’re basically her celebrity crush.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh that sent heat waves towards Jungkook’s lips. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” he smirked faintly. “Her standards are fucked now.”

“Then we should have dinner with her sometime,” she said, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll behave… Be charming… Impress her.”

Jungkook huffed. “You? Behave?”

“Shut up,” she nudged him lightly. “You cook. I’ll show up and win her over.”

“Win her over?” he raised a brow.

“Obviously,” she grinned. “I need her approval if I’m gonna keep you.”

Now that made something in his chest tighten. Not in a bad way.

His grip on her waist tightened slightly. “You’ve already got me,” he murmured. Y/n’s smile softened.

“Good.”

And then she kissed him again — slow like she meant it.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

“I literally just blinked, Jin.”

“Yeah, and somehow your whole body followed.”

Y/n huffed, biting back a smile as she tried — actually tried — to stay still this time. Jin circled her, one hand smoothing down the side of her Saint Laurent suit while the other worked a needle through the fabric with precise and practiced movements. Pins tucked between his lips, brow furrowed — not stress, just locked-in focus.

The room around them buzzed. Stylists moving, racks rolling, voices arguing about style or who-knows-what. Expensive chaos. Controlled chaos.

Y/n stared at herself in the mirror. Sharp silhouette, hair pulled back, makeup just right. She looked like she had her shit together. She didn’t feel like it. Her fingers twitched at her side again.

“Y/n,” Jin warned without even looking up.

“I know, I know—fuck, okay, I’m still.” Silence fell between them for a beat. Comfortable. Familiar. Then—

“I’m seeing someone.”

It came out fast. Perhaps a little too fast. As if if she didn’t say it now, she’d chicken out later.

Jin didn’t look up. “Another actor, I presume?” he said casually, still focused on the stitching like this was just another Tuesday.

Y/n let out a short, awkward laugh. “Ah—hah—no, no… it’s…” she hesitated, the word lodged in her throat. “We’re dating now.” That got the slightest shift out of him. Not enough for anyone else in the room to notice. But she did.

“Yeah?” he said, still working, but slower now. “And… who is this poor guy you’ve decided to ruin?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Just asking.”

She inhaled. Held it. “…Jungkook.”

The needle stopped. Just stopped. Not dropped. Just froze mid-motion like his body needed a second to catch up with what he just heard. Y/n watched him through the mirror. Watched the exact moment it registered.

Jin cleared that small clump of saliva stuck in his throat and slowly pulled the needle through the fabric, finishing the stitch like he needed to complete something before actually reacting. Then he stepped back and looked up. Their eyes met through the mirror. And there it was, that look Jin always had when something didn’t sit right with him. Not anger, not even disappointment. Just a quiet kind of uncertainty. The kind that lingered in his eyes like he was already bracing for something to go wrong.

“You sure about… him?” he asked finally, voice low but sharp enough to slice through her chest.

“Yeah…” she said. “Yeah,” she repeated, almost too quickly, hoping it sounded convincing.

“You’ve been thrown around by your exes, Y/n. Treated like a—a ghost by some of them, like none even saw you. What if he’s the same? D-don’t forget the shit he said to you before.” Jin pointed his finger.

Her stomach dropped. Memory flashed. The words, the betrayal, the sting that never fully went away.

“And he’s your brother’s rival for God’s sake,” Jin continued, voice harder now, a little rawer. “Do you even realize what that means? He’s in the same damn circle, and shit gets messy fast. Fast and ugly.”

Y/n chewed her lip. “He… he has some issues…”

“Issues? Yeah, I can tell, and you’ve got patience of a saint, but you can’t fix him, Y/n. Don’t get me wrong—he’s not bad, he’s not like those… I guess… he’s not like those other assholes—but he’s got a lot of baggage. You’re smart. Don’t blind yourself because he smiles at you, or touches you, or says some cute shit you’ve been dying to hear.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Jin leaned closer, adjusting the hem of her jacket. “I don’t care how happy he makes you feel now, Y/n. I don’t want to see you crushed in the end. You’re too good to be treated like some background character in someone else’s drama. You get me?”

She nodded, swallowing a lump. “I get you. I promise. He’s… different. He stayed. He—he tries. He actually tries. He’s not the other ones.”

Jin studied her reflection, eyes narrowing, still scanning for doubt she didn’t want him to see. “Trying’s—is—is fine,” he muttered, “but don’t let trying be an excuse for bullshit. And if he ever—ever—does anything to hurt you… I will personally—”

Y/n snorted, biting back a laugh. “Yeah, yeah—you’ll rip him to shreds—got it.”

“Damn right I will,” he said. “Don’t think I won’t stand in the way if I have to. He may be your boyfriend, but I’m not gonna watch you get hurt for the sake of love. That’s my job as your best friend.”

Her chest tightened with warmth at his words but also slight reluctance. He cared in a way that wasn’t just friendship but family.

She smiled, letting herself relax a little. “Thanks, Jin. I… really mean it. He’s worth it.”

“Okay,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Because if he’s not, I’ll make sure he regrets ever looking at you.”

Y/n laughed softly. “You’re terrifying.”

“Thanks,” he said, finishing the stitching and slipping the pins into a container. “Now, enough boyfriend drama. Focus. Because this suit? Costs more than whatever the hell he drives.”

She shook her head, smiling to herself. Protective, terrifying, loving Jin. Always watching, always caring. And just like that, the news had landed better than she’d feared. Jin’s worry hadn’t turned to anger or judgment. Instead, it was cautious acceptance, the kind that made her heart swell a little. The sharing had gone well.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The car hummed steadily as Jungkook drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh to whatever song was playing low on the radio. Seoyeon sat beside him, legs swinging since they were still too short to touch the floor of the car, still buzzing from the day.

“That ride was not safe,” she said for the third time, clutching her drink. “Why was it shaking at the start like that? I almost died.”

Jungkook snorted. “You screamed before it even started.”

“I did not!”

“You did—you grabbed my arm and went ‘oppaaaa!’ before the seatbelt even clicked.”

“I was… getting ready!” she shot back, offended.

“Really? Sounded like a dying cat to me.”

“Stop it!” she smacked his arm, trying not to laugh.

He grinned, glancing at her briefly before looking back at the road. This, this was easy. No engines, no tension. Just her.

“You had fun though,” he said.

Seoyeon shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “M…maybe.”

“Liar.”

“Okay fine, I did,” she admitted, smiling. The low hum of the car came filling their ears again with the window displaying the long stretch of road ahead of them.

“Hey,” she said slowly. Jungkook hummed in response as his attention physically stayed on the road. Seoyeon frowned, looking at the dashboard, then the seats, then him. “This isn’t your car.”

Jungkook didn’t even flinch. “It is.”

“No, it’s not,” she said immediately. “The inside looks different. Also—your car smells weird. This one smells clean.”

He scoffed in utter disbelief. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s not yours,” she said, matter-of-fact.

“Where’s your car?”

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “At the garage.”

“Why?”

“Getting fixed.”

“Fixing what?”

“Engine stuff you wouldn’t know or care if I were to explain in detail.”

Seoyeon squinted at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“Well it’s the only one you’re getting,” he muttered. “Deal with it.” She kept staring at him for a second longer, clearly not convinced.

“So… whose is this?”

“Taehyung’s,” he said. “He’s got extras.”

She leaned back slowly. “And your car? I bet you crashed it.” A smug smile appearing on her lips.

“Did not.”

“Did,” she said, nodding to herself. “Or maybe your car got taken away by another car.”

“The word you’re looking for it towed.”Jungkook huffed. “ And no—my car wasn’t towed. Just drink your drink and stop being a busybody.”

“Fine.” She lifted the bottle to her lips again, still suspicious. And right then, the car hit a bump. “—eh—!” The drink spilled straight onto her shirt.

“Ah! Ey—oppa!” she shrieked, pulling the bottle away. “My shirt—ugh!”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “Watch what you’re doing, Yoyo.”

“You’re the one who hit the bump!” she snapped, looking down at the wet patch. “Why would you do that?!”

“Yeah, I planned it,” he said sarcastically. “Relax. There’s tissues in the glove box.”

“What’s a glove box—?”

“In front of you. Open it.”

She huffed and reached forward, popping it open. Stuff shifted around as her small hands buried itself in the sand of belongings. Receipts. Wrappers. A pen. Jungkook’s yellow-tinted sunglasses. She rummaged through it, muttering, “Why is your car so messy…”

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“I’m only—”Her fingers paused.

Jungkook barely glanced over. “Found it?”

Seoyeon slowly pulled something out. Small, compact, and rectangular.

“Oppa… Why do you have lip gloss?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked over for half a second — and yeah. There it was. The lipgloss that read ‘Dior’ that unmistakably was the property of Min Y/n.

He knew it. Of course he did. He remembered her voice clear as day — “I always forget to bring my lip gloss when I go out.” — and he had proposed to leave her lipgloss in his car so she’d always have it. And she did.

“It’s not mine,” he said, turning back to the road.

“Obviously” Seoyeon muttered, inspecting it. “Why would it be yours? Boys don’t wear lipgloss.” She flipped it over.

“Di… or?” Her tone changed. “Isn’t that that expensive shop?” Jungkook felt himself stiffen and throat go dry. “Why do you have Dior?” she asked slowly.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, a little too quick.

“It’s in your car.”

“I said it’s Taehyung’s car.”

“But you’re using it now. So whose is it?” she pressed, turning toward him.

Jungkook exhaled. “Someone left it.”

“Who?”

“No one.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Hah—again, it’s the one you’re gonna get.”

She stared at him. Then at the lip gloss. Then back at him. Her brain was working overtime.

“Mom told me before this shop is costs like billions of dollars. You don’t even have that much money to buy Dior,” she said bluntly.

Jungkook scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t buy this.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then?” Seoyeon dipped her brows where they clashed, shaking her head like that was going to get a real answer out from her brother.

A pause. Then, her eyes widened. Her brain had stringed the pieces together regardless of only being nine years old.

“You have a girl.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wha—no.” He countered. “Where did you even get that?”

“Yeah, you do,” she said immediately, pointing the lip gloss at him. “You have a secret girl!”

“I don’t have a secret anything.” Jungkook kept his gaze on the road and hands on the wheel.

“You do,” she insisted, leaning closer. “Wait—” She froze. “That time we had ice cream...”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked.

Shit.

“You talked about a—a girl,” she continued, eyes lighting up like she just solved a mystery. “You said you liked someone!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did!” she argued. “Oppa—stop being annoying! You were being all weird and quiet and then you said there was someone!”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair and released a sigh, “you remember too much...”

“I remember everything,” she said proudly. Then squinted at him. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

He stayed quiet. It unfortunately was the worst move Jungkook could do. Seoyeon gasped.

“Oh my god—it is!”

“Seoyeon—”

“You have a girlfriend! You have a girlfriend!” she teased in a song, way too excited. Her fingers pointing at Jungkook like a little dance, poking the air towards him.

“I don’t,” he said, but there was zero conviction. His smiling eyes were no help, contradicting his response.

“You do,” she nodded, fully convinced now. “You are lying—and you’re bad at lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She gave a single nod that basically was a final confirmation.

He sighed, jaw tightening slightly. “It’s just someone,” he muttered. “It’s none your business, Yoyo.”

“That’s suspicious,” she shot back immediately.

Jungkook scoffed, ridiculed. “It’s not suspicious.”

“It is! You never have ‘just someone.’ You don’t even have friends you like that much.”

“Wow. Thanks. Wonder who’s Taehyung and Namjoon...”

“I’m not kidding!” she said. “You don’t let people in.”

That hit.

Jungkook finally glanced at her and yeah, she wasn’t joking anymore. No smug grin, no teasing spark. Just looking at him. Really looking. It caught him a little off guard like she’d somehow peeled away something he usually kept locked up tight. He blinked, throat tightening just enough to annoy him. He cleared it quickly, like that would fix anything, and turned his eyes back to the road. The streetlights blurred past in streaks, giving him something else to focus on, anything but her gaze.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even know what the hell he could say. And honestly? He didn’t want to go there. Not with her. The kind of conversation she was nudging at, it wasn’t light or easy. It was obviously a sensitive topic for him, asking for honesty he doesn’t give easily. So he stayed quiet, gripping the wheel a little tighter, letting the silence take over instead of risking saying something real.

“Well, is she… nice?” she asked, softer, as if she could radiate Jungkook’s discomfort.

An unnecessary pause.

“Yeah,” he said. Soft. Honest. “You’d like her.” Seoyeon’s expression softened just a little when Jungkook shot her a look.

“Does she know you’re annoying?”

Jungkook snorted at that as his head fell. “You could say that.”

“Okay good,” she nodded. “Then she’s real.”

He shook his head, a small smile slipping through despite himself.

The car slowed as they pulled into the driveway of a high-rise building Jungkook was familiar with. The engine quietened down when Jungkook twisted the keys. For a second, neither of them moved. Seoyeon held the lip gloss out to him.

“Give it back to her,” she said.

Jungkook took it, fingers brushing over it briefly. “Yeah yeah…”

She opened the door, then paused. “Don’t mess it up,” she added, looking back at him. Jungkook was already gazing back, arm on the small space of the console between them. A corner of his lips tweaked. He reached out and ruffled Seoyeon’s hair.

“I won’t…”

Seoyeon gave a subtle smile. Then she hopped out like she didn’t just drop something heavy on him.

Jungkook stayed there for a moment. The lip gloss sitting in his palm. Small. But somehow feeling like it meant everything. He quickly shoved it into his jean pocket and followed Seoyeon out of the car.

The apartment door wasn’t far from the lift — maybe ten steps at most — but the walk there felt longer than it should’ve. Jungkook’s boots landed heavy against the carpeted floor, each step dull and quiet, while Seoyeon’s lighter ones padded ahead of him, quick and restless. The faint rustle of his bomber jacket filled the silence in between, the only thing keeping the hallway from feeling too still and too tense.

Seoyeon reached the door first, already on her tiptoes, fingers stretching for the bell. Jungkook was still a few steps behind, slower, like something in him was dragging its feet on purpose. The chime echoed softly. Then the door clicked open.

“Mom, I’m home!” Seoyeon beamed, immediately stepping forward, her whole face lighting up as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.

Her mother let out a soft breath — relief, warmth, something that looked genuine — as she wrapped her arms around her daughter and held her close. Jungkook stood there still, watching. As if he wasn’t part of the picture.

Then, her head lifted for her eyes landed on him.

“Jungkook-ah…”

His jaw tightened almost immediately.

“I’m just here to drop Seoyeon off,” he said flatly, shifting his weight, hands buried deep in his pockets like he needed something to hold onto.

“Then I’m leaving.” His voice didn’t rise or crack. But it was closed off — clean, sharp like a door already shut.

His mother tilted her head slightly, something flickering across her face. Guilt, maybe? Or something that looked like it. Either one, Jungkook didn’t trust it.

“Jungkook-ah…” her voice softened, careful. “Just come in for dinner. I cooked your favourite. G-gochujang stew.” There was a small smile on her lips — fragile, almost hopeful — but it didn’t sit right with him. It felt rehearsed. Like she’d worn that expression too many times before.

Seoyeon turned too, still tucked under their mother’s hands, looking up at him with those same wide eyes.

“Please, oppa…”

And there it was. The one thing that made this harder than it needed to be.

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to her, his chest tightening just slightly. He hated that she was part of this. Hated that she didn’t even realise she was being used as the bridge he kept refusing to cross.

“You’ve been avoiding us for too long, Jungkook-ah,” his mother continued, voice quieter now. “I miss you. I—I know it’s not… easy to accept what happened to your fath—”

“No—see—this is why I hate being around you.” It snapped out of him before he could stop it. His hands that were stuffed in his pockets moved as well. His hands curled into fists inside his pockets, nails digging into his palms as his shoulders squared up, tension rising like heat under his skin.

“You always—always—bring him up,” he continued, voice tighter now, frustration bleeding through. “I’m trying to forget, okay? I’m trying to move on, but you won’t let me.” His words came out harsher than he planned, but he didn’t take them back. He couldn’t. His mother’s expression broke slightly.

“Jungkook—you can’t just… forget him like he was nothing!” her voice shook, cracking at the edges. “He’s your father!”

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over too quickly, like they’d been waiting there for a while. Her hands trembled slightly where they rested on Seoyeon’s shoulders.

Jungkook’s chest rose and fell heavier now. Because the worst part? She wasn’t wrong. And he knew it. But knowing didn’t make it easier. Didn’t make it hurt less.

“Then where is he, Mom…?” His voice dropped, now unsteady. His vision blurred as tears gathered, the hallway lights turning hazy around the edges. He blinked hard, but they slipped out anyway, trailing down his cheeks before he could stop them.

“Where… were you?” he asked, voice tightening, breaking just ever so slightly. He pointed downward, finger trembling — not at her or anything specific. Just… somewhere. Anywhere.

“Where were you… when he was gone?”

His mother’s breath hitched, a broken sound escaping her lips as her hand flew up to cover her mouth, like she could physically hold the grief in.

“I needed you,” Jungkook said, louder now. His rawness and hurt was obvious. Years of it, packed into one sentence. His throat burned, chest tight like something was clawing its way out of him, something he’d buried too deep for too long.

“So how…” he swallowed hard, voice shaking now, “how do you expect me to be okay with him being gone… when you weren’t even there when I needed you?”

Silence fell. Heavy and suffocating. The kind that pressed into your ears until it rang, giving the discomfort.

His mother cried quietly now, shoulders shaking, her hand still covering her mouth like she was afraid of how loud it might get if she let go.

Seoyeon stood between them, not daring to even move a pinky. Confused. She was caught in something she didn’t fully understand but could feel anyway.

And Jungkook? Jungkook just stood there, breathing hard, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a race he didn’t sign up for.

He hated this. Hated how it made him feel. Hated that no matter how far he ran, it always caught up to him anyway.

Jungkook dragged a hand through his hair, rough, like he was trying to wipe the whole conversation off his body. His chest still felt tight like the air in the hallway wasn’t enough. For a second — just a second — his eyes dropped to Seoyeon again.

Her fingers were still curled lightly into their mother’s sleeve, but her eyes were on him. Wide. Quiet. Processing. And fuck — that almost made him stay. Nearly made him step forward, sigh, rub the back of his neck and go, fine… just dinner… just tonight…

But then, he looked up at his mother. At the tears. At the same conversation that never fucking changed. And something in him just…closed. Jungkook let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I didn’t come here for this.” His voice was quieter now. “I just came to drop her off.”

“Jungkook—” his mother stepped forward slightly.

He stepped back just as fast. That small movement said more than anything else could’ve. A line drawn.

“I’m not ready,” he said, more to the space than directly to her. His jaw tightened. “And you don’t get to decide when I should be.”

His mother’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Because what could she say to that?

Seoyeon’s grip tightened slightly on her sleeve.

“Oppa,” she called softly. That one word hit differently. Always did.

Jungkook looked at her again, and this time, he forced a small smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was there. For her and only her.

“Go inside, yeah?” he said, gentler now. “It’s getting late.”

She hesitated. “Are you gonna come next time?”

There it was. Hope.

Jungkook’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t at least. He knew his true answer would’ve disappointed her.

“Next time,” he said finally. The word he abuses the shit out of.

Seoyeon nodded slowly, like she understood more than she should. “Okay...”

Jungkook reached out, ruffling her hair lightly — his usual move, muscle memory at this point. A small, familiar gesture in the middle of something that felt anything but. Then he pulled his hand back and stepped away.

His mother said his name again. Softer this time. “Jungkook…”

He paused. Just for a second. Back still facing them. You could almost feel the war in him — stay or go, look back or don’t, say something or shut the hell up. In the end, he didn’t turn around.

“Stop using him every time you want me to come back,” he muttered, low and tired. Not angry anymore. Then he walked. Boots heavy against the carpet again, each step quicker than before like he needed distance now before something in him cracked open too far.

The hallway swallowed him up. And just like that, he was gone.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Jungkook sat on the couch with Y/n tucked close to his side, his arm draped over her shoulders like it had just ended up there without much thought. His fingers were loosely intertwined with hers, absentmindedly fidgeting, brushing, tracing. It wasn’t intentional, not really. Just something his body did when she was near. She fit against him easily like she’d been made to stay there next to him.

“So…” Y/n spoke after a while, her voice softer in the quiet, but still carrying that familiar teasing edge. “I’m guessing the night went well then?”

Jungkook let out a quiet breath, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand unconsciously. His gaze stayed forward, unfocused.

“You could… say that,” he muttered. “Wasn’t exactly peaceful, but… yeah.”

Y/n tilted her head slightly, studying him from where she rested against him. She could feel it — the tension still sitting in his body, the way his arm around her wasn’t as relaxed as it usually was after she’d asked.

“Kook…” she said gently.

He hummed in response, low, almost distracted. She shifted then, pulling away from his side just enough to turn. Her whole body angled toward him, legs tucked under slightly as she faced him properly now. His arm slipped off her shoulders in the process, and for a split second, he missed the warmth before he adjusted, resting his hand on his thigh instead.

“You promised you wouldn’t avoid me,” she said, her tone still soft but firmer now, grounding. “And that doesn’t just mean disappearing… physically. It also means when something’s going on up here—” she tapped lightly at his temple, “—you don’t just deal with it alone.”

Jungkook huffed quietly, the corner of his lips twitching. “Bossy,” he murmured.

“I’m serious,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You don’t get to fall for me and then shut me out when things get messy. That’s not how this works.”

That hit harder than he expected.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah… I remember,” he said, quieter.

“Mhm.” She held his gaze. “So tell me. What happened?”

Jungkook looked at her for a second, then away again, jaw tightening slightly as he leaned back into the couch.

“I…” He paused, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, his fingers tapping once against his thigh.

God, he wasn’t used to this shit.

“My mom… tried to get me to stay for dinner,” he said finally. “Kept insisting. I… didn’t.”

Y/n’s expression softened. “Can I ask why?” she said gently. “Or is that one of those things you’re still figuring out how to say?”

He let out a breath. She leaned a little closer, her hand naturally finding his again where it rested on his thigh, her fingers slipping between his. Jungkooks eyes dropped to their hands for a second.

“Jungkook—if you’re not comfortable yet, you do—”

“My mom was a drunk.”

The words came out blunt, flat.

Y/n didn’t react immediately. Not a flinch, no rushed sympathy. She just listened, her thumb slowly brushing over his knuckles. And that made it easier.

“When my dad… died,” he continued, voice lower now, “she… wasn’t exactly there. Not in the way I needed her to be.” He shifted slightly, shoulders tensing before relaxing again.

“She’d come home late. Sometimes not at all. Always smelling like alcohol, barely making sense… asking me where my dad was like I could just fucking fix it for her.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

“She was pregnant with Seoyeon back then. I was nineteen,” he went on. “Tried to get her to stop drinking. She wouldn’t listen. I’d take the bottles, she’d go out and get more. Different day, same bullshit” His jaw clenched briefly before loosening again.

“She’d cry and ask for him over and over again,” he added, quieter now. “And I’d just stand there like an idiot, not knowing what the hell I was supposed to do.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I got tired,” he said, letting out a breath. “Not even angry. Just… fucking exhausted.” His voice nearly cracked. “After Seoyeon was born and I turned twenty, I left. Stayed with Namjoon for a bit, then got my own place. That was it.”

A small pause.

“I still go back sometimes,” he added. “But only for Seoyeon.”

Y/n nodded slightly, her thumb still moving gently against his skin which Jungkook found comforting, thank goodness.

“I couldn’t let her grow up thinking she had no one,” he said. “Not knowing her dad already is bad enough. I didn’t want her thinking her brother disappeared too.”

Silence settled between them, softer this time.

“You know that makes you a really good brother, right?” she said.

Jungkook huffed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I try.”

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “You do more than that. You show up. Even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it hurts—you still go back for her. That’s what matters.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped again, something in his chest tightening and loosening at the same time.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Y/n shifted closer without thinking, fingers resting on his cheek gently. Her touch was warm and grounding, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin.

“And I’m really proud of you,” she added softly.

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. His brows pulled together slightly.

“For what?”

“For not shutting me out just now,” she said. “For actually telling me instead of… brushing it off with some dumb excuse. That’s huge for you, Kook.”

A small smile crept onto his face, slow and real.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Hyping me up for doing the bare minimum.”

“Uh, excuse you,” she scoffed lightly. “For you, that’s not bare minimum. That’s character development.”

He snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

That pulled a soft laugh out of him, the tension in his shoulders easing, his chest finally feeling like it wasn’t packed so tight. And somewhere in that moment, things shifted.

They were close already, but now it felt different. His gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have. Her hand was still on his cheek. Their faces too close. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to her lips before returning to her eyes slowly. His hand moved almost on instinct, sliding from his thigh back to her waist where his fingers curved slightly as he pulled her closer into him again like he didn’t want that distance from earlier.

“Y/n…” he murmured, voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in just a little more. She was intrigued. Their noses nearly brushed. He swallowed, searching her face like he needed permission even though the way she was looking at him already gave it.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” he said softly with an almost unbelievable huff while pushing back the fronts of her hair behind her ear.

Y/n’s expression softened instantly, something warm blooming wide in her chest. She felt as though an infection was spreading gradually. Her hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck. Her fingers feeling warmth.

“You let me in,” she whispered. “That’s enough.”

And that was it. Jungkook closed the distance. The kiss was soft, careful, like he was still figuring out how to hold something this gentle without breaking it. Jungkook’s lips moved slowly against hers. It was far more loving from their first kiss with the sync of their lips puckering against one another.

Y/n melted into it. Almost immediately actually. Her hand tightened slightly at the back of his neck as she leaned closer, her body fitting against his again. Jungkook’s back softly hit the couch. His grip on her waist tightened, just a little, pulling her flush against him. His hands, always so sure when wrapped around a steering wheel, the feeling felt almost similar when sliding up her sides, fingertips tracing the dip of her waist like he was mapping her. The kiss deepened naturally, unhurried but heavier now, carrying everything Jungkook didn’t know how to say out loud. And for the first time that night, his head was quiet.

The kiss didn’t break. It was a mere shift. What started soft and careful intensified. Their lips brushing again and again like neither of them really wanted to be the one to pull away.

Y/n felt his breath hitch when she swung her leg over him, settling into the heat between his thighs. Her knees pressed into the worn cushion beside his thigh. The couch groaned under them, the sound muffled against the mix of Jungkook’s quiet exhale and lip smacking sounds. Jungkook’s thumb pressed lightly into her waist as he tilted his head just slightly, deepening it without rushing and making Y/n let out a quiet breath into his mouth. Their noses bumped faintly, a small, clumsy thing that made the moment feel even more real. His palms smoothed up her back, fingertips pressing into the notches of her spine before drifting lower. The moment his hands cupped her ass, squeezing just enough to pull a gasp from her.

“Shit—Kook,” she sighed, hot.

Jungkook laughed — a soft, breathless sound that vibrated against her mouth.

“My bad,” he murmured, lips grazing hers as he spoke. “You just—mhm” He didn’t finish, just let his words melt into Y/n’s lips when his found hers again.

“You’re slowly making me go crazy, Y/n…” Jungkook whispered. Then, a quick peck before Y/n parted their lips again on his.

"Take me to your bedroom," Y/n whispered against his mouth, the words barely audible, more breath than sound.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to watch her face — her pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his kisses — but there was that flicker of hesitation in his grip, the way his fingers flexed against her hips like he was holding himself back.

This was rare. For him at least.

"You sure?" he asked, voice rough, thumb brushing the curve of her waistband like he was trying to assure her that speed wasn’t what he needed now. Only her.

"Fuck—yes, I'm sure," she murmured all breathy, and that was all it took.

His arms locked around her thighs as he stood in one fluid motion, her legs wrapping around his waist like she'd done it a thousand times before. A soft giggle slipping from her swollen lips. The couch creaked in the process as he stepped away, but neither of them noticed, now again too busy chasing each other's mouths like they were drowning in the taste of one another.

Jungkook's bedroom was dim, the only light slipping in from the half-closed blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets as he carelessly kicked the door shut behind them. He laid her down gently — something that was uncommon for him. Girls loved it when he’d push them down or throw their small figures while he towers.

No. Jungkook didn’t want to treat Y/n like that. His big hands were there, bracing Y/n’s back and thigh like she was a porcelain doll that could shatter easily. Y/n felt her plush thighs sinking into the cushy mattress while still having the warmth of her lovers’ lips on hers. Jungkook pulled back slightly. He gazed into her eyes with pure concern and was it… love?

"Still good?" he asked, and god, the way his voice sounded hot on those two words nearly undid her.

Y/n reached up to curl her fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss. Her lips twitched upward.

"Stop thinking so much," she breathed, dipping her brows toward her nose and not breaking eye contact. “Thought you’d be more confident considering hooking up is your specialty.” She giggled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes so hard she could practically hear it, but before she could tease him further, he shut her up by carrying her further onto the bed and then plummeted a kiss — messy at first, all teeth and breathless laughter, then deeper when his tongue slid against hers in a slow, deliberate drag that made her toes curl and legs brushing his sides.

“Confidence isn’t the fucking issue,” he muttered against her mouth before trailing his lips down her chin and towards exposed shoulder, teeth grazing skin just hard enough to pull a gasp from her.

“It’s you.” His voice was wrecked, like the admission had been dragged out of him.

“You’re…” He didn’t finish, just pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of her throat, his breath hot and unsteady against her pulse.

Y/n arched into him. “I’m what?” she challenged, breathless.

Jungkook laughed, a low, rough sound. “A goddamn distraction.”

His hands slid under her top, palms skating up her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts in a way that made her shudder. His lips started nipping at her collarbone.

“Always fucking thinking about you when I should be focused on the road.”

She’d expected slick arrogance — something practiced or easy. Not this raw, clumsy honesty. It made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t name, like her ribs were too tight for her heart.

Jungkook's fingers hesitated before they curled into the hem of her black off-the-shoulder top. His knuckles brushing against the warm skin of her stomach as he peeled it up slowly. So slow, she could feel the fabric drag against her ribs, her waist, and the swell of her clothed breasts before finally slipping over her head. The heaving of Y/n’s chest was now more intense and obvious. Just the curve of her cleavage could’ve genuinely cause Jungkook to lose his balance atop of her. His hot breath ragged.

"Tell me," he murmured, "if you want me to stop."

The admission hung between them—uncharacteristically cautious for someone who'd built a reputation on not caring. Y/n traced the tense line of his jaw, the way his teeth clenched like he was holding himself back by sheer willpower alone.

"No…” she whispered, eyes pouring into his. Jungkook gulped. “Don’t stop.”

Y/n smashed her lips onto Jungkook’s while she reached back, arching a little to unclasp her black, strapless, satin bra before throwing it behind Jungkook to which he didn’t bother to watch it being discarded. He had his attention on something else now.

Without taking her eyes off his face, she guided his hands higher until his palms cupped her bare breasts. Jungkook’s gaze followed the entire way up. His thumbs circling her nipples in slow, maddening strokes as his fingers regained its memory of kneading a woman’s breast.

“Holy—fuuck…” His hips jerked against hers involuntarily. His eyes found hers again.

“Touch me however you want… I’m yours.”

Her claim got the man grinning like an idiot.

Now with his usual confidence and natural instincts kicking back in, his head dived down to one of Y/n’s boobs, sucking the nipple as the cold metal of his piercing sent chills down Y/n spine. His inked hand cups the other side and played with it like a stress ball. His thumb flickering its tip from time to time. Y/n’s fingers clamped strands of his messy hair. Her head tilts back as a low moan came out of her.

“Fuck, baby. Love these perky tits.” He groaned while squishing them. Another moan slipping from Y/n’s lips.

Jungkook’s mouth was quick to move to the other side and repeated the same thing. Y/n’s nipples were now all glistening with saliva and red from Jungkook’s harsh tugging.

As much as Jungkook enjoyed Y/n’s breasts, there was more waiting.

“Take your pants off,” he commanded. Y/n followed, her fingers already unfastening the button of her jeans and tugging them down before kicking it off her feet.

Jungkook slowly pushed himself off of her, eyes not leaving hers. By the time Y/n’s bottoms were off, she was in time to see Jungkook reaching back to pull his sweater off over his head.

Holy shit did he look like he was built by the bare hands of a greek god. His chiselled but subtle abs looked like they were permanent dents. Y/n was desperate to rake her hands down them and maybe — no — definitely lick them.

As if Jungkook could read Y/n’s mind, he crawled back on top of her and took her hand towards his intricate abs and let them drag downwards. She could feel the lines and muscles that felt more like stone beneath her palm. A breathy laugh came out from her.

“Like’em?”

“Fucking obsessed,” she whispered shaking her head, ridiculed.

His mouth found its way back to hers. Meanwhile, his fingers got busy with his own jeans. They couldn’t see it, but the sounds of buttons popping and fabric moving was enough to know that Jungkook and Y/n were left in their underwear. Jungkook immediately attended to Y/n’s underwear, tugging them down. When the fabric finally gave way, Jungkook exhaled, his gaze dragging down her body with something akin to reverence.

"Christ," he breathed, fingertips skating over the dip of her navel, the sharp jut of her hipbones.

"You're fucking unreal." The words weren't practiced flirtation, they tumbled out rough. Y/n arched into his touch, chasing the heat of his palms as they mapped her thighs.

He didn't rush. Every brush of his lips was deliberate. The way he nipped down her inner thigh before soothing it with his tongue, the agonizingly slow drag of his teeth along her sensitive skin. When his mouth finally found her in between her legs, wet and hot and devastatingly patient, Y/n's back bowed off the mattress with a choked cry. Jungkook chuckled against her, the vibration shooting straight to her core.

"Easy," he murmured, hands splaying across her hips to pin her down. "I got you."

Jungkook’s mouth was unhurried, his tongue tracing patterns that made her thighs tremble, his hands anchoring her hips to the mattress with a grip just shy of bruising. There was nothing rushed about the way he tasted her. No hurried, practiced motions like she’d expected from someone with his reputation. Instead, he lingered, as if savouring and memorizing the way she gasped when he sucked just right. The way her fingers twisted in his hair when he dragged his teeth lightly over her skin. It was maddening but it was also perfect. His breaths were uneven against her skin, his shoulders tense like he was holding himself back from devouring her whole.

“Jungkook…” When she whimpered his name, his grip tightened, a ragged groan vibrating through him as if her pleasure was something sacred, something worth worshiping.

The moment Jungkook's tongue dragged slow and deliberate over her clit, Y/n's vision blurred white at the edges.

“Kook—aggh!” His name tore from her throat, raw and shattered, as he curled two fingers inside her with a twist that had her thighs clamping around his head.

He didn't stop — couldn't stop — not when she arched into him with a whimper that sounded more like a plea than anything else. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, each flick of his tongue sending sparks up her spine until she was trembling, her fingers twisted so tight in his hair it had to hurt. He groaned against her like he loved it.

"Fuck—Jungkook—" Her voice broke on a gasp when he sucked just right, the pressure building so fast she couldn't think or breathe.

His fingers crooked deeper, stroking that spot inside her with a precision that felt criminal, and she swore she saw stars.

"I can't—I'm gonna—" The words dissolved into a moan so loud, she barely recognized her own voice.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to smirk up at her, his lips glistening, his pupils blown black with want.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice rough, breath hot against her skin.

"Then cum for me." And then his mouth was on her again, lips sealing over her clit as his fingers pumped faster and harder.

She shattered. The orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, her back bowing off the bed as she cried out, her thighs shaking around his shoulders. Jungkook didn't let up, drawing out every last second of it until she was wrung out, her chest heaving. Only then did he finally lift his head, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh since he couldn't bear to pull away completely.

Jungkook didn’t move, just stayed there, kneeling between her thighs with his lips still pressed to her skin, his breaths hot and uneven. Y/n’s chest rose and fell in small gasps, her fingers slackening in his hair but not letting go. His tongue dragged one last slow, lazy stroke up her slit, and she whimpered, oversensitive but still arching into him, still wanting.

"Ngmhm," Jungkook hummed against her, his voice rough with amusement and something darker, something hungry. He kissed her inner thigh again, then higher, his lips trailing up to the crease of her hipbone.

"You gonna let me take my time with you, or are you gonna rush me?"

Y/n huffed a laugh, breathless and wrecked. "Says the guy who races for a living."

Jungkook grinned, all sharp edges and sinful intent, before dipping his head back between her legs. This time, he didn’t tease. Just licked into her with a groan that vibrated against her skin. Jungkook’s tongue was a sin all its own — broad and hot and relentless, lapping at her like he had all the time in the world. Y/n’s head thudded back against the pillow, her thighs trembling as his mouth worked her open, slow and filthy and relentless. Every flick of his tongue and every suck at her clit had her gasping his name like a prayer. He didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. Just hummed against her, the vibration making her gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as he took her apart like he knew every inch of her body better than she did.

"God—Kook," she moaned, voice cracking as his lips sealed around her clit, sucking just hard enough to make her thighs shake. His fingers, still slick from inside her, traced lazy circles on her hip, teasing, possessive. Like he wanted her to feel every second of this, to remember exactly who was ruining her.

"That’s it," he murmured, breath hot against her inner thigh before dragging his mouth back up, tongue flattening against her in one slow, filthy stroke. "Let me hear you."

She did. Loudly. Her moans spilled unchecked, ragged and broken as he worked her toward the edge again, his lips and tongue and fingers all moving in perfect, devastating rhythm. Every suck, every twist of his fingers inside her was calculated, like he’d mapped out every way to wreck her and was determined to try them all.

Jungkook’s tongue traced slow, deliberate circles around her clit, the pressure just shy of unbearable, and Y/n’s fingers clenched in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against her. The sound vibrated through her, sending another wave of pleasure crashing up her spine. She gasped, thighs trembling as he sucked lightly, then harder, alternating until she was writhing beneath him, her breaths coming in ragged pants.

"Fuck—Jungkook!" Her voice broke on a moan as he slid two fingers back inside her, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made her vision blur. His lips sealed around her clit again, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, and she arched off the bed with a cry, her hips lifting helplessly into his mouth. He didn’t let up, didn’t give her a second to recover, just kept driving her higher.

She could feel him watching her, his dark eyes flicking up to catch every twitch of her expression, every gasp that spilled from her lips. There was something unbearably intimate in the way he studied her, like he was memorizing the way she fell apart just for him. When her thighs started shaking uncontrollably, he eased off slightly, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh before dragging his tongue back up in one long, slow stroke.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal, his breath hot against her skin. "So fucking perfect like this." His fingers curled deeper, and she whined, oversensitive but still craving more, still arching into his touch. He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through her.

“Argh—love it when you fall apart like this for me.” Jungkook growled huskily.

Y/n’s fingers tightened in Jungkook’s hair, tugging him up before he could tease her further. His lips were slick with her, his breathing ragged, and she didn’t give him a second to protest just crushed her mouth to his, tasting herself on his tongue. He hummed into the kiss, his body shuddering as her free hand slid down his chest, fingertips tracing the hard lines of his abs before dipping lower, brushing the strained fabric of his jeans.

Jungkook whimpered against her lips — a broken, breathless sound that sent heat spiraling through her. His hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the friction of her touch, and she could feel the way his entire body tensed like he was barely holding himself together. She palmed him through his pants, feeling the thick length of him straining against the denim, and he shuddered, his kiss turning messy, desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

“Fuck,” he gasped when she flicked open the button of his jeans, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. His cock jumped in her hand, hot and heavy, and his forehead dropped to hers as she stroked him once, slow and teasing.

“Y/n—a—ahh..” His voice cracked, his breath coming in ragged bursts and she could feel the way his thighs trembled, the way his entire body tensed under her touch.

She kissed him again, swallowing his moans. Her thumb swiping over the slick head of him before she tightened her grip just slightly, twisting her wrist on the upstroke the way she knew would make him unravel. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, his fingers tightening on her skin hard enough to leave marks. He broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his forehead pressing against hers as his breath came in short, uneven pants.

With one fluid motion, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and shoved them down, kicking them off somewhere behind him.

The air between them crackled, thick with anticipation, as her fingers finally wrapped around him fully, skin to skin. He was hot and heavy in her palm, his pulse thudding visibly beneath her touch. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his lashes fluttering as he bit down on a groan, his hips twitching forward again.

“Ahh shit,” he breathed as her thumb swiped over the head of him, smearing the slickness there. His fingers tightened on her waist, nails digging into her skin.

His mouth crashed back into hers, messy and desperate, but then — just as suddenly — he pulled back, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently before releasing it. His eyes, dark and liquid with want, locked onto hers, unblinking. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, her grip tightening reflexively around him.

Jungkook pulled away from her grip reluctantly, his fingers trailing down her thigh as he leaned over the edge of the bed toward the nightstand. The drawer rattled when he yanked it open, his breathing still uneven. His muscles taut with restraint. Y/n watched the flex of his shoulders as he rummaged inside, the dim light catching the sweat-slicked curve of his shoulder before he straightened with a foil packet pinched between his fingers.

Her hand shot out before he could tear it open, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Jungkook stilled, brow furrowing as he glanced down at her until she tugged his arm back toward her, shaking her head once.

His breath caught. The smirk that curled his lips was slow, dangerous, his eyes darkening with understanding.

"You naughty model," he rasped, the word rough with disbelief and something hotter, hungrier.

The condom hit the floor, forgotten, as Jungkook surged forward, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that tasted like recklessness and salt. His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly . Her legs fell open wider for him. He groaned against her lips when the tip of his cock brushed against her, already slick from his mouth. Y/n shuddered at the contact, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Jungkook didn’t push in. Not yet. Instead, he rocked forward just enough to tease, the head of his cock dragging through her wetness in slow, torturous strokes, catching on her clit with every other pass.

Y/n inhaled a sharp breath, her hips jerking up instinctively but he held her down with one broad hand splayed across her stomach, his grip firm but not unkind.

"Easy," he murmured, his voice wrecked, his smirk softening into something almost tender as he watched her face.

"You want it like this? Then let me fucking savor you. Feel your walls wrap around my bare cock." Jungkook growled, his voice rough with restraint as he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching her inch by torturous inch.

Y/n's fingers dug into his biceps, her breath hitching as he filled her slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring the way her body yielded to his. She gasped when he bottomed out, her thighs trembling around his hips, her nails biting into his skin.

"Fuck—you're big," she yelped, her voice breaking on a moan as she tilted her hips, trying to take him deeper.

Jungkook groaned, his forehead dropping to hers, his breath hot against her lips.

"You feel—" His voice cracked, his hips twitching forward involuntarily, and she whimpered, oversensitive but arching into him anyway.

"Fuck, Y/n, you feel perfect." He dragged his lips along her jaw, his teeth grazing her pulse point before he sucked lightly, marking her in a way that sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

When he pulled back to look at her, his dark eyes were nearly black with want, his pupils blown wide. "You okay?" he rasped, his thumb brushing over her hipbone, his touch achingly gentle despite the way his body trembled with restraint.

Y/n nodded, biting her lip as she rolled her hips experimentally, drawing a choked groan from him. "M-move," she breathed, her voice shaking.

"Please—Jungkook, move."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Jungkook’s hips snapped forward, driving into her with a sharp, deep thrust that punched a moan from her lungs. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he set a punishing pace, his grip on her hips tight enough to bruise. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with her whimpers and his ragged breaths, the headboard rattling against the wall with every snap of his hips.

Jungkook swore under his breath, his rhythm faltering for a moment when she clenched around him.

"Jesus—you’re gonna kill me," he gritted out, his forehead dropping to hers again, his breath hot and uneven against her lips. His thrusts slowed, growing deeper, more deliberate, each one dragging against that spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

“A-ahghh Jungkook!” She gasped his name.

"Louder," he demanded roughly, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

"Let me hear you."

And when she did — when she moaned his name like a prayer, her voice breaking on every other syllable — he groaned like it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

His mouth crashed into hers, swallowing her cries as his hips pistoned faster, harder. His cock hitting that spot inside her with every thrust until she was writhing beneath him, her nails raking down his back.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to watch her face, his dark eyes tracing every flicker of pleasure that crossed her features.

"Y/n…" he panted, his voice wrecked, his hips never stopping their relentless pace.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, barely, her lashes heavy as she tried to focus on him. Her breathing came in soft, uneven pulls, chest rising against his.

Y/n stilled for a moment, her brows pulling together slightly, something aching in her chest at the way he said it. Not as a demand, not even a question… just fear laid bare.

Her hands came up instinctively, cupping his face, grounding him there. Her thumbs brushed gently along his cheeks, slow and steady.

“Please…”

“I won’t,” she said, shaking her head slightly, her fingers tightening just a little against his skin.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh under it, like he didn’t quite believe how he got this lucky, his forehead dipping closer to hers for a second before he leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers.

"Cum for me.”

His hand slid between them, his thumb brushing over her clit in quick, firm circles, and that was all it took.

“Mhmp—shit—I’m close!” Y/n shattered with a cry, her back bowing off the bed as the orgasm ripped through her, her vision whiting out at the edges.

Jungkook groaned her name, his hips stuttering as her walls clenched around him, his thrusts growing erratic.

"Fuck, Y/n!" His voice cracked, his fingers digging into her hips as he chased his own release, his rhythm falling apart.

Jungkook's hips stuttered against hers, his rhythm unraveling as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. The moment he felt her clench around him — wet and pulsing — his breath tore from his lungs in a ragged gasp.

"Fuck—fuck—" His fingers dug into her waist, hard enough to bruise, his entire body trembling with restraint.

With a sharp inhale, he wrenched himself out of her, his cock slick and glistening. The sudden loss of heat made him groan, but he didn't stop —couldn't stop.

His fist wrapped around himself in one rough stroke. Jungkook’s release hit her skin in hot, long, uneven stripes. His low grunts muffled against the curve of her neck as his body shuddered through the aftershocks. His breath came ragged, his forehead pressed to her collarbone like he couldn’t bear to lift his head just yet. Y/n watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his muscles trembled with exhaustion and lingering pleasure, his fingers still gripping her hip like she might slip away if he let go. She traced idle circles on his sweat-slicked back, her own heartbeat slow and satisfied.

The air smelled like salt and sex, the quiet between them thick with breathes slowing down. Jungkook exhaled sharply against her skin, then lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. His pupils were still blown wide, his lips swollen from kissing her, and the sight sent a lazy thrill through her.

“Messy,” she murmured, nodding toward the sticky heat cooling on her stomach.

Jungkook chuckled against her lips, a breathless, boyish sound that made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the aftershocks still humming through her body.

“Sorry bout that. Couldn’t cum inside.” He smiled. His nose bumped hers when he pulled back slightly, their breaths mingling in the quiet between them.

“Not yet,” he suddenly added making Y/n weakly push his shoulder with her palm.

"How are you?" he murmured, voice rough like gravel but softer than she'd ever heard it — like he wasn't just asking about the sex, but about her.

Y/n combed her fingers through the damp strands of hair at the nape of his neck, her other arm looped loosely around his shoulders.

"I loved it," she admitted, watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

He dipped his head to kiss her again, slower this time, lingering like he was memorizing the taste of her. She could feel the lazy drag of his lips curving into another grin when she sighed into it, her fingers tightening in his hair. Jungkook pulled back just enough to nudge her leg with his, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you?"

She laughed, the sound bright and startled out of her, and Jungkook's grin widened like he'd won something. He shifted his weight onto one elbow, his free hand tracing idle patterns along her ribcage. The pads of his fingers were calloused from gripping steering wheels too tight, but the way they skimmed over her skin was almost reverent.

Jungkook’s lips curved against hers, the kiss dissolving into something breathless and giddy as their laughter mingled. Y/n’s arms tightened around his neck, her fingers threading through the damp strands at his nape while he nuzzled her cheek, his nose brushing hers in a way that felt stupidly, impossibly tender for someone who’d just fucked her into the mattress.

He pulled back again. This time, he couldn’t help his eyes. Like they had a mind of their own, they tracked down between their bodies, his gaze mostly on Y/n’s nudity.

"You’re staring," she murmured, thumbing away a bead of sweat near his temple.

"Can’t help it," he admitted, voice rough but warm, his gaze flicking over her face like he was cataloging every detail — the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks, the pink still high on her skin.

His thumb traced the curve of her bottom lip, slow, wondering. "You’re kinda breathtaking like this."

Y/n scoffed, but her chest did something stupidly fluttery. "Smooth talker."

Jungkook grinned, his lips brushing hers as he murmured, "Yeah?" like he couldn't quite believe it.

Jungkook’s lips trailed slow, unhurried kisses down her chest, each brush of his mouth warmer than the last. When he reached her nipples, he lingered — sucking lightly, then softer, his tongue swirling in a way that made her sigh and arch into him even though she was spent.

“I should hide my tits from you.”

His chuckle vibrated against her skin, affectionate and low, before he pressed one last kiss between her breasts like a silent promise.

“Please don’t,” he chuckled.

“But I highkey like this bra on you too,” he smirked. “Your tits pressed up like that…”

That made Y/n roll her eyes. Then, he reached for the tissues on the nightstand with a lazy stretch, his muscles flexing under her fingertips as she traced the ridges of his abs. The tissues were cool against her stomach where his release had dried, his touch careful as he wiped her clean. There was something unbearably tender in the way his fingers lingered afterward, tracing idle circles on her skin like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her.

When he tossed the tissues aside, Jungkook tugged her properly into the bed, his arms winding around her as he pulled the blanket up over their hips. Y/n curled into him instinctively, her head pillowed on his bicep, her fingers grazing the planes of his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady under her palm, his skin warm and slightly sticky with sweat, the scent of him — swear and something faintly sweet — filling her lungs.

Jungkook’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the lazy drag of his fingers through her hair.

Y/n’s eyelids grew heavy, her limbs melting into the mattress as the exhaustion of the night and the warmth of his body lulled her deeper into drowsiness. She fought it for a moment, wanting to savor this, him, but the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand was too soothing. Too safe.

Her fingers shifted slightly against him, not quite falling still yet.

“Jungkook…” she murmured, her voice soft, almost slurred with sleep.

He hummed in response, his hand pausing briefly in her hair before continuing, slower now.

“Promise me something,” she said quietly.

He glanced down at her, brows pulling together just slightly. He was already trying to figure out where this was going.

“What?” he asked, voice low, gentler now.

Her fingers stilled for a second before curling faintly against him.

“That you won’t push people away when you get scared…” she said, her gaze soft but steady despite the sleep tugging at her. A small pause. Then, quieter, more vulnerable, “At least… don’t push me.”

The words settled between them, heavier than they sounded.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. His hand slowed in her hair, fingers lingering as his gaze stayed on her, something unreadable flickering across his face. Not hesitation, just the weight of it. The reality of what she was asking.

Then his thumb brushed lightly against her arm.

“I promise,” he said.

Y/n’s lips curved just slightly at that, her eyes finally slipping shut, the tension she didn’t realise she was holding easing out of her. She felt more than heard his quiet chuckle when her fingers stilled against his skin, her breathing evening out.

“Sleep,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and something softer, his lips brushing her forehead.

His fingers combed through her hair once more, tucking a loose strand behind her ear before his palm settled at the small of her back, holding her close even as she drifted.

Y/n didn’t remember closing her eyes, but when she blinked them open again, just for a second, it was to the press of Jungkook’s lips against her forehead, lingering and warm.

Her lashes fluttered shut again. Jungkook exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her bare shoulder as he watched her sleep. The streetlight outside cast a faint glow through the curtains, painting her skin in gold and shadow, her lashes dark against her cheeks. He brushed his thumb over the curve of her shoulder, marveling at the warmth of her, the way her breath hitched slightly when he touched the dip of her waist.

Carefully, he shifted onto his side, pulling her closer until her head rested in the crook of his arm, her leg hooked over his thigh. Her warmth seeped into him, her scent filling his lungs too. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in, his lips curving against her scalp when she mumbled something incoherent and nuzzled closer.

What the hell had she done to him?

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

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THE APEX ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

“…And then ‘What’s in My Bag’ with Vogue, followed by the Victoria’s Secret show in New York first thing next month.”

Mr. Solin’s voice bounced cleanly off the white corridor walls as he walked, brisk and purposeful, shoes clicking like a metronome. Y/N followed a half step behind him, posture straight out of muscle memory rather than energy. Her team trailed after them, a loose cluster trying—and failing—to match his pace. Jin nearly clipped someone’s heel.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, automatic. Polite. Neutral.

“Good.” Mr. Solin stopped abruptly and turned, clapping his hands once. The sound cracked through the hall. Y/n smiled on cue. Soft, sweet, just enough teeth. The kind of smile that had gotten her booked and forgiven.

“So glad to have you back, Ms. Y/n.” He dipped his head briefly before pivoting and striding toward his office, already halfway gone. That was the signal. The team began to scatter—assistants peeling off, stylists murmuring to one another, phones already back in hands. The hallway emptied in seconds until it was just Jin and Y/n, standing in the leftover silence.

Her phone buzzed. She slipped it from her side pocket without thinking. Yoongi.

Not that she’d been expecting anyone else.

Jin noticed anyway.

“Y/n—” he started, then sighed. “Three interviews. Two fashion events. And a Victoria’s Secret runway?” He counted them off with his fingers like he was trying to convince himself he’d misheard.

“That’s like…all in two weeks till next month,” he added, worry sharpening his voice. “Isn’t that a little much?”

Y/n barely registered him, thumbs already moving.

“Y/n.”

“Huh?” She glanced up. Blinked. “What—yeah. No, it’s fine.” She waved him off vaguely, attention drifting straight back to the screen.

“I’ve…done worse,” she added, like an afterthought and tad bit distracted. “This shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jin clicked his tongue, unconvinced. He jabbed a finger toward the floor, stiff and irritated. “Yeah, but you’re traveling a lot this time. Different time zones, long flights—if you suddenly start complaining you’re jet-lagged, I swear, Y/n, I’m not go—”

“Jin.”

She finally looked at him properly. Chin lifted. Palm raised. Calm, but firm. “I need this,” she said. Then, quieter, more honest: “I’m too free.”

That shut him up. Jin exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. He hated that sentence. Hated how true it sounded.

Her phone buzzed again.

“Yoongi’s here,” Y/n said, already stepping back. She combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down out of habit. “I gotta go.”

“Y/n—”

“See ya!”

She was already walking away, heels striking the floor in clean, confident clicks. She didn’t look back. Her eyes stayed glued to her phone, thumbs flying as the hallway swallowed her footsteps whole.

Outside, the day hit her all at once—light too bright, air too sharp. Yoongi leaned against his car, arms crossed, expression carved into mild annoyance. The moment he spotted her, he straightened.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, opening the passenger door. “You trying to move back in there or what?”

She slid into the seat, sighing as soon as the door shut. “Missed you too.”

He snorted, starting the engine after settling in on the other side. “You eat?”

“Barely.”

“Figures.” He pulled out smoothly. “We’re grabbing dinner. Hoseok, Jimin and Marquise will be there.”

Y/n groaned, dropping her head back against the seat. “I look like shit.”

“You always say that,” Yoongi replied flatly. “And you’re always wrong.”

She smiled, small and tired, watching the city blur past the window as work—real work—settled back onto her shoulders like something familiar. Heavy. Necessary.

The car smelled like leather and iced coffee. Yoongi drove one-handed, elbow resting against the door, the other tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly as traffic crawled.

Y/n sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, phone balanced on her thigh. Her calendar was open—blocks of color stacked too close together, like someone had played Tetris a little too aggressively with her life.

“So,” Yoongi said, eyes still on the road. “You free Thursday?”

She hummed, distracted, thumb scrolling. “Mm…define free.”

“Dad’s gonna be gone on a short business trip,” he said. “He thought it’d be good for us to actually hang out. You know. Sibling time. Like the old days, except we’re older and more tired.”

Y/n smiled faintly. “You’re always tired.”

“Occupational hazard. I’m going to be running a goddamn company soon, okay?”

“You’re already running an illegal racing gang. Shouldn’t get harder than that…”

He cleared his throat. “I was thinking maybe we do something big. Four days. Brazil?”

That finally got her attention. She paused, blinking. “Brazil?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “We’ve never been. Thought it’d be…nice. Chill at the beach, have some street food, no work emails—”

“I’ll be in Japan,” she said gently, already shaking her head. Her thumb kept moving. “And then L.A. right after.”

Yoongi glanced at her, then back at the road. “Thursday?”

“Thursday and Friday,” she confirmed. “Tokyo first. Red eye to L.A. after.”

He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Jesus.”

Y/n turned her head toward him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. Then, after a beat, “That’s…a lot.”

She shrugged, nonchalant on the surface. “It’s fine.”

They stopped at a red light. The city reflected off the windshield—billboards—some of Y/n’s—, brake lights, movement everywhere. Yoongi drummed his fingers once, then twice.

“So,” he said slowly. “You ended your break early.” Her thumb stilled. The light turned green. He drove on. “I thought you said six months,” he continued. “You barely made it past half.”

Y/n stared at her screen, but she wasn’t really seeing it anymore. The calendar blurred together—dates, flights, fittings, meetings.

“Yeah,” she said. “Plans change.”

“Mm.” Yoongi nodded. “So what’s the reason.”

She didn’t respond. He waited. He was good at that—waiting people out without making it obvious. He’d always been this quiet, observant, and annoyingly perceptive.

After a few seconds, he spoke again, softer this time. “Why’d you come back to work early?”

Y/n inhaled, exhaled. Her fingers tightened around her phone. Traffic slowed again. She didn’t answer.

Yoongi sighed, almost to himself. “Is it… that—”

“No,” she cut in quickly, too quickly. Her head snapped up, eyes forward. “It’s not that.”

He glanced at her, eyebrow raised but expression neutral. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

She swallowed. Her jaw tightened.

“I just…” Y/n leaned back against the seat, phone finally locking with a dull click. “The break was too long.”

“That’s it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t nod either. Just hummed quietly, like he was filing the answer away somewhere for later.

“You’ve never been bad at resting,” Yoongi said after a moment. “You’re bad at running.”

She scoffed softly. “Wow. Thanks, Dr. Min.”

“Anytime.” He smirked, then sobered. “Just saying. People don’t usually drown themselves in work unless they’re trying not to think.”

Y/n looked out the window now, watching the city pass. Her reflection stared back at her faintly—perfect hair, perfect makeup, eyes a little too alert.

“Well,” she said lightly, forcing it, “good thing thinking’s overrated.” Yoongi didn’t laugh.

The car rolled on, quiet settling between them—not uncomfortable, just heavy. Familiar. He reached over at the next stoplight and flicked her forehead.

“Ow,” she muttered.

“Thursday’s still open if you cancel Japan,” he said. “Brazil’s not going anywhere.”

She smiled, small but real this time. “We’ll see.”

And that was the closest thing to an answer either of them got.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The waiter guided the siblings to their awaited table tucked into the far end of the restaurant, where—just like Yoongi had promised—Jimin, Hoseok, and Marquise were already sprawled out and waiting.

The place was predictably high-end. White tablecloths crisp enough to blind someone, low golden lighting, waiters in black-and-white uniforms balancing absurdly large circular trays against their shoulders like it was second nature. Soft jazz floated through the space, stitched together with the low hum of rich people gossiping, forks scraping porcelain, wine glasses chiming every now and then. Not unfamiliar territory for the Min siblings. If anything, it felt automatic.

The waiter bowed slightly, one arm extended toward the three already seated as if presenting them. It was a round table, wrapped with built-in velvet seating that curved along the wall, intimate in a way that made conversations feel closer than intended.

Yoongi slid in first, Y/n settling opposite him at the end of the curve. Marquise next to her, then Jimin, and Hoseok took smack centre, long legs stretching out comfortably like he owned the place.

“Finally you guys are here,” Jimin said immediately, eyes wide as he leaned back in his chair, dramatic as ever. “I haven’t eaten shit since this morning.”

“Yeah—well,” Hoseok laughed, slapping Jimin’s shoulder, “good thing it was Yoongi’s idea to have a late lunch. If it weren’t for him, we’d be eating kimbap outside a Family Mart right now.”

Jimin shot him a sharp glare. “I would’ve been fine with that.”

Yoongi chuckled, shrugging as he leaned back against the velvet. “You say that now, but five minutes in you’d be crying about stale onigiri.”

“So,” she said, leaning forward with both palms pressed against the edge of the table, eyes flicking to Yoongi. “You’re really paying for lunch today?”

Yoongi raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marquise grinned. “Nothing. Just wanted to hear you say it.” She nodded once. “Richie Rich...”

“Don’t get used to it,” Yoongi replied dryly. “This is just a one-time thing.”

Menus were passed around, though no one really looked at them for long. Plates were ordered with reckless confidence—at least ten dishes for five people—Yoongi barely blinking as he confirmed everything. Soon enough, the table blended into the restaurant’s hum, laughter and overlapping voices folding into one another.

“No—she literally backed up and fucking crashed her car into theirs,” Jimin wheezed, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. He leaned halfway onto Yoongi, eyes squeezed shut. “Like—no hesitation.”

“It was my first time attending a race,” Marquise muttered, leaning toward Y/n but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t mind him.” She rolled her eyes at Jimin. “I was nervous.”

“Nervous my ass,” Hoseok snorted, pointing at her. “Mar, you’re lucky it wasn’t Jungkook’s car. He would’ve rammed you straight into the barrier.”

The name landed heavier than it should’ve. Y/n’s breath caught—just barely—but enough.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Jimin added easily, already spiraling. “Because he literally asked her out that night.”

Laughter erupted again, Hoseok nearly choking on air, Marquise groaning into her hands.

To anyone else, it was harmless. A dumb story. A name tossed around too casually like in a game of basketball. To Y/n, it felt like the conversation had veered off the road entirely. She reached up, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp, right where her neck met her hairline—a nervous habit she didn’t even register anymore. Her gaze dropped to the table, then to the stem of her water glass, fingers circling it once.

“Y—Y/n—hah!” Hoseok tried, still laughing, pointing at her with his fork. “Don’t tell me you don’t find that funny!”

She lifted her head a beat too late, lips pulling into a smile that felt more like she was stretching muscles she hadn’t used in a while. She shifted in her seat, subtly closer to Marquise. That was when Yoongi noticed. He frowned slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch as his gaze lingered on her longer than usual.

“Uh—well—”

“Here’s your beef Wellington, foie gras, Kobe beef,” the waiter interrupted smoothly, placing down plates one by one like a practiced ritual. “And the cacio e pepe and nonettes. I’ll be right back with your wine.”

The interruption landed perfectly.

The waiter disappeared, taking Hoseok’s unfinished sentence with him. Plates were pulled closer. Jimin stared down at the spread like it had personally offended him.

“Shit,” he muttered. “So this is what rich people eat.”

“You’re welcome,” Yoongi said dryly, already reaching for his cutlery.

As the conversation shifted—work gossip, race schedules, Hoseok ranting about some karen at his motor shop—Yoongi stayed quieter than usual, eyes flicking back to Y/n every now and then. She laughed when she was supposed to. Nodded at the right moments. Ate carefully, like food was an afterthought.

Their food slowly disappeared into their tummies, leaving behind only streaks of sauce and oil smeared across white porcelain. Forks rested lazily at the edge of plates now, conversations softer, fuller — the comfortable kind that came after good food. The wine bottles had noticeably lightened too, one already pushed aside like it had served its purpose.

Y/n was relieved the conversation never circled back to him. Instead, it drifted through stories she’d missed — inside jokes, half-finished sentences, moments from Yoongi’s life that had existed parallel to hers without ever intersecting. She found herself loosening up without realizing it, shoulders no longer tight, laughter coming easier. It felt…nice.

She was genuinely happy she’d finally gotten to know Yoongi’s friends after years of knowing about them but never really knowing them. There was something grounding about seeing Yoongi exist in this version of his life, one that didn’t feel so secret anymore.

“Y/n,” Marquise tilted her head, a lazy side-smile on her lips as she shook a box of cigarettes between her slender fingers. “Smoke a cig with me?”

Y/n blinked once, then twice — her lips curling slowly as she nodded. “Yeah—”

“Hey.”

Both their heads snapped toward Yoongi. He leaned forward, elbow planted on the table, one finger pointed accusingly at Marquise. “She’s not smoking shit with anyone.”

Marquise stared at him for a beat before scoffing. “Fuck off, Min. Your sister’s a grown adult.” She nodded emphatically with each word. “Let her live.”

Yoongi opened his mouth, then closed it, muttering something under his breath as Hoseok laughed into his glass. The girls didn’t wait around. They slipped out of the restaurant, the warm glow of the interior giving way to the cool night air outside. The city had fully settled into evening — couples walking hand in hand, clusters of friends laughing too loudly as they headed toward clubs, someone across the street already leaning against a pole like the world was spinning faster than expected.

The sharp click of Y/n and Marquise’s heels echoed against the pavement before they settled beside the brick wall of the restaurant. Marquise leaned back first, already pulling a cigarette from the box and slipping it between her lips. Her fingers flicked the lighter, flame dancing briefly before catching. She took a deep huff, shoulders relaxing almost instantly. Y/n watched her quietly. Marquise extended her hand, offering a cigarette. Y/n took it without hesitation.

It wasn’t her first time smoking. She’d done it enough to know the rhythm — the inhale, the pause, the slow release. She mirrored Marquise’s movements, the tip glowing softly before smoke spilled from her lips.

“You okay?” Marquise asked, softer now. One arm folded across her stomach, the other propped against her elbow as she studied Y/n.

Y/n took another puff, exhaling slowly. “Yeah,” she said after a beat. “I’m good.”

Marquise hummed, unconvinced. “You mentioned earlier you got back to work early. Why?” She pulled the cigarette back between her lips, eyes flicking up to the dark sky.

“Nothing,” Y/n shrugged, though it felt heavier than she meant it to. “Break was too long.” Their smoke collided briefly in the air. Y/n waved a hand, pushing it aside.

Marquise watched her closely before asking, “Does it have to do with Jungkook?”

Y/n’s gaze snapped toward her, brows pulling together sharply. “No—what? Why does everyone think that…?”

“Because that shit show you two pulled that Friday…wasn’t nothing,” Marquise replied easily, lips tugging into a knowing smile.

Y/n took another puff, longer this time. She stared straight ahead, not really interested in carrying the conversation forward. The silence stretched. Marquise’s smile faded just a little.

“There’s nothing wrong, you know…” she said quietly, legs shifting as she crossed her ankles. “With…liking him.”

“Woah—I did not…say anything about liking him.” Y/n scoffed dryly, lifting the hand holding her cigarette like she needed to physically stop that thought from existing.

Marquise laughed. “Not that kind of like.” She shook her head. “I meant just as a person.” A pause, then a shrug. “I should be the one embarrassed. I fucked him with no feelings.” She chuckled lightly, taking another drag.

Y/n stared at her. She knew there was nothing inherently wrong with liking someone as a person. But there were a million reasons why liking him — in any capacity — felt like a bad idea.

He’d made her feel stupid. Small. Like she’d imagined things that were never there to begin with. He’d given her attention that lingered just long enough to be missed, pulled her in just enough to make her crave more.

Nobody likes that.

“I don’t like him at all,” Y/n said firmly. Smoke slipped from her mouth as she spoke.

Marquise studied her, eyes softening — not judgmental, not teasing this time. Just… observant.

“Okay,” she said gently, tapping ash onto the pavement. “Then I’ll believe you.”

She leaned back against the wall again, letting the night swallow the conversation for now. “Just don’t let me catch you in his arms—” she said calmly, almost teasing, “—if you’re just gonna lie to me like that.”

She took another drag, then softened — lips lifting into something gentler as she looked at Y/n. Not accusatory. Comforting.

Y/n huffed out a quiet breath, eyes dropping to the pavement. “You won’t,” she muttered. “Promise.”

Marquise watched her for a moment longer, then nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “Good. Because I don’t like seeing girls pretend they’re fine when they’re not.”

Y/n let out a breathy laugh, the kind that barely counted. She flicked ash away, cigarette burning down faster than she’d realized.

“I am fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Mm,” Marquise hummed. “Sure you are.”

They stood there in companionable silence, the city filling in the gaps — cars passing, distant laughter, music leaking faintly from somewhere down the street. Y/n finally crushed the cigarette under her heel, twisting it until the glow died out. Marquise followed suit a second later.

“C’mon,” she said, pushing off the wall. “Before your brother comes out here and lectures me about corrupting you.” Y/n smiled — small, but real this time — and nodded, turning back toward the restaurant doors.

Whatever she was running from, it wasn’t catching up to her just yet.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Y/n padded into the kitchen barefoot, the mansion dim except for the bluish glow bleeding in from the living room. The fridge light flicked on with a soft hum as she reached in, fingers curling around a cold bottle of water. Her head was still foggy, the kind of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from thinking too much.

Behind her, the TV murmured—some late-night talk show channel Yoongi liked to leave on for background noise. He sat on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. From the way his fingers moved across the keyboard, he wasn’t really watching the screen at all.

“Ms Y/n.” Y/n turned. Yeongmi stood in the hallway, holding something up with two fingers like it might bite her.

A black hoodie.

Her stomach dropped before her brain could catch up. It was unmistakable. Oversized. Worn soft at the cuffs. The faintest crease at the bottom. Even from across the kitchen, Y/n knew exactly what it was.

Yeongmi tilted her head. “Is this yours?”

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She was at loss for words. Didn’t really know why.

“I found it hanging on the back of your door,” Yeongmi continued. “I thought it was odd. You haven’t shopped lately, right? And I didn’t see any PR packages come in. I’ve never seen this hoodie before.”

Yoongi glanced up. His eyes flicked from the hoodie to Y/n’s face, then back again. He leaned back into the couch slightly, posture shifting—subtle, but she caught it.

“It’s…my friend’s,” Y/n said finally. Too quickly. She hated that. “I borrowed it.”

Yeongmi hummed, unconvinced but not pressing. “I figured. I washed it already,” she said, stepping closer and passing it to Y/n. “Used your favorite detergent. The one that smells like coconut.”

The fabric was warm. Still holding a trace of the laundry room heat, soft and clean and wrong in her hands. The scent hit her immediately—bright, familiar, clinging to something that absolutely smelt like it belongs in this mansion. It smelt like her now.

His hoodie. Smells like her.

“Thanks,” Y/n muttered.

Yeongmi smiled, oblivious. She bowed and then disappeared back down the hall, her slippers shuffling softly against the floor. The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Y/n stared at the hoodie, thumb rubbing absently over the seam near the pocket. Her grip tightened without her meaning to. For a split second, an image flashed—him leaning against the car door, leather jacket hiding his tattoos like it had always been part of him.

“Wow,” Yoongi said dryly. She flinched.

“You still hadn’t gotten rid of it?” he asked, eyes back on his laptop but jaw tight. His tone wasn’t loud. Just pathetic.

Y/n swallowed. “Uh…no.” She turned toward him, forcing a shrug as she bounced the hoodie once in her hand, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t weigh a fucking ton. “He wants it back. I’ll just get Marquise to return it.”

Yoongi’s fingers paused on the keyboard “Right,” he said slowly. “Like she’d want to be involved with him again.” He looked up at her this time, really looked. “You’ve had weeks, Y/n.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t—”

“I said I know.” Her voice came out sharper than intended. She exhaled and dragged a hand through her hair. “It’s just a hoodie, Yoongi.”

She leaned against the counter, hoodie folded over her forearm now, eyes fixed on the marble surface. “He asked for it back. That should be enough.”

“Did he?” Yoongi asked. It sounded more like a statement more than a question, like he wasn’t convinced.

Y/n didn’t answer. Instead, she folded the hoodie more neatly than required. Once. Twice. Each movement precise, careful. Like she was packing away something fragile.

Yoongi sighed. “You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are,” he said gently. “You ended a six-month break early. You’re snapping at everyone. And now you’re standing in the kitchen at midnight holding onto my enemy’s hoodie like it’s evidence.”

She laughed under her breath. “Jesus. You make it sound pathetic.”

“No, I’m just stating the fact.”

Y/n lifted her head, meeting his gaze. For a moment, something cracked—just slightly. But she masked it fast.

“I’ll return it,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow. Or…whenever. Through Marquise. Done.”

Yoongi studied her, then nodded once. “Okay.” He reopened his laptop. But as Y/n turned toward her room, hoodie tucked against her side, she knew—deep down—that returning it was never going to be that simple.

“No—what do you mean you can’t help me return it?” Y/n’s voice pitched higher despite herself.

On the other end, Marquise laughed, completely unbothered. “Babes. As much as I love you, I’m not in touch with him.”

“What do you mean you’re not in touch with him?” Y/n pressed, twisting the phone cordlessly between her fingers.

“I mean,” Marquise said, drawing it out, “I deleted his number the second he texted me that he’d dropped you off safely the night of the party. Closure. Growth. Self-respect, honey.” She snorted. “Why would I still be talking to my ex?”

Y/n groaned, sliding down her chair until her knees were tucked up to her chest. She pressed her forehead into her palm. “Of course you deleted it.”

“I’m proud of me too,” Marquise added lightly. “You should try it sometime.”

“Not helpful.”

“I’m being realistic,” Marquise said. “Besides, you’re acting like this is some life-or-death situation. It’s just a hoodie.”

“Right. Just a hoodie,” Y/n muttered.

There was a pause.

Marquise’s tone shifted, gentler now. “Look, if I had his contact, I’d help. But I don’t. And I’m not about to go digging around for a man I don’t associate with.”

Y/n exhaled, defeated. “Okay then. I’ll just…” Her gaze drifted to the end of her bed, where the hoodie sat folded neatly, black fabric stark against the pale wood. “…I’ll figure out a way.”

“Mhm,” Marquise hummed. “You always do.”

The call ended not long after—soft goodbyes, a promise to meet soon, nothing heavy said out loud.

Y/n let her phone fall onto the mattress beside her. Then she folded in on herself. Her forehead dropped to her knees, arms wrapping around them, breath shallow as the room settled into silence. The city hummed faintly outside her window, distant traffic, a siren far away. Life continuing like nothing was wrong.

She lifted her head and stared at the hoodie again. Clean. Washed. Smelling like her detergent now—coconut and something faintly floral. It shouldn’t still feel like his, but it did. It sat there like an unanswered question.

She let out a weak laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She couldn’t even deliver it. She didn’t know where the fuck he lived. Does he still show up at races? Is he even still in the gang? Would showing up look insane—or worse, intentional?

Her fingers curled into the comforter. Texting him felt like crossing a line she’d spent weeks convincing herself she hadn’t already crossed. Showing up in person felt worse. Too much. Too honest. Y/n reached out anyway, thumb brushing the fabric of the hoodie.

For a second, she imagined just keeping it. Letting it disappear into the back of her closet until it became another thing she never dealt with.

Her jaw tightened.

“No,” she murmured to herself.

Decision made. Whether she liked it or not.

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The ice cream place was loud in a way that felt harmless but invasive—like sugar-coated chaos. Kids shrieked with laughter too big for their bodies, freezers hummed like they had opinions, and the bell over the door rang every few seconds, bright and unforgiving. The smell of vanilla and waffle cones clung to the air, sweet enough to make your teeth ache just breathing it in.

Y/n and Jin heard it before they saw it.

“I’m telling you,” Jin said, walking backward for emphasis, hands slicing the air, “I deadass told Solin not to agree to that Elle interview next month. I spelled it out. Birthday. Time off. Non-negotiable. And that little cunt still nodded like one of those stupid bobbleheads and said yes.”

Y/n walked beside him, steps even, unhurried. Black shades covered her eyes, baseball cap pulled low like armor. No security. No handlers. Just her and Jin and the city pretending she wasn’t famous.

“Whatever,” she said, voice flat, like the word had been chewed on too many times already.

Jin stopped so abruptly Y/n nearly walked into him.“Oh my god.”

She halted too, sharp as a slammed brake. “What.”

“The ice cream shop…” His voice went reverent. “It finally opened!” He pointed at the teal-painted building like it was a holy site. Cartoon cones smiled from the windows. The line wrapped halfway down the block, a mess of parents, kids, tourists.

Guess kids included Jin.

“Can we get one?” he asked, suddenly soft. “Please.”

Y/n lifted an arm, lazily gesturing at the line. “No. Look at that shit. I can see the end from here.” Jin deflated, shoulders slumping, lips pulling into a dramatic pout. Y/n laughed—quiet, brief—and hooked her arm through his.

“Relax,” she said. “We’ll get ice cream at the Prada café.” Jin sighed dramatically, nodding while forcing his eyes away from the shop like it personally betrayed him.

Neither of them noticed anything going on inside.

He set two paper cups down on the small white circular table, the surface printed with pastel sprinkles that looked fake enough to lick. The cups made a soft thud.

“Vanilla,” he said, sliding one toward her, “with cookie crumbles, gummy bears, and sprinkles.”

Seoyeon’s face lit up instantly. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah!” She scooped before he even sat down, shoveling ice cream into her mouth like it might disappear.

Jungkook smiled without thinking, lip piercing tugging as he leaned closer, his palm smoothing down the small of her head. Her hair was soft under his fingers—always had been.

Seoyeon was the only girl Jungkook had never learned how to leave. Never said no to her. Never disappeared. Never went quiet when things got heavy. Her nine year old heart was too small for his damage. Too clean for his ghosts.

“Mom would never let me eat this much,” she said, glancing up at him with the same wide eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.

“Hmm. So you used the house phone knowing I’d pick up and buy you ice cream, huh.” he said softly. “It’s okay. I know how much you love vanilla, Yoyo.”

She giggled at the nickname—his nickname, sacred and hers alone. Her shoulders lifting like she’d been gifted something precious.

He finally took a bite of his own. Chocolate and fudge melted against his tongue, Oreos crunching, grounding him for half a second. He hummed without thinking.

“I wanted to get a vanilla cake for Dad’s birthday,” Seoyeon said, suddenly quieter. “But Mom said you weren’t coming. So it’d be too much cake. And a waste of money.”

His spoon slowed. The world dimmed—not silent, just distant. Like someone turned the volume down but left the ache.

“Why didn’t you wanna celebrate Dad’s birthday?” she asked.

The question didn’t accuse but it still hit. Jungkook stared at his melting ice cream, jaw tightening until it hurt. His reflection stared back at him in the glass freezer door—older than he felt. Tired in a way sleep never fixed.

“I just…” He breathed out through his nose. “Didn’t feel right, sweetheart.”

“But Mom was sad.”

“I know.”

“Dad would’ve been sad too.” She poked her ice cream absently, carving small craters. “Even if I never met him…”

“Hey hey.” He leaned forward, lowering himself to her level, hands warm on her small arms. “Even if Dad died before you were born, he knows you. He saw you in Mom’s belly. He’s probably seeing you now… stuffing your face with ice cream.” A quiet laugh slipped out of him. Her shoulders eased. The weight she carried—quiet, unseen—lifted just a little.

“Are you mad about it?”

“No,” he said immediately. Then softer. “I don’t think I ever was.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a math problem. “Then why are you acting weird?”

He huffed. “Am I that obvious?”

“You kept checking your phone,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Even in the car.”

“Okay…” He leaned back, eyes drifting to the window where people passed like ghosts. “There’s this…girl.”

Seoyeon perked up instantly. “Ooooh.”

“Don’t,” he warned. She grinned anyway while clapping. “She makes things loud in my head,” he admitted, voice low.

“That sounds annoying.”

“It is.” He nodded.

“Do you like her?”

The question lodged somewhere painful. He thought about her mouth when she argued. The way she looked angry. The way silence with her felt louder than noise. Images flashed—heels in his chest, her mouth shaping his name like a weapon, hoodie on her, and her body pressed against his while comparing Louis Vuitton with Chanel.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’m scared of her.”

Seoyeon nodded like that made perfect sense. “That means you care.”

He blinked. “Really? Who taught you that?”

“You,” she said simply. “You said scary things are worth being brave for.”

The words hit him harder than the race ever had.

“I think you should tell her,” she added.

He scoffed. “It’s not that simple.”

“But she’s always in your head,” Seoyeon pressed. “So you care. Like you care about me.”

Something tight and warm cracked open in his chest.

“You’re good,” he muttered with a nod.

She grinned. “I learned from you.”

Jungkook’s signature bunny-like grin slapped on his face upon his sister’s reply. They finished their ice cream in silence that felt heavy but safe. Then—

“Oh! I started liking this celebrity,” Seoyeon said suddenly. “She’s a model.”

Jungkook stilled.

Model.

“Hmm. A model!” Jungkook shook his leg under the small table, his tone amused.

“She’s really, really pretty. I saw her interviews.” She leaned closer. “I think I saw her just now. Walking past with a guy. I think it’s her boyfriend,” she giggled.

“Who—,” Jungkook asked carefully, “who are you talking about?”

She beamed.

“Min Y/n.”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

“Did they say anything?” he asked, voice too casual for how tight his jaw looked.

The garage smelled like burnt rubber and stubborn regret.

Hot metal ticked as it cooled. Somewhere in the back, a fan oscillated lazily like it was bored of these men and their emotional incompetence. The afternoon light leaked in through the high windows, cutting across dust particles that hung in the air like suspended thoughts—unsettled, heavy.

Jungkook sat on the edge of the wooden worktable, Timberlands knocking against the cabinet below, fingers digging into the grain of the wood like it personally offended him. Namjoon didn’t even look up at first. He was still scrolling, grease streaking the side of his phone like the poor thing didn’t deserve better.

“Nah,” he said, thumb flicking. “Just Vogue saying Y/n gets irrationally irritated when someone walks slower than her but won’t let her pass.” He snorted, shaking his head before shoving the phone into the huge front pocket of his overalls.

Jungkook groaned, head dropping forward. The sound wasn’t dramatic. It was the kind that crawled out of your throat when your brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Namjoon straightened, cracking his neck once before facing him properly.

“Look,” he started, and Jungkook didn’t lift his head. “I doubt she has a boyfriend. Why would she agree to go on that date with you? Why would she let you bring her home? She’s not taken. okay?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up like someone hit a switch. “Okay but she could’ve!” His eyes were wide—actually wide. Panic sat in them like it paid rent. “Like recently. Shit happens fast.”

Namjoon barked out a laugh and turned back to the open hood of the car. The metal frame stood between them like a half-built confession.

“Kook,” he said, tossing a mustard-colored cloth over his shoulder, “you’re fucking up your brain over a model who’s your enemy’s sister. Is that not clocking to you?” He reached into the engine bay, arms disappearing into steel and shadow.

“You said you found her hot. Wanted to get laid.” He glanced over his shoulder. “What the fuck happened?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but it didn’t land the way it used to. There was no arrogance in it. Just exhaustion.

Yeah.

What the fuck happened?

It was supposed to be simple. She was hot. He was bored. That electric pull the first night? He wrote it off as hormones and ego. That itch under his skin? Lust. Easy. Containable. But somewhere between her glare and her laugh and the way she said his name like it meant something. Something shifted. Now his chest felt like a locked garage door with the engine still running inside.

“You wanna know what I think happened?” Namjoon grunted, lowering the hood with a solid thunk. Jungkook stared at the floor.

“I think you’re attached.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Attached.

Like a parasite. Like a seatbelt. Like a damn anchor.

Namjoon wiped his hands on the cloth, then looked at him fully. “I think…” he paused, squinting slightly, “you’re in love.”

“Woah—woah.” Jungkook lifted both hands like he was getting arrested. “Love’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Namjoon tilted his head. “Your face says otherwise.” Jungkook scoffed but it came out thin. Weak. Like even his sarcasm didn’t believe him.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered. “It’s different.”

Different.

The word felt stupid. Useless. But it was the only one that didn’t choke him.

“She’s…different,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots like that might yank the feeling out with it. “And now Seoyeon likes her, says she has a boyfriend, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Fuck.” He leaned back against the wall, head thudding lightly against concrete. The impact grounded him for half a second.

His eyelids slid shut. Darkness. And there she was anyway.

Min Y/n.

Her voice. Sharp as broken glass but controlled. The way she’d shove him without hesitation. The way her eyes didn’t soften for anyone. The way she walked like the world owed her space. She wasn’t just gorgeous. She was alive. Like fire that didn’t apologize for burning. And that scared the shit out of him.

“How do you know if…” Jungkook’s voice came quieter now, less defensive, more confused. “You like someone.” Namjoon froze mid-step, bucket of tools clinking softly.

“Like,” Jungkook clarified, sitting up and spreading his legs, elbows on knees, staring at the oil-stained floor. “You like them as…a lover.” The word tasted foreign in his mouth. Heavy. Too honest.

Namjoon stared at him. “You’re asking me?” Jungkook shot him a look. “I don’t date,” Namjoon said, shrugging with a sheepish grin. “I build engines. I break bones. I don’t do candlelight and feelings.”

“What do you mean you don’t date?” Jungkook frowned. “You just haven’t found someone interesting. Nobody just doesn’t date.”

Namjoon pointed at him suddenly. “Oh now you’re the one giving relationship advice?” He laughed. “Sort your shit out first.” He set the bucket down with a clang and stepped closer.

“Do you like Y/n…or not?”

Silence thickened between them. Jungkook swallowed. He thought about her laugh. The way his mood shifted depending on whether she texted back. The way her name sounded in his sister’s mouth. The way he’d rather lose a race than lose control in front of her.

His chest tightened. Liking someone wasn’t butterflies. It was vulnerability. It was risk. It was knowing exactly how much damage someone could do if they wanted to. And still wanting them close.

He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, voice rough, like gravel under tires. “But when she’s not around, everything feels…” He searched for the word. Failed. “Off.”

Namjoon didn’t interrupt.

“And when she’s angry at me,” Jungkook continued, jaw tightening, “it pisses me off. But it also—” He exhaled sharply. “It hurts.”

There it was. Raw. Ugly. Real.

Namjoon studied him for a long second. “That,” he said slowly, “sounds a lot like liking someone.”

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Well liking someone feels a lot like losing control. And I don’t fucking do that.” The fan in the corner kept swinging back and forth like it disagreed.

Namjoon crossed his arms. “You don’t do attachment,” he corrected. Jungkook didn’t respond. Because that one hit too close to the bone.

“You live alone. You don’t bring girls back twice. You don’t call people after midnight unless it’s about engines.” Namjoon’s voice softened slightly. “You keep distance like it’s oxygen.” Jungkook stared at the oil stain between his boots.

“And now,” Namjoon continued, “you’re panicking because you don’t have it.”

Jungkook let out a breath through his nose, sharp and shaky. “Shit.”

The word fell out like surrender. Maybe he was attached. Maybe he was falling. And maybe the scariest part wasn’t that she might have a boyfriend. It was that he cared if she did.

Namjoon had already retreated, boots echoing out of the garage like he couldn’t be bothered to babysit Jungkook’s existential crisis anymore. The place felt bigger without him. Emptier. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead like they were judging him. Meanwhile, Jungkook stayed. Said he’d wait for the customer. The clock above the tool rack blinked 11:43 p.m., each second ticking like a slow accusation. Jungkook sat on a small metal stool, elbows on his knees, phone glowing against his face. The light carved shadows under his eyes. He looked like a man about to confess to a crime.

Y/n’s contact name sat there. Untouched. Unanswered. Unforgiving.

He typed.

Jungkook: u home??

Delete.

Jungkook: r u busy?

Delete.

Jungkook: lets meet

“Argh, fuck—” he hissed, fingers digging into the back of his hair like he could rip the right words out of his skull.

Delete.

His thoughts weren’t lining up. They were crashing into each other like cars missing the sixth turn. Every sentence sounded either too needy or too cold. And he didn’t know which one would make her hate him more.

He needed her to know. About the attachment. About the fear. About how the space she left in his chest felt like someone pried open a rib and forgot to close it. He needed to see her again. Hear her voice. Watch her eyes roll when he said something stupid. Feel that heat between them just to confirm—

Is this fucking love?

His head spun like those playground spinners kids jump off too late. Dizzy. Disoriented. No solid ground.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

Fuck it.

Jungkook: y/n

Jungkook: u awake?

Jungkook: pls text back

He hit send before his courage could expire. The message whooshed away. He immediately locked his phone and let his hands dangle between his knees like they’d betrayed him. A long, exhausted breath left his mouth.

“Shit… please reply.”

The customer came. Paid. Took the keys. Thanked him. Left. The garage shutter half-closed with a metallic groan. Cold air slipped in, brushing against his forearms. The night thickened. Still no reply. Every five minutes, he checked. Nothing. Just app updates. Spam notifications. Everything except her.

He kissed his teeth harshly. “You serious right now?”

Is she ignoring me? Maybe she’s overseas. Models travel like it’s a personality trait.

The thought didn’t comfort him. It made it worse.

He unlocked his phone again and opened Instagram. Typed:

Min Y/n.

Boom. First result.

hiitsmeyn.

His thumb hovered before tapping her profile.

model. sister. life improver.

He snorted softly. “Life improver, my ass. You’re ruining mine...”

Her feed loaded like a slap. Photo dumps. Runways. Backstage mirrors. Editorials. Flashing cameras. Comments flooded with heart eyes and blue checks. But Jungkook didn’t see a celebrity. He saw the girl who shoved him against his own car and called him out for being a coward. A dickhead.

He tapped her most recent post. Her in a black car. His breath stalled. It wasn’t even intentional. It was just—

Fuck.

The way she was leaning over the opened window. Back arched slightly over the hood. Chin resting on her forearms on the steering wheel. Eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. She didn’t look like a model in that shot. She looked like she owned the damn machine. Like she belonged in his world. Jungkook swallowed. His jaw tightened.

A slow heat pooled low in his stomach—not just physical, but territorial. Primitive. Ugly. His grip tightened around the phone. The denim over his thighs pulled taut, the sudden pressure impossible to ignore.

She looks too fucking good in that car.

He zoomed in without realizing it. Traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. The curve of her waist. The gloss on her lips.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here, not like this—not with grease still streaked across his knuckles and the scent of motor oil thick in the air. But his body didn’t care about should or shouldn’t. It reacted. Heat coiled tighter, lower, insistent. He thumbed to the next photo without thinking.

Bad fucking idea.

This one was a close-up. Her lips parted, eyes locked dead ahead like she could see him through the lens. The collar of her racing suit was undone just enough to show the dip of her collarbones, the sheen of sweat along her throat. Jungkook’s pulse kicked against his ribs.

It wasn’t just attraction. It was obsession dressed up as appreciation. He imagined her sitting in his passenger seat instead. Hair messy from the wind. Hands gripping the dashboard — or better, his arm — when he took a sharp turn. Cursing at him and then laughing after.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. He locked his phone and leaned back against the metal cabinet. The garage smelled like oil and gasoline and something burnt. It felt like him. Rough. Mechanical. Controlled. But his chest? His chest felt like an engine overheating. He unlocked his phone again. Still no reply.

He typed another message.

Jungkook: u can ignore me. just let me know youre okay

His thumb hovered.

Don’t. Don’t fucking beg.

Delete.

He shut his eyes. Her voice replayed in his head.

I don’t like being fucking played, Jungkook.

The words didn’t regret themselves. He did.

He dragged a hand down his face. “You pushed her away first, dumbass.”

And now she’s doing what you taught her.

Distance.

He stared at her profile picture one more time. Zoomed in. Whispered to the empty garage—

“Just answer me.”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The crunch of popcorn and surround-sound gunfire filled the private cinema, bass vibrating through leather seats that probably cost more than most people’s rent. Three rows of long, wide sofas. Plush. Excessive. Only two occupied. Filthy rich shit.

Y/n was half-sunk into the couch, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. The screen washed her face in blue and orange light, explosions reflecting in her eyes—but she hadn’t been watching for a while now.

Soon—

Ding.

No movement yet. A second later—

Ding.

She stiffened. The phone buzzing against the cushion beside her sounded stupidly loud, like it was tattling on her.

“Yo,” Yoongi muttered around a mouthful of popcorn, eyes glued to the screen. “Can your phone shut the fuck up? I’m trying to watch capitalism burn.”

Ding.

Y/n cursed under her breath and grabbed it, thumb fumbling as she turned the brightness all the way down. Face ID scanned. Unlocked. Her breath caught.

Jungkook: yn

Jungkook: u awake?

Jungkook: pls text me back

Stacked. Needy. And wrong. Her fingers curled tighter around the phone, knuckles blanching slightly, like it might slip away or explode or say something else if she didn’t hold it down.

What the fuck is he doing? Begging?

Her pulse kicked, sharp and sudden, like she’d been startled awake from a dream she didn’t remember having. She thought of his voice. Calm. Casual. Dismissive.

Waste of time.

The words replayed like a scratched CD, skipping, skipping, skipping. Her jaw tightened.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi said suddenly, shoving more popcorn into his mouth. “Did you see that? That was sick as hell.”

“Huh?” Y/n blinked, dragged back into her body. She turned toward him. “Oh—yeah. Crazy.”

“Who keeps blowing up your phone?” he asked, finally glancing sideways at her. One brow lifted. Sharp. Observant in that annoying way.

She hesitated. Just a beat too long. “Work,” she said, too quickly. Then softer, like she was convincing herself too. “Just…work.”

Yoongi hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t really care much either. He never did unless he smelled blood.

Her eyes drifted back down to the screen. Three texts. No jokes. No stupid emojis. No fake confidence. Just…him. Bare. Asking.

Was he bored? Lonely? Drunk on nostalgia and suddenly in need of female attention to plug whatever hole he’d fallen into tonight? Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She imagined typing ‘what do you want?’ Imagined deleting it. Imagined asking ‘why now?’ Imagined hating the answer.

The phone felt heavier, like it had gained weight just to fuck with her. She locked her phone and tossed it face-down on her thigh like it had personally offended her. Yoongi glanced over again.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a shrug. She huffed, crossing her arms. Her leg bounced despite herself. The phone vibrated again. She felt it even without looking. Phantom-limb shit. Like her body was wired directly to his name.

This time, she didn’t reach for it. Didn’t want to see another ‘pls’. Didn’t want confirmation that whatever this was—it mattered more than she’d let herself admit. Because replying meant opening a door she’d already slammed shut. And ignoring him felt like standing on the other side of it, hand still pressed to the wood, listening to him knock.

Hard. Soft. Desperate.

Her chest felt crowded. Like all her thoughts were pacing, bumping into each other, tripping over old memories and unfinished sentences.

On screen, someone died. Y/n didn’t notice. Yoongi sucked butter off his fingers. “You wanna pause it?”

“No,” Y/n said immediately. Too sharp. Then quieter. “No—it’s fine. Let it play.”

Because if it kept playing, time would keep moving. And if time kept moving, maybe this feeling would pass.

Her phone stayed face-down. Unread and unanswered. And somewhere across the city, Jungkook waited while Y/n sat in a home cinema, surrounded by noise, pretending she couldn’t hear the silence screaming her name.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The mirror was fogged over, shy and unhelpful. She wiped a clear strip through the middle with her palm.

There she was. Bare face. Damp hair clinging to her collarbone. No mascara, no gloss, no carefully curated angles. The same face that lived on glossy covers and ten-meter billboards. The same face strangers recognized before they recognized her voice.

She didn’t hate it. She loved this career, genuinely. The rush of a perfect shot. The quiet command of a runway. The way a camera could feel like a spotlight and a weapon at the same time.

Her mom used to stand in front of mirrors like this too. Same bone structure. Same eyes. Y/n smiled faintly at the memory. She was proud to carry that legacy. Proud to honor her mom like this. But sometimes, in moments like these, when the glam was gone and the house was quiet, a stupid thought slipped in. Her mom had found someone steady. Someone who loved her without conditions. Someone who stayed. Zero complications.

Would she ever—Her brows lifted at herself.

“Relax,” she muttered. “You don’t need a boyfriend crisis at eleven p.m.”

Step one: toner. Cool liquid pressed into warm skin. Step two: serum. Fingers gliding over her cheeks in slow circles, methodical, grounding. The bathroom was calm. Steam thinning. Candles burning lower. Then—

Ding.

The sound cut through the quiet like a stone through glass. She didn’t look at it immediately. Just continued smoothing the serum over her jaw, pretending she hadn’t heard it.

Ding.

Her eyes flicked down.

Jungkook: how long r u gna ignore me y/n?

Jungkook: i know youre reading this

Her stomach tightened before she could stop it. A reflex. Annoying. Involuntary. She looked away instantly, focusing on her reflection instead.

Not tonight.

Another ding. And another. The notifications stacked up, his name multiplying on the screen like it had something urgent to prove.

Jungkook: i just wna talk

Jungkook: dont do this

Jungkook: please.

Please.

That word sat heavier than it should’ve.

Her jaw tightened. She dragged the moisturizer down her neck a little harder than necessary.

“Can he shut the fuck up?” she muttered under her breath, palms flattening against the cool marble counter.

The phone buzzed again, vibrating against the surface, small but persistent. Like it refused to be ignored. She stared at it. The screen lit up again. His name glowing in the dim bathroom.

Why now? Where was this energy when he called her a waste of time? When he acted like she was just convenient? Disposable?

Her chest felt tight—not dramatic, not cinematic. Just real. Like a hand pressing flat against her ribs.

She picked up the phone. Unlocked it. Opened the chat. Blue and grey bubbles. His recent messages desperate, stacked, slightly messy. No punctuation. Typing like he couldn’t sit still. She read them all. Twice. Her throat felt dry despite the wine. The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. He was still there. Waiting. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. A thousand responses lined up in her head. Sharp ones. Cold ones. Vulnerable ones.

Instead, she locked the phone. Placed it face-down on the counter.

You don’t get access to me whenever you feel like it.

The candles on the counter flickered. The phone buzzed again. And she let it.

The next day didn’t ease up on her. It came in loud and bright and impatient. Y/n had been planted in the makeup chair for an hour and twenty-three minutes — yes, she checked — and her ass had officially gone numb. The studio smelled like hairspray and expensive foundation. Hot lights beamed down from above like artificial suns, turning the room into a controlled little universe where perfection was mandatory.

She was wrapped in a black silky robe, smooth against her skin, barely tied at the waist. Three people hovered around her like she was a group project. One dusted powder along her collarbone, brushing over the delicate dip between her bones like they were polishing marble. Another leaned in close, steady hand dragging liquid liner into a sharp wing. “Don’t blink,” he murmured. As if she ever did. The hairstylist tugged gently at her curls, clipping, spraying, fluffing.

All Y/n could do was stare at herself in the mirror. Not really at herself — at the version of herself being assembled. Piece by piece. Stroke by stroke.

Her phone lit up on the counter in front of her, screen facing up.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The sound was small but persistent. Like droplets in the bathroom. Something that refused to be ignored. Her eyes flicked to the screen before she could stop herself.

Jungkook.

Again.

Her stomach tightened the way it had last night, except now there was no steam or candles to soften it. Just fluorescent lighting and people watching her face for micro-movements.

“Your boyfriend’s persistent,” the makeup artist said casually, pausing mid-brush as she blended highlighter over Y/n’s cheekbone. Y/n didn’t look down. Didn’t move.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Her voice was even. Cool. The kind of tone she used when interviewers asked stupid questions. The makeup artist raised a brow in the mirror.

The hairstylist snorted softly. “If he’s texting like that, he either fucked up or he’s in love.”

“Or both,” the eyeliner guy added dryly.

Y/n’s jaw tightened for half a second before she smoothed it out. Years of training. Cameras caught everything. She lifted her chin slightly so the highlighter hit just right, catching the studio lights like liquid gold. Her face was calm. Her pulse wasn’t.

Ding. The screen lit up again, his name flashing in the reflection like it had something to say to everyone in the room.

The makeup artist leaned back slightly, squinting at the screen. “He’s blowing it up.”

“Can we focus?” Y/n said lightly, a hint of edge beneath it.

“Relax hon, I’m just saying,” the makeup artist smiled. “Men don’t text like that unless they’re desperate.”

Desperate.

The word slid into her chest and settled there. She kept her eyes locked on herself.

“Or,” the hairstylist chimed in, fingers combing through her curls, “he cares a lot.”

Y/n let out a soft breath through her nose. Almost a laugh. Almost. Inside, though, her thoughts were louder.

If he cared, why did it take losing me for him to realize it? If he cared, why did he make me feel temporary?

Her phone buzzed again, vibrating against the glass surface of the vanity. It sounded impatient. Almost irritated. Like it was asking, ‘Why are you still ignoring me?’

Because I can. Because I’m not something you get to summon.

The makeup artist leaned in again. “Look up.”

Another day passed. Or maybe it dragged. Hard to tell lately. The private gym at the mansion smelled faintly of rubber mats and eucalyptus spray. Soft instrumental music floated through the room, trying to convince everyone they were at peace. Mirrors lined one wall, reflecting every bend and stretch—because of course, there was no escaping yourself here.

Y/n lay on the reformer, one leg strapped in, the other extended upward by the machine’s resistance. Both palms pressed into the mat, core tight, breath controlled.

“Inhale…hold…exhale,” her trainer murmured, hands lightly adjusting Y/n’s posture. “Good. Keep your shoulders down, Y/n. You’re pulling from the right muscles.”

“Mmhm,” Y/n replied, eyes fixed on her reflection, jaw tight.

Pilates was a regular routine. Not just because she needed to “maintain her model-like body,” whatever the fuck that meant. Apparently model-like still wasn’t enough for some people. Too skinny. Too thick. Your ribs are visible. Your belly’s sticking out. Your thighs look bigger in this angle. Everyone had an opinion. Strangers behind screens dissecting her like she was public property.

“Good. Push through it. Breath in… and longer exhale.”

Sometimes it felt like her body wasn’t hers—just a project people kept revising. Pilates helped. The slow burn in her muscles. The discipline of breathing through discomfort. The way it forced her into her body instead of out of it. And right now? It was helping with the Jungkook situation too.

She stretched her leg higher against the machine’s pull. The trainer hovered, hands ready to adjust.

Ding.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck. Hell no.

She didn’t need to look at the phone resting on the counter. She knew that pattern. Repeated ding. Relentless follow-ups. Overuse of “please” like the word was losing meaning by the second.

Ding. Ding. The sound cut through the calm studio like a glitch in a meditation app.

The instructor glanced over gently. “Do you need to take that?”

“No,” Y/n replied quickly, breath steady even though her chest wasn’t. “I’m good.”

She wasn’t really. Y/n exhaled sharply. Her core tightened. She wouldn’t look. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She extended her leg again, jaw tight. Muscles trembling. Sweat sliding down her temples.

Jungkook had turned into a notification storm. A persistent ache. A mosquito you couldn’t slap. The phone kept lighting up, his name demanding attention. She let it. Let it buzz. Let it beg. Let it stack up. If it wanted to act like a ticking bomb, fine. Let it tick. Y/n didn’t care if it exploded.

Her muscles trembled slightly as she held the stretch. Sweat gathered at her temples, sliding down her neck in thin, irritating lines.

Ding.

The sound started to feel personal. Like it was mocking her discipline. Like it was whispering, You’re not as unbothered as you pretend.

The trainer leaned down, adjusting the strap on Y/n’s foot. “Pull through your heel more. That’s it… perfect. Keep your shoulders down.”

Y/n exhaled, breath uneven. And then—

The bomb exploded.

Her phone started ringing.

Loud. Aggressive. Vibrating against the marble countertop like it was possessed. Every muscle in Y/n’s body tensed.

“Argh—goddamn it!” she hissed, jumping off the reformer. Barefoot on the cool floor, snatching the vibrating phone.

Jungkook.

Of course. His name flashed, unapologetic, bright.

“The audacity,” she muttered, pressing it to her chest for a second before throwing her hands to her sides.

The trainer blinked. “You…want me to finish the set with you later?”

“No. I…I got it,” Y/n replied, voice low, feral even. Her heart thudded like a drum in her ears.

She stared at his name like it was a dare. Her thumb hovered over the screen. This wasn’t just about annoyance anymore. This was about control. About dignity. She let the call decline itself. Her fingers moved. Settings. Contact. Block. Confirmation popped up. Cold. Final. She hesitated. Memories flickered—his laugh, that flirty way he said her name, the stupid grin she tried to ignore.

Her chest tightened. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Blocked.

The screen went still. No more dings. No more buzzing. Silence. The kind that settles heavy in your bones.

“Okay, let’s get back to it.”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Jungkook was pacing his apartment, phone clutched like it had life in it. The walls seemed to shrink every time he glanced at the screen, each ding from his unanswered messages echoing like a punch in his chest.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he muttered to himself, voice low but sharp. “Why the hell is she not answering?”

Namjoon leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, expression deadpan as he sipped his black coffee. “Because she’s ignoring you, genius. Or maybe she’s busy. Or maybe she just doesn’t give a shit.”

Jungkook flopped onto the couch, hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight. “No. No, no. She’s not busy. She’s a model. She answers texts. She’s…she’s—” He groaned, running a hand over his face, “She’s out of my reach and I hate it.”

Taehyung, sprawled across the other couch with his legs over the armrest, smirked lazily. “Wow. So you’re really into it. Nice, bro. Really letting your dick—or your heart—take over here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tae,” Jungkook snapped, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “This isn’t about…whatever you’re saying. I don’t even—fuck, I don’t know what this is anymore.”

Namjoon’s eyebrow rose. “You know what it is, dumbass. You’ve been texting her nonstop for days, literally blowing up her phone. You like her. You’re attached. You’re—holy shit—you’re in love.”

Jungkook snapped his head to their direction. “Yeah, alright. Fuck it. I do like her. I like Y/n. There, I said it,” he muttered, voice low, frustration boiling over. “But that doesn’t make this any fucking easier.”

Taehyung laughed, kicking off the couch to sit cross-legged beside him. “Dude, you should see your face.”

“I don’t even know if she wants me thinking about her,” Jungkook muttered, voice cracking a little, frustration boiling over. “Maybe she hates me. Maybe she blocked me and I don’t even know it. Maybe she’s laughing at me with her friends right now. Maybe—fuck.”

Namjoon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Kook, chill. You’re spiraling. You’re acting like a fucking maniac. Do you want my advice? Well here it is,” Namjoon said, tone sharp but measured. “You either man the fuck up and figure this shit out, or you stay here crying into your own panic until she never even remembers your name. That’s the real choice.”

Taehyung chuckled, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder. “See? I like that one. Sounds like you’ve got a plan brewing. Finally, Kook. Action. I like it.”

Jungkook sat up straighter, fists tight on his knees, chest heaving. Namjoon’s words were fire in his veins. Taehyung’s smirk was a kick in the ass. She wasn’t answering because she didn’t have to. But he didn’t care anymore. He needed her to know. Needed to see her. Needed whatever the hell this was between them to stop being a ghost he was chasing.

“I’m going,” he said finally, voice low and steady, the storm inside him condensing into a single thought. Namjoon just nodded, finishing his coffee.

“Yeah. Go. And don’t get kicked out by her brother.” Taehyung laughed.

Jungkook grabbed his keys, phone in his pocket, heart hammering like an engine revving. The night was waiting, and Y/n wasn’t going to ghost him forever.

Jungkook’s car rolled to a stop outside the sprawling Min mansion. The streetlights glinted off the black paint, a subtle halo on the sleek curves of his ride. He leaned back in the seat for a second, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to push down the knot of nerves in his chest. The buzzer at the gate rang, piercing the quiet night. Jungkook stepped out, heels clicking lightly on the cobblestone driveway. He pressed the call button.

“Hello?” His voice was low, steady, trying to mask the edge of impatience.

“Yes, you are speaking to a house keeper,” came the soft, polite voice.

“I’m here to see Y/n,” he said, keeping his tone casual but firm. “She—uh, told me to come by.”

A pause, then: “Please wait a moment.”

Jungkook leaned against his car, fists stuffed in his pockets, the cool night air crawling under his jacket. He could hear the faint rustle of leaves, a distant car, the hum of the city beyond the walls. A few minutes later, a figure emerged from the shadows, Eric, the ever-composed butler, walking toward him with that measured, almost intimidating calm. Before Eric could ask for any identification, Jungkook hesitated just long enough to pull out his phone. He flashed Y/n’s contact into view, showing it to Eric. A single raised eyebrow from the butler, then a subtle nod.

“Very well. Right this way.”

The gate opened, a low metallic creak echoing across the driveway. The mansion loomed ahead, massive and cold, swallowing footsteps and whispers. Jungkook followed Eric inside.

“Wait here,” Eric said. He left Jungkook in the middle of the living room.

Jungkook’s clothes feet slid on the marble floor as he took a seat, arms laid on his thighs, phone in hand, thumb tapping idly against the back. He then settled near the window, eyes flicking to the silent clock on the wall. Seconds felt like hours. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was tense, electric, waiting. He waited. The silence of the mansion pressed down on him like a second skin, his thoughts bouncing off the towering walls.

Then the front doors swung open, followed by murmurings. Yoongi stepped in first, carrying that casual, predatory confidence he always had. Marquise, Jimin, and Hoseok followed close behind, laughing quietly, the sound bouncing against the emptiness of the living room. The familiar scent of Marquise’s perfume cut through the air, mingling with the faint musk of the room.

Jungkook’s pulse picked up. His eyes followed them, scanning, calculating. The tension was a live wire between them—the kind that could snap at any second. He shifted slightly, keeping his hands visible, trying not to look like a kid caught sneaking into a candy store.

Yoongi’s gaze caught his almost immediately. A slow, deliberate glance that carried years of shared history, ownership, and a subtle, unspoken warning. Jungkook straightened, jaw tight, already feeling the weight of what was coming. Yoongi’s eyes flicked past them all and landed on Jungkook, who had froze in the middle of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. His pulse kicked. The air seemed to shrink around him.

Yoongi’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” His brows slowly started to dip between his eyes.

Jungkook straightened, shoulders squared, jaw set. His heart was hammering like a drum, but his voice stayed low, steady, deliberate. “I need to talk to Y/n.” Not panicked nor pleading. Calm, sharp, and unshakable. He wasn’t leaving this mansion without seeing her, no matter what—or who—stood in his way.

The silence stretched, thick as molasses. Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, scanning Jungkook like he was some intruder, a predator in his territory. Marquise and Jimin were already snickering, whispering behind their hands, while Hoseok just listened, curious but cautious.

“You’re here at…what, midnight?” Yoongi said finally, voice low, controlled but with an edge. “For her?”

“Yeah. I—look, I just need a minute. I need to talk to her.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. He took a step closer, and the tension in the room snapped like a rope ready to fray. Marquise raised an eyebrow, smirking, whispering to Jimin who stifled a laugh while Hoseok smacked their arms to shut them up, but Jungkook didn’t notice. His entire focus was on the giant floating lit staircase at the side of the living room—the ones that led to Y/n.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the charged silence. “You’re not going anywhere near my sister without my say-so.”

Jungkook’s pulse spiked, chest tightening like it was being squeezed in a vice. His brows arched, eyes sharp enough to cut glass, voice low and dangerous. “I’m not leaving without talking to her.”

Yoongi took another step forward, his presence a wall of authority. “You think you can just walk into her life? Text-spamming her, showing up here? You’ve got some balls, Jeon, but you’re about to find out—this isn’t that kind of playground. And my sister’s no fucking barbie doll.”

Jungkook’s jaw set. His hands curled into fists in his leather pockets. “I don’t care about your goddamn opinions, Min. I’m here to see her, not hear your mouth move.”

Yoongi’s eyes flared, but before he could respond, Marquise laughed softly. “Oh, this is good. Kookie, you’re really brave. Or stupid. One of the two.” Hoseok just shook his head, a hand catching his falling forehead.

Jungkook stayed rooted, silent but ready, eyes glancing to the top of the stairs every five seconds. His heart hammered like it was trying to escape his chest. Every second, every movement, every subtle glance from Yoongi made it harder to breathe. He was here now. The air in the living room felt charged.

“So…this is how it ends. You barging in like some…” Yoongi shrugged lazily, but his eyes weren’t lazy. They dragged over Jungkook’s frame slow, calculated. “…prince charming?”

A crooked smirk tugged at Jungkook’s lips, offended but amused. He rolled his shoulders once, like he was loosening up before a match. “Prince charming? Nah. I’m just tired of being ghosted.”

“Ghosted?” Yoongi tilted his head, subtle shake. “You mean you can’t respect boundaries.”

Jungkook let out a dry scoff. “Boundaries?” He stepped forward, sneakers whispering against marble. “Maybe you should check yours. Whatever’s going on between me and your sister’s none your business.”

Yoongi’s fingers curled slowly at his sides. Not trembling. Just coiling.

Hoseok shifted awkwardly. “Jeon, just lea—”

“You really think you can just walk in here like you own her?” Yoongi cut in smoothly, nudging his chin up.

“I don’t think,” Jungkook said, taking another step. Their personal space evaporated. “I know I deserve a chance to talk to her.”

“Chance?” Yoongi barked a laugh. Cold. Sharp. Another step. “You think a few desperate texts make you entitled?”

“More than you do, apparently.”

That did it. Something feral flickered behind Yoongi’s eyes. His jaw locked so tight it looked painful. And then—like a glitch in the matrix—he moved. One second they were staring each other down. Next, Yoongi had Jungkook by the collar, fist twisted into white cotton, knuckles pressing against his throat. The sound of fabric stretching cut through the room. Jimin cursed under his breath. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His hand shot up too, gripping Yoongi’s jacket, dragging him close enough that their foreheads nearly brushed. Their breaths collided—hot, angry, laced with ego.

“Me?” Yoongi seethed, voice low and lethal. “More entitled than your ass?” His grip tightened. “No fucking shit—I’m her goddamn brother. You’re nothing.”

The word nothing hit like a gunshot. Jungkook smiled. Not a friendly one.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, voice dangerously calm. “Seems like the opposite when she’s wearing my hoodie…sitting in my car at night...crying in my arms when she’s drunk.”

That was gasoline. Yoongi’s fist twitched, rising fast—so fucking fast it almost kissed the silver of Jungkook’s lip piercing. Hoseok grabbed Yoongi’s right arm. Jimin caught the other.

“Hyung—fuck—chill! Not in the house!” Jimin hissed, struggling.

Marquise moved just as quickly, palm flat against Jungkook’s chest, shoving him back a step. His heart was slamming under her hand like it was trying to break out of his ribs.

“Enough, you assholes!” she snapped, voice sharp enough to slice glass. “Cut it out before Y/n hears you.”

“Hear what?”

Everything froze. The voice floated down the staircase like smoke. All heads snapped up. She stood at the top, one hand resting on the railing. Too calm. Wearing an oversized sweater, bare legs, hair falling loose around her shoulders. Jungkook’s grip loosened immediately. His eyes widened—hope flashing through them so raw it almost hurt to look at.

“Y/n,” he breathed. She looked at him first. Not at Yoongi. Not at the chaos. At him.

“What are you doing here…” she asked flatly. The monotone stung more than if she’d screamed.

“Y/n—we gotta talk—”

“No.”

Just like that. Clean. Precise. Surgical.

Jungkook blinked, like maybe he misheard. “Wha—what do you mean no? You’ve been ignoring my texts, my calls—” His hands moved helplessly, fingers flexing like he could grab the words back.

She tilted her head slightly. “She’s a waste of my time.” The quote dropped into the room like a brick through glass.

Silence. Yoongi’s smirk returned slowly. Jungkook’s face drained. Because those were his words thrown back at him like a blade.

She lifted a brow. “Is that correct?”

The marble floor may as well have opened beneath Jungkook.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, jaw clenching. “No. No—I wasn’t thinking. I was pissed. I was stupid—”

“Were you?” she cut in softly. Her voice wasn’t loud. That’s what made it worse. It was steady. Controlled. Detached. Like she’d already processed the damage and archived him under mistakes.

Yoongi crossed his arms. “You heard her.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook snapped, briefly looking at him. His eyes stayed locked on Y/n again. “Please. Just let me explain. Five minutes. That’s it.”

She looked at him for a long second. And for just a flicker of a heartbeat—Marquise saw it. The crack. The almost. Then it sealed shut again.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

The words were clean. Final. And then she turned. Just like that. Disappearing down the hallway upstairs, swallowed by the mansion walls like she’d never been there at all.

“Shit—no—Y/n!” Jungkook took a step forward instinctively.

Yoongi stepped in front of him instantly, palm flat against Jungkook’s chest this time. Hard. “She said get out.”

Jungkook shoved his hand away. “Move.”

“Or what?” Yoongi’s voice dropped. “You gonna cry about it too?”

That one landed. You could see it. Not rage this time but something like disappointment. The kind that sinks slow and heavy into your stomach like swallowed stones.

Jungkook’s shoulders rose with a sharp inhale. His eyes flickered to the staircase again. Empty. Gone. He laughed once under his breath. Not amused. Just…defeated. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair roughly. The anger came back fast, like it was embarrassed to be replaced by hurt. Jungkook turned and walked toward the door. Not storming. Not dragging his feet. Just leaving. But Marquise noticed. The way his jaw kept flexing like he was biting back words. The way his hands opened and closed at his sides. The way he looked up at the staircase one last time before stepping out. That wasn’t ego or pride. That was someone who actually gave a shit.

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud. Yoongi exhaled through his nose, rolling his neck like he’d just finished a workout.

“Pathetic.”

Marquise shot him a look. “Was it?” she asked quietly. Yoongi didn’t answer. Upstairs, a bedroom door clicked shut. And the mansion felt even colder than before.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Marquise had Y/n on speaker while she was pacing her bedroom.

“You good, love?” Marquise asked for the third time.

“I’m fine.”

Marquise rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “You told him to get the fuck out.”

“And?”

“And he looked like someone shot his dog.” In the background, Marquise could hear the faint hum of Y/n’s air purifier. The soft rustle of sheets. Maybe she was sitting on her bed. Maybe staring at the wall. That’s what she did when she was pretending not to feel things.

“He deserved it,” Y/n said finally.

Marquise flopped onto her bed. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

“It didn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

Another silence. Thicker this time. Like fog rolling in. Before Y/n could snap back, Marquise’s phone buzzed in her hand. The screen lit up.

Unknown number.

She frowned. “Hold on.” She switched lines. “Hello?”

A beat. Then—

“Marquise.”

Her spine straightened. She knew that voice. Low. Slightly hoarse. Controlled, but barely.

Her brows shot up. “Shit—you didn’t delete my number?” The annoyance came out automatically, but it wasn’t sharp. It was…confused. Almost impressed.

A soft exhale from the other end. “Thank God I didn’t.”

Marquise swung her legs off the bed, suddenly alert. “Are you serious right now, Jungkook?”

“I need your help.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging a hand down her face. “Goodness—what.” A heavy pause. It stretched long enough that she checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Can you…get Y/n to talk to me?” The words weren’t aggressive. Nor were they demanding. They were careful. And that almost pissed her off more.

Marquise leaned back against her headboard slowly. “You’ve got balls calling me.”

“I know.”

“She hates you right now.”

“I know.”

“You embarrassed her.”

Silence. Then quieter—“I know.”

That one landed differently. Marquise’s irritation cracked a little. “You really fucked up, Jeon” She muttered.

“I did.”

No excuses. No deflecting. Just ownership.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Why me?”

“Because she listens to you.”

“Not about you, apparently.”

Another pause.

“I’m not asking you to defend me,” Jungkook said. His voice dipped lower. Less sharp. “I just…need five minutes. That’s it. I’ll leave her alone after that if she still wants me gone.”

Marquise stared at the wall. Five minutes. That’s what he asked for earlier too. Consistency. Desperation. Same energy.

“You’re putting me in a shitty position,” she said.

“I know.”

“You always ‘know,’ huh?”

A faint, humorless huff from his end. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I know how to fix it.”

That shut her up for a second. She hated that he sounded wrecked instead of crying or broken. Just hollowed out.

“You said she was a waste of your time,” she reminded him.

“I was angry.”

Marquise arched a brow. “That’s your excuse?” A scoff.

“No.” His voice tightened, not defensive — just exposed. “It’s not an excuse.” Silence. Then he exhaled, like he was forcing something up from deep in his chest. “I’ve got commitment issues, Marquise.”

That made her blink. “What?”

“I don’t…attach,” he said flatly. “I don’t let myself. I don’t date. I don’t build shit that lasts. I keep it simple. Physical. Detached.” There was no pride in it. No bragging. Just fact.

“You and I?” he continued. “We were fuck buddies because it was easy. No feelings. No expectations. Just good sex and we both walked away fine. Us ‘dating’ was just an excuse to fuck.” Marquise leaned back slowly against her headboard. “But that wasn’t because I didn’t respect you,” he added quickly. “It’s because I don’t do attachment. I avoid it.”

A small beat.

“I didn’t even like Y/n at first. Not like that. Yeah I did find something about her…alluring but I just thought she was hot. I wanted it to be the same thing. No strings. Just…fun.” His jaw clenched on the other end. She could hear the faint scrape of his breath against the mic.

“But she didn’t stay surface-level,” he said quieter. “She got in. And I didn’t notice until it was already too late.”

Marquise swallowed.

“So—when I said she was a waste of time…” His voice dipped lower. “That was me panicking. Not literally meaning it. Just trying to kill something before it could…root.”

That one sat heavy.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to want someone and not feel like I’m losing control.” No dramatics. No theatrics. Just a man realizing he’s been running his whole life and now he doesn’t want to.

“And now?” Marquise asked quietly.

“And now she won’t even look at me.”

Marquise pressed her lips together.

Damn him.

“Do you like her,” she asked bluntly. The question cut straight through the static. No hesitation this time.

“Yeah. More than I planned to.”

There was something raw in that confession. Like he hadn’t meant for it to slip out that easily. Marquise swallowed. On the other line, Y/n was still technically waiting. Two worlds hanging off one phone.

“You’re aware…Yoongi will kill us both if I help you,” she said dryly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried.” Despite herself, she almost smiled. Almost.

“Give me a reason,” she said finally. “One good reason I shouldn’t hang up.”

Another pause. It felt like he was choosing his words carefully like they mattered.

“Cause…she didn’t look at me like she was done,” he said quietly. “She looked hurt…”

Marquise’s chest tightened.

“And I did that,” he continued. “So I should at least try to fix it.”

Silence filled her room again. Outside her window, cars passed. Life went on. Normal. Unbothered. Inside, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of something fragile.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

“Yeah.”

She inhaled slowly. “I’ll…I’ll see what I can do,” she said, already regretting it. On the other end, she didn’t hear relief. She heard a breath he’d been holding finally let go.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she warned. “If she throws something at me, I’ll make you my shield.”

A faint, tired chuckle. “Sure.”

She pulled the phone away, staring at the screen for a second before switching back to Y/n’s call.

“…You still there?” Y/n’s voice came.

Marquise closed her eyes briefly.

Yeah. This was about to get messy.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Yoongi didn’t knock. The door swung open and he stepped inside already knowing what he’d find—Y/n sitting on the edge of her bed, shoulders pulled tight, spine stiff like she’d swallowed a metal rod. Her phone lay beside her, face down. Exiled. Banished. Dramatic as hell.

The room felt stale. Like emotions had been sweating in it for hours. The air conditioner hummed but did absolutely nothing for the heat crawling under her skin.

Yoongi leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Want me to punch him?” No hello. No soft entry. Just violence, offered casually like a bottle of water.

She didn’t look up. “Can you stop defaulting to assault for like five seconds?”

“I’m serious.”

Y/n looked at him. Her eyes weren’t glossy. They weren’t red because wasn’t crying. They were pissed. Bruised pride. Ego scraped raw like someone dragged it across concrete.

“He’s a dick,” she muttered.

Yoongi stilled. That was new. Usually she’d argue. Deflect. Defend whoever she was seeing out of pure stubborn loyalty. She’d die on a hill before admitting a man she thought she knew was trash. But not tonight.

“He really is,” she added, jaw tight. “I should’ve listened to you.”

Yoongi’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Not smug. Not triumphant. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “You should’ve.” She didn’t fight him on it. That’s how he knew it hit deep.

Silence thickened the room. It sat heavy on their shoulders like a weighted blanket soaked in regret.

Yoongi pushed off the wall slowly. “Hated him the first time I saw him,” he said, eyes drifting toward the floor like the memory lived there.

Y/n frowned faintly. “You never told me why.”

“You never asked.”

“Sorry I didn’t know about your illegal double-life.”

He exhaled through his nose. The memory flickered behind his eyes — headlights slicing through night, engines screaming like caged animals, asphalt hot even after sundown.

“He beat me that day.,” Yoongi said. Her brows lifted. “First time we met each other. He won.” There was no sadness in it. Just fact and acceptance. “He was good,” Yoongi admitted. “Fast. Clean and smooth like he was born behind a wheel. I respected it.” His jaw flexed.

That word — respected — sounded like it cost him something.

“I lost by half a fucking second.” The bitterness didn’t shout. It simmered. “And I don’t mind losing fairly,” he added quickly. “That’s not the point.” He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose.

“I walked up to him after. Told him it was a good run. That he earned it.” Y/n listened carefully now. She’d never heard the story behind the rivalry.

Yoongi’s lip twitched, humorless. “He looked at me,” he said, voice flattening, “and said, ‘Come back when you’re actually competition.’” The words dropped like oil in water — dark, spreading.

“No handshake or nod. Just…that smug fucking look on his face like he’d just conquered the world instead of winning a street race.” Yoongi grumbled under his breath in a mocking tone.

“I wasn’t even mad he won,” he continued. “I was mad at the way he wore it. Like a goddamn crown. Like the rest of us were just extras in his highlight reel.” He leaned back against the dresser now, arms crossing again.

“And every race after that?” he scoffed lightly. “He drove like he had something to prove. Cutting it close—showing off—pushing too far.”

“It wasn’t competition,” he said, voice low. “It was ego.”

The word hung between them like smoke.

“I don’t hate him because he’s fast,” Yoongi said. “I hate him because he can’t stand not being the best in the room.”

Y/n stared at her hands. “And you?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t mind losing,” Yoongi said. “I mind losing against him. And I mind disrespect.” That one sat heavier. Because tonight wasn’t just about racing.

“He disrespected you tonight,” Yoongi added. “In my house.” Y/n decided to stay quiet. “And he disrespected you,” Yoongi pressed. “Calling you a waste of time? That’s not a slip. That’s him protecting his fragile little pride.”

She flinched. Not visibly dramatic. Just the tiniest tightening around her mouth. Because it sounded right.

“I told you,” Yoongi said. Not smug. Just solid. “Over and over—he doesn’t know how to handle things that matter.” She nodded slowly.

“I thought I could…” she admitted.

“Fix him?”

“Handle him,” she snapped, turning her head sharply toward him. “Not fix him.”

Yoongi scoffed softly. “Still not your job.”

Silence swallowed the room again. Y/n leaned back on her palms and stared at the ceiling. The white paint looked different tonight. Less innocent. Like even the walls were judging her. Her thoughts were loud. So fucking loud, like a room full of people arguing inside her skull.

You knew better. You ignored him. You liked him. You still like him.

“I feel stupid,” she said finally.

“You’re not stupid.” Yoongi shook his head in defence.

“I ignored your warnings.” She shot him a look.

“Okay—I’m not sugarcoating it,” Yoongi said. “But I warned you.”

He had. Side-eyes, comments, blunt “I don’t like him.” He’d said it so many times it had become general background noise and she’d brushed it off every single time because she thought she could outsmart the red flags. Because she thought she wouldn’t catch feelings. She thought she was immune.

“Fuck,” she whispered, dragging her hands down her face. “I should’ve just never gone out with him.”

Yoongi watched her carefully. “I knew you’d come around,” he muttered. She glared at him, but there was no real heat in it.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“And I’m still right.” He stepped closer now, looming slightly. “I don’t trust him,” he said quietly. “And I won’t. Not after that first day. Not after tonight. Not ever.”

She didn’t defend Jungkook or argue. Because right now? She was mad at him too. Mad that he embarrassed her, that he made her look weak in front of her own brother, that he made her feel something that still hadn’t fucking gone away. That was the worst part. Even after the insult. Even after the humiliation. Her heart was still beating a little too hard when she thought about him.

Disgusting.

Yoongi studied her for a long second.

“You liked him,” he said quietly.

She froze.

“Did not.”

“You did.”

She stood up abruptly, pacing away from him. “That’s not the point—he hurt my ego,” she snapped. “That’s what this is.”

Yoongi tilted his head slightly. “If it was just your ego, you wouldn’t be this quiet.”

She hated how well he knew her. She turned away from him, arms wrapped around herself now. Not cold. Just holding herself together.

“You don’t cry over people you don’t care about,” Yoongi said.

“I’m not crying.”

“Yeah and I’m not illegally racing.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly. He wasn’t accusing. He was stating facts.

“Another reason for me to hate that bitch,” Yoongi continued, voice lower now. “He gets under your skin.” The room felt smaller suddenly. “And I don’t like anyone who makes you doubt yourself,” he added. That softened something in her chest. Annoyingly.

Yoongi moved toward the door. “If you go back to him,” he said without turning around, “don’t expect me to clap.”

She rolled her eyes weakly. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

The door opened. “And if he hurts you again,” Yoongi finished, voice steady and cold, “I won’t be lending you a shoulder this time.” The door shut softly behind him. And suddenly the room felt too quiet. Too still.

Y/n laid there for a second, staring at nothing. Anger buzzed in her veins like static electricity. But underneath it, something softer and stubborn that refused to die no matter how much she tried to suffocate it.

Her gaze drifted to her table. To the hoodie. His hoodie. She walked over before she could stop herself. Touched the fabric. It still smelled faintly like her detergent — coconut and something warm. Something he’s probably unfamiliar with.

“Fuck,” she breathed. Her heart felt like a traitor. Like it was voting against her pride.

Yoongi was right.

Jungkook was an egoistic asshole.

But the problem? He wasn’t just that. And that’s what made this so much worse.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The next day came too quick and passed even faster — like the universe hit fast-forward just to spite her.

Her room was a controlled disaster. The kind that looked chaotic if you didn’t know her, but every stack had intention. Clothes folded into clean, obedient piles. Passport placed dead center on her desk. Chargers coiled with military precision.

Four suitcases lay open on her floor like gaping mouths. Two for Tokyo. Two for LA. Brazil with Yoongi would’ve been easier. A clean escape. A continent between her and Jungkook. Out of sight, out of reach. But running felt obvious and she refused to let him think he’d pushed her out of her own city.

Her flight was at seven in the morning. It was 10:02 p.m. The house was quiet in that heavy, expensive way. Their father had left at dawn for his business trip. Yoongi barely spoke at dinner. Not cold. Not angry. Protective silence. The kind that said, ‘I’m still thinking about what happened and I don’t like it.’

Y/n didn’t like it either.

She zipped one suitcase shut with a sharp, aggressive pull. The sound ripped through the room like she was trying to cut something in half.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it lazily.

Marquise.

Her brows knit together. She wiped her palms against her slacks before picking it up.

Mar: y/n emergency!!!

Mar: come to 28 Sinheung-ro 01-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul

Y/n frowned.

Sinheung?

That stretch of industrial nowhere. Long roads. Fewer houses. The kind of place people only drove through — not to.

Y/n: wut? why?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.

Mar: dont ask questions. just come.

Y/n: Is everything okay?

Typing again. Paused.

Mar: just shut up and get here.

That was not comforting.

Y/n stared at the screen like it might confess something else. Marquise wasn’t dramatic for no reason. If she said come, she meant come. Still…the address felt random and wrong. Like a door in a dream you shouldn’t open.

She moved anyway. Because curiosity had always been her fatal flaw and loyalty ran deeper than logic. What if Marquise actually needed her? But needed her for what? Pose for a desperate Instagram story? Hide a body? Who the fuck knew.

She changed quickly. Black fitted slacks that hugged her hips like they were tailored to her mood — sharp, clean, and unforgiving. A black tank that clung to her waist and dipped just enough. Hair down, pin straight. No perfume. No touch-up. Just her. Raw. She paused in front of the mirror. She looked composed. Maybe too composed. Her face gave nothing away. No heartbreak. No hesitation. But her eyes? Restless. Like they were waiting for something to jump out.

She grabbed her keys and slipped out quietly. The last thing she needed was Yoongi catching her creeping out like a teenager. The night air hit her like cool silk — thin and sharp and humming. The city’s distant noise felt muted, like Seoul itself was holding its breath. She slid into her car. The leather was cool against her skin. The engine purred to life, smooth and confident. She typed the address into navigation. The map loaded. No turning back now.

City lights blurred past her windows like smeared gold paint. Music played low but she didn’t register a single lyric. Every second stretched thin like gum pulled too far.

The city thinned out. High-rises turned into warehouses, neon signs turned into lonely street lamps standing ten meters apart like socially awkward cousins. Trees lined the road. Dark. Watchful. She swallowed. Her headlights carved through the night like blades.

“You will reach your destination on the left,” the robotic voice announced, too cheerful for the vibe.

There sat a row of garages. Rusted metal walls, low industrial buildings crouched under dim lights. One long horizontal banner that read ‘Mechanical Seoul’ in peeling letters.

And then she saw something. A matte-black Porsche parked slightly crooked. Like the driver hadn’t cared enough to fix it.

Her breath caught. Her pulse didn’t spike romantically. It punched. Hard. Annoyed. And betraying.

No.

Plenty of people own black Porsches. Right?

She squinted. The emblem glinted under the light. Her stomach flipped.

“You’re being dramatic,” she muttered to herself.

She parked a few spaces down, engine still idling and hands locked around the steering wheel like it might float away. Her phone felt heavy in her hand as she texted.

Y/n: im here..

She stared at the half-open garage door. Light spilling out like a secret. Shadow moving inside.

A vibration.

Mar: okay come in

That was it. No explanation. No reassurance. Just… walk into the lion’s den.

She killed the engine for silence to swallow everything. Even her own breathing sounded too loud. She stepped out as her slides scraped softly against the pavement. The night air felt colder now. Meaner. Goosebumps prickled along her arms.

“Mar?” she called as she stepped into the garage. Her voice bounced off metal walls and came back thinner. The place smelled like oil and iron and something burnt. Tools hung on walls like surgical instruments. Buckets, rags, a dusty cash register that looked like it hadn’t seen a customer in months.

No Marquise.

“Mar? Hello?” Her voice sharpened slightly.

Nothing.

Why the fuck would she call me here?

Her eyes caught a door slightly ajar at the far end. Light leaking from underneath. She crossed the space, her footsteps echoing. Each step sounded louder than it should’ve like the building itself was snitching. She pushed the door open.

“Mar I’m—”

The word fell apart in her mouth.

Not Marquise.

Jungkook.

He was seated on a low mechanic’s stool, back slightly curved, forearms resting against his thighs as he worked a wrench over the rim of a tire. The overhead light cast a harsh glow over him, sharpening every line — the ink winding over his arms, the veins shifting under his skin, the subtle flex of muscle each time he tightened his grip.

There was something almost unfair about how calm he looked. AirPods in, head slightly lowered. Focused and unrushed. Like last night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t detonated her pride and walked away from the debris.

For a few seconds she just stood there, rooted to the uneven concrete floor, staring at him in a way she’d never admit to. Her heart started pounding, not in some cinematic slow-burn way, but hard and annoyed, like it was scolding her for even being here.

He shifted slightly, tightening the bolt, and the movement made the tattoos along his forearm ripple like dark water. It was intimate in a way it shouldn’t have been. Watching him like this. In his space. Unaware of her.

She hated that her body reacted before her brain could catch up. Her slides scraped against the floor when she adjusted her stance the same time Jungkook released a grunt as he stood up slowly, wrench still in hand, wiping his palm on a rag before tossing it over his bare shoulder. His gaze finally met y/n’s

Time didn’t slow down. It stretched.

Recognition hit his face first — surprise flashing through his pupils before he masked it. He pulled one AirPod out slowly, like he needed to make sure this wasn’t some hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.

“…Y/n.”

Her name came out rougher than usual. Not cocky. Not smooth. Just raw.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

There was hesitation in his movements, subtle but there. The kind of hesitation someone has when they don’t know if they’re about to get slapped or forgiven.

“What—uh…what are you doing here?” He fluttered his eyes, keeping a careful distance like he knew the line he could cross.

“I’m looking for Marquise,” she said, arms crossed, the weight of her posture a shield.

Jungkook’s head dropped, a short, dry chuckle escaping. “And…why the hell would she be at a mechanic shop?” His piercing shifted slightly as he smirked, eyes flashing something unreadable.

Y/n raised a brow, sarcasm creeping back like smoke. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe you two are back to fucking each other with no strings attached?” Her head bobbled with mock indignation. “Is there a bed here? She in your bed? Mar? Mar!” She cupped her hand over her mouth, yelling toward every shadowy corner.

Jungkook tilted his head, almost amused, poking the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue.

Unbelievable.

“Yeah—no. Mar’s not here,” he said, voice calm, almost lazy.

Y/n stopped. Her arms stayed folded, but her eyes narrowed. “Then what am I doing here?” Her voice wavered, raw, real, cutting through the sarcasm.

“To see me?” He replied quietly, scratching the back of his neck. The gesture betrayed nerves he usually buried under that confident facade. “I don’t know—you’re the one who came all the way here.”

“Yeah?” she echoed, incredulous. “Yeah—that’s your explanation?”

“I’m guessing this is her helping me,” he shrugged.

“He—helping you?” Her voice rose with disbelief. Neck craning forward. “What the fuck do you even need help with?”

He exhaled slowly, setting the wrench down. Metal clinked against the table—it sounded like a bell toll in the quiet garage. “Well, didn’t think you’d come if I asked.”

Her jaw tightened. Arms crossed tighter. She wanted to be angry, but the honesty scraped at her chest, and she hated the pull. “Y-yes…you’re right. I wouldn’t have came.”

“That’s why I asked Marquise to help me,” he murmured.

She blinked, then suddenly snapped, voice sharp. “She said she didn’t have your number!”

“No—I reached out to her myself,” he corrected.

Y/n froze, then blinked rapidly, trying to reclaim her tough exterior. “Exes don’t keep in touch,” she muttered.

Jungkook coughed out a short, incredulous laugh. “That’s your concern? Still can’t accept we dated?”

Her face stayed calm, unbothered, fake unbothered—but her pulse skipped. “Not the fucking point.”

“Hah—okay then.” He finally moved, rolling the rag from his shoulder onto the table. Muscles flexed in the light. Heat rose from his body. She blinked, half in disbelief. The garage suddenly felt smaller, the air thick.

“Do you think this is funny?” Her voice cut the hum of neon and distant traffic.

“No,” he said immediately. Fast. Honest.

He stepped closer, but then froze, remembering the last night, the collars, the pride bruised. He perched on the hood of the car, legs spread, hands flat, head bowed slightly. “I just needed to talk to you,” he said finally. “And you blocked me.”

“That’s right,” she spat. The words were sharp, like breaking glass. They hung there. His jaw flexed. He nodded once, accepting it. She studied him properly now. There were faint shadows under his eyes. His hair wasn’t styled the way it usually was when he showed up for a race or a party. But he still looked dashing. And that annoyed her more than if he’d shown up smug.

“And you decided to show up at my house unannounced and—what—put up another show?” Y/n’s tone now more agitated.

“Well what did you want me to do, Y/n—you’re stubborn as fuck.”

“You embarrassed me,” she suddenly cried, voice steady but low. “You hurt my pride.”

His gaze dropped, no confidence to look at her right now. “I know.”

“A you called me a waste of time.” She said it low, but every word sliced through the cold air between them.

“Don’t say that…” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Say it again,” she pressed, voice trembling just under the surface as she stepped forward.

Jungkook blinked slowly. Shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Say it!” Her command was sharper this time, more desperate than she intended. “Call me a waste of time…”

“I was lying,” he admitted quietly.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Bullshit excuse!”

“Okay—fuck! I wasn’t lying. I just—” His voice cracked. Palms pressed flat on the hood, head hanging low. “I…panicked…okay?”

Her chest dropped, a sharp inhale. The honesty hit like a fist wrapped in silk.

“You were getting too close,” he said, voice raw, low. “I don’t let people get near…or stay. You were starting to.”

Her mind went blank. No comebacks. No sarcasm. Just his words, slicing through her armor.

“I’m not even close with my friends,” he continued, eyes still down. “Yes, we seem close. But they don’t know my family, my childhood. Nothing. They just know I don’t get close. With Marquise, it was just sex. Simple. You however…you weren’t simple.”

Her breath caught. Every pulse in her body shouted at her to run, to scream, to laugh at the vulnerability, but she stayed. She needed to hear this. Needed it because it hurt, it mattered.

“You weren’t…” He exhaled slowly. “…a waste of time…Y/n. You were becoming something I couldn’t control. I only said it because if I convinced you that…you didn’t matter, maybe I wouldn’t have to admit you did.”

The garage was suddenly warmer, though the chill from the outside still clawed at her skin. The words wrapped around her, pulling at something stubborn she refused to give.

“So…what? You have attachment issues or something?” Her voice was steady but wary.

“Yes, Y/n,” he nodded, gaze soft, honest. “I have attachment issues.” He swallowed. Every nerve on edge, every muscle taut. He needed her to understand and see past the walls he’d built.

“My dad…he introduced me to racing. Every weekend, he’d take me out in his sports car. That’s how I learned to love the adrenaline, the thrill, winning. He was the first person I ever wanted to impress.” His lips twitched with a faint, sad smile. Eyes cast to the floor, lost in memory. She leaned closer involuntarily. The story sounded like confession that burned.

“After he died…” His throat tightened. “I missed him. Badly. I thought I’d never survive losing someone else. So…anyone I let close? I couldn’t let go.” He finally looked at her. No tears. Just honesty that was broken and raw.

“You’re not a waste of time,” he murmured, voice low, trembling with sincerity. “You are the first thing after my dad I didn’t want to lose. I said it…to push you away, to protect myself. Because if I let you in, I’d be fucked if anything happened to you.”

Y/n’s grip on her arms slackened. The cold breeze of the night no longer mattered. She was burning from inside, heart racing, chest tight, every nerve screaming at the raw truth standing in front of her.

For the first time, she didn’t feel angry at him. She didn’t feel the sting of pride or humiliation. She felt…everything. Vulnerability, ache, longing, the sharp sting of love she’d tried to bury. She just stared. And for a moment, nothing moved but the hum of fluorescent light, the soft drip of oil, and two hearts thundering in tandem.

He had explained himself. He had told her he panicked. That he didn’t expect it to feel that intense. The hills, the car hood, the way she looked at him that night — it hit him harder than he was prepared for. She understood. And somehow, that made it worse. Y/n let out a hollow laugh.

“So that’s it?”

Jungkook’s brows pulled together. “Wha-what do you mean—”

“Your feelings scared you so I just get…collateral damage?” she snapped, stepping forward. “You don’t get to bleed on me because you’re afraid of your own heart.”

There it is. They’re back in it.

He straightened from the hood now — not backing away, not defensive. Just tense. Face to face.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he shot back. “You think I enjoyed saying that? You—you think I didn’t replay it a hundred fucking times after?”

“That doesn’t erase it, Jungkook!” she yelled. “You still said it. You still looked me in the eye and told me I was a waste of your time and energy.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what I heard.”

Silence again — shorter this time, sharper.

Her chest heaved. “You don’t get to say those things and then stand here acting like explaining it fixes it. It doesn’t. It felt like a slap in the face, Jungkook. After that night in the hills. After you told me I was different.”

His eyes flickered at that.

“And I meant that,” he said, lower now. “I meant all of it.”

“And that’s exactly why it hurt.” Y/n spat back, leaning ever so slightly forward like she was pushing her words of frustration into his stupid face. “You don’t get to make me feel special and then disposable in the same breath!” she shouted.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration cracking through. “I didn’t think it would hit me like that, okay? I didn’t expect you to matter like that. And when I realized you did, it felt like someone knocked the air out of me.”

She stared at him, stunned and furious all at once.

“So I’m what?” she challenged. “Your emotional punchline? Your…your practice round?”

“No!” he barked, getting his ass off the hood. “You’re the first person in a long time that made me feel out of control. And I hate that. I fucking hate not being in control.” He jabbed his finger into the curve of his chest.

Y/n was overwhelmed with all her mixed emotions of anger, frustration, guilt and maybe pity. She turned on her feet and clutched the front of her hair. Grip so tight, if she were to yank her hands down, her scalp would bleed.

“You’re not just some…thrill! You’re different, Y/n. You hit me in ways I didn’t even know existed! And yeah, I panicked—I’m not perfect! I fuck up, I overthink, I run when I shouldn’t!”

Her head whipped back. “Yeah you run! You acted cold towards me, Jungkook! I had to watch you—ignoring me, act weird, calling me a waste of time—and I just…just sat there, wondering what the fuck I did wrong!”

I said it to protect myself. To make it easier to walk away before I…before I get destroyed!” His voice dropped, barely above a growl, but it carried across the garage like a punch.

“And what? Make me feel like shit?” Y/n screamed, stepping closer and stoping at least half a meter away from him so now their breaths brushed. “Do you even know how much I…how much I—” She stopped, shook her head, hair whipping in front of her face, then shoved it back.

Y/n had to physically clamp her mouth shut. The words were right there. Sitting on her tongue. Heavy. Loaded. One wrong move and they’d fall out and ruin her. It was too dangerous to say them right now. Not when her chest felt split open and her pride was hanging on by a thread. So she didn’t finish. She just stood there, staring at him.

Tears pooled slowly at her lash line, glassy and stubborn. They didn’t fall — not yet. They just clung there, threatening. Her gaze flickered between his eyes like she was trying to decide which version of him she was looking at. The asshole. Or the boy who was terrified.

Her silence stretched. Jungkook cracked first.

“I’m…fucked up. Okay?” he breathed out, slamming his palms against his thighs like he was grounding himself, like he needed the sting. “Your brother probably told you that already.” A bitter exhale left him.

Y/n’s chest rose and fell, still shaky from almost saying too much. From almost slipping. She felt like she was balancing on ice that could split any second. But she listened. Because for once, he wasn’t hiding behind ego.

“I just…” He swallowed. His voice lost its edge. “I didn’t want to experience hell again. Loss. That empty, hollow feeling.”

His eyes locked onto hers — not wandering, not defensive. Just locked. Close enough now that he could see every detail in her face. The tiny crease between her brows. The faint flush in her cheeks. The mole under her eyebrow he’d somehow never noticed before. His lips twitched at that — soft, almost disbelieving. Like he couldn’t believe he’d almost walked away from something so detailed.

“If we kept talking…if we actually got close,” he continued, quieter now, “if this turned into something real…” His voice faltered. “…I don’t think I’d be strong enough to watch you walk away from me.”

That last part came out like a confession dragged over broken glass. Barely audible. Almost ashamed. And it hit her. Not like a knife. Like warmth. Like someone pressing their palm gently against a bruise.

Her heart didn’t shatter — it softened. It pulled apart slowly, like cotton being teased loose. It felt dangerous in a different way. She wanted to scream at him. Shove him. Call him selfish for making his fear her problem. But her body betrayed her. Instead of stepping back, her feet carried her forward. Anger and longing tangled inside her veins like barbed wire wrapped in silk. Reckless. Confused. Honest.

“You scared me,” she whispered. Her voice cracked on the edges, thin and exposed. “And I hate…that I care this much.”

There it was. Not ‘I love you’. Not ‘I forgive you’. Just the truth.

Jungkook’s expression shifted like something inside him gave out. The anger was still there — but dulled now. Fragile. Human.

“I didn’t want to,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t plan for you. I didn’t plan to feel like this.”

He stepped closer without even realizing.

“But I can’t stop, Y/n.” His voice dropped, rough and helpless. “I can’t fucking pretend I don’t feel it. Not with you.”

Her hands trembled at her sides. She was close enough now to see the tiny flecks in his eyes. Gold bleeding into brown. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hitting her lips. Close enough that the air between them felt charged — like it was waiting for a match.

“Y/n…” he said softly.

Just her name. Like a question. Like a prayer he wasn’t sure he deserved an answer to. And God, that almost undid her.

“Forgive me,”

Slam. Y/n’s head whipped back, a sharp jolt of whiplash meeting the aggressive pull of his hands at her waist. Jungkook didn’t just kiss her; he collided with her. His lips were a sudden, soft contradiction to the violence of the movement, made even sharper by the cold, clinical bite of his lip ring catching against her lower lip. One of his hands slid up, tangled into the hair at her nape and anchoring her, while the other burned through the fabric at the small of her back.

Y/n froze. Her fingers hovered near his biceps, curled like claws but lacking the nerve to sink into the inked skin of his right arm, the intricate sleeve shifting like a second skin under her touch.

The air between them was thick enough to choke on—heavy with the scent of his cologne and the metallic tang of a night that had already gone to shit. Jungkook was waiting, his heartbeat thrumming a frantic rhythm against her chest, but the silence from her end was deafening. He was just throwing himself at a brick wall at this point, and the realization tasted like ash.

He pulled back, just a fraction, leaving a gap that felt like a damn canyon. His eyes scanned hers, taking in the way her lips quivered like a dying flame.

“Y/n…?” he breathed, his voice cracked and desperate. “Damn—say something...” His thumb brushed her cheek.

The hesitation snapped.

Y/n didn’t talk; she reacted. She shoved his shoulders back—hard—sending him thudding against the hood of the car again. Before he could even grunt, she was on him. Her lips crashed into his, messy and frantic, finally finding the friction she’d been craving—the metal of his piercing clicking against her teeth in a way that made her blood hum. One hand dove into his long hair, grappling at the strands like a lifeline, while her other palm cupped his cheek, her thumb digging into that slight softness there.

“Shut up,” she muttered against his mouth. “Just shut the hell up.”

Jungkook let out a low, wrecked sound in his throat, his hands sliding back to her waist. His palms were massive, practically mapping out her entire circumference, the dark ink on his right hand stark against her skin as his slender fingers bruised the skin through her thin tank top.

The kiss turned hungry. It wasn't some poetic, cinematic bullshit but teeth and tongue and a desperate need to consume. It was the sound of lips smacking in the dead-quiet night—a rhythm that drowned out the ringing in their ears. Every scream they’d swallowed during the fight, every jagged insult they’d spat at each other, every pathetic 'I hate you'—the kiss devoured it all. It was a goddamn exorcism.

Jungkook’s thumb hooked under the hem of her top, his skin searing against hers, a silent question she answered by pulling him closer until there wasn't a molecule of oxygen left between them.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn't graceful. They were both wrecked, chests heaving in a synchronized, ragged beat. The heat rolling off them could’ve melted the damn engine block they were leaning against. Neither of them moved. Their gazes were locked on each other’s swollen, reddened lips before finally flickering up to meet eyes that looked absolutely shattered. The night was still cold, but with his warm hands still clamped onto her like she might vanish, Y/n felt like she was burning alive. And she didn't want him to put the fire out.

Her fingers were still twisted in his hair when she leaned in again — not to kiss him this time, but to breathe him in. Her forehead pressed against his, noses brushing, lips barely touching.

He was still holding her like she’d disappear if his grip loosened. His thumb moved unconsciously against her waist now, slow back-and-forth strokes over the thin fabric of her tank top. Not even sexual. Just grounding. Like he needed the motion to convince himself she was solid.

Her hand slid from his cheek to the side of his neck, then into the ends of his hair. She absentmindedly combed through the strands at the nape, smoothing them down before curling them lightly around her fingers again. His hair was softer than it looked. Always had been. She felt the frantic pulse under his skin. He wasn’t composed. He wasn’t in control. He was unraveling right in front of her.

Good.

Let him.

She tilted her head slightly, lips brushing the corner of his mouth when she spoke. “What makes you think I’d leave you just like that?”

His thumb paused against her waist. The question hit him like cold water. She studied him up close now — really looked at him. The faint crease between his brows that only showed when he was thinking too hard. The way his lower lip was slightly swollen from kissing her, the silver ring glinting. The dark ink on his right hand flexing when his fingers tightened — that sleeve crawling up his arm like something alive under his skin. He looked dangerous. But right now, he just looked scared.

“You would,” he said automatically. His gaze flickered over her face — searching. Scanning every micro-expression like he was waiting for her to flinch. “Everyone does eventually.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him properly. “Don’t project your past onto me,” she whispered, thumb pressing under his jaw so he had to meet her eyes. “I’m not them.”

“You don’t know that,” he muttered.

“And you don’t know that I would.”

Silence again — but softer.

His thumb resumed its slow motion at her waist, this time more careful. Almost reverent. He was memorizing the shape of her there. His grip softened — not letting go, just less desperate. As if he was realizing he didn’t have to cage her to keep her.

“I’m not easy,” he admitted. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before flickering back up. “I get in my head. I shut down. I push. I say shit I don’t mean.”

“No shit,” she muttered. A broken, quiet laugh left him.

She stepped closer, their bodies aligning again — but slower this time. Intentional. Her fingers slid from his hair down to rest her arms at the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth there.

“You don’t get to decide I’ll leave before I even have the chance to stay,” she said. “That’s not how this works.”

His eyes searched hers again, slower now. Less frantic. He noticed the faint red in her waterline from crying. The tiny mole under her brow he’d clocked earlier. The way her lashes clumped slightly from tears.

She was still here.

“And what if I fuck it up again?” he asked quietly.

“You will,” she said bluntly. He blinked. “And I’ll probably scream at you again,” she added, fingers lightly combing through the top of his hair once more. “But that doesn’t mean I’m walking away.”

Something shifted in his face. Not relief. Not quite. But something close to surrender.

“You’d stay?” he asked, softer than he’d been all night.

She leaned in until their lips barely grazed again, her breath warm against his mouth.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

His grip changed. Not tighter. Just steadier. His tattooed hand slid slightly up her back, fingers spreading like he was holding something precious instead of bracing for impact.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping against hers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “You already tried ruining us first.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes closing briefly as if the truth of that stung and soothed at the same time.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess I did.”

There were no sharp edges left in the air now. Just heat and something steadier underneath it — like the fire had stopped raging and started warming. He kissed her again. Slow. Intentional. His thumb still tracing her waist. Her fingers still tangled in his hair. His lip ring cool against her mouth. His hands anchoring her like he was finally done running.

And this time, it didn’t feel like collision. It felt like choice. And she chose him back.

𑣲Love Countdown ᯓᰔ

Y/N had been scrolling on TikTok for the past two hours, thumb numb, eyes dry, brain slowly melting into algorithm soup — all in the name of finding a Valentine’s Day surprise for Jungkook.

Two. Whole. Hours.

She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until her phone buzzed with the low battery warning, like it was judging her. Girl. Get it together.

They’d been together for four years now. Four solid, stupidly-in-love years. And somehow, Jungkook always — always — outdid her when it came to surprises.

It was actually annoying.

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her side on the couch, phone hovering inches from her face. Her reflection stared back at her in the black screen between videos — hair messy, sweater slipping off one shoulder, the faint crease between her brows that only showed up when she was overthinking.

Which was…now.

She wasn’t bad at gift-giving. Not technically. But compared to Jungkook? She felt like she was bringing a fork to a gunfight.

Her surprises were sweet. Simple. Predictable. Tiger lilies because they were his brith flower. Heart-shaped tarts she’d bake every year, flour everywhere, swearing at the oven like it personally wronged her, the ones that Jungkook would ask for more.

Meanwhile, Jungkook?

Love coupons. Giant balloons floating like idiots in the living room. Plushies stacked on the bed. Rose petals and candles arranged into a heart so perfectly it looked Pinterest-coded. And that one year — fuck — he’d found her childhood stuffed toy. The one she’d lost during a move and cried about like a child when she was drunk. She still didn’t know how he tracked it down.

And the worst part? Even when she felt like her gifts were lame, Jungkook loved them like they were gold. He’d smile that soft, stupid smile and pull her into his chest and say, “You made this? For me?” like she’d handed him the moon.

Which somehow made her feel worse.

So this year was different. New year, new Y/N. Or at least slightly more unhinged Y/N.

She groaned, dropping her head back into her palm, elbow resting against the back of the couch.

“Bro,” she muttered to no one, “why are all the fucking surprises the same?” She kissed her teeth.

Her phone kept playing, relentless. DIY flower bouquets. Luxury presents. Matching couple rings. Hotel staycations with champagne and rose petals — again.

Not that they were bad. They were fine. Cute, even. But they were predictable. Predictable like a rom-com ending you could see from ten minutes in. Jungkook deserved better than that. He deserved something that felt like them.

She glanced at the calendar in her head. Less than two weeks to Valentine’s Day.

“Fuck,” she sighed. “I’m running out of time.”

Another swipe.

Another swipe.

Then — something different.

A boyfriend leaned over, kissed his girlfriend, then wiped her lips dramatically with her sleeve like she was erasing evidence. The boyfriend looked personally offended.

Y/N snorted before she could stop herself. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and surprised.

That’s kinda cute.

The video looped. The boyfriend’s dramatic gasp. The girlfriend’s giggle.

Her mind drifted, curiosity creeping in like a cat pushing open a door it wasn’t supposed to.

“Wonder what Kook would do if I did that...”

She imagined it instantly. Jungkook freezing. Blinking. That little frown appearing between his brows before he’d go, “Hey. Why’d you do that?” all wounded and dramatic.

She smiled to herself.

Then it hit her.

It was a full-on lightbulb moment — electricity snapping through her brain, ideas crashing into each other like dominos.

Pranks.

There were so many pranks she could pull on Jungkook. Harmless ones. Dumb ones. Cute ones that would make him groan and chase her around the apartment. And there were still days left.

A countdown.

Her lips parted as the idea settled in, warm and buzzing in her chest.

“One prank a day,” she whispered, sitting up straighter. “Until Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart started racing, excitement blooming like something alive. This wasn’t just a surprise. This was a build-up. Suspense. Misdirection. Jungkook wouldn’t know what was real anymore.

And by the time Valentine’s Day came around? He wouldn’t see it coming at all.

She grinned, sharp and proud, pointing at herself like she’d just solved world hunger.

“Ohhh, Y/N,” she laughed under her breath, already reaching for her notes app.

“You smart, smart girl.”

Day 1.

Jungkook was planted on the couch like he paid rent for that exact spot.

The TV was on—not an Avengers movie this time, but some Switzerland travel vlog he’d found and immediately claimed as background noise. Snow-dusted mountains rolled across the screen. Trains slicing through valleys. Some overly enthusiastic narrator talking about chocolate factories and scenic routes.

And yet. Funny, but not surprising at all, Jungkook was barely watching. His phone had his full attention, thumb scrolling mindlessly like it was muscle memory as if the screen was gonna reveal the meaning of life if he kept going long enough.

Typical.

Y/N stepped out of their shared bedroom a minute later, moving with purpose. Not rushed or casual. Purposeful.

She’d intentionally put on her Calvin Klein boxer shorts — the kind that hugged her ass like they were personally devoted to the job. Paired with a matching black tank top that sat a little too perfectly, the neckline dipping just enough to be dangerous if she bent over.

It wasn’t subtle. It was a loaded weapon.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up automatically. Actually—his whole soul flicked up.

He paused mid-scroll. Usually, she was in oversized sweats or one of his shirts. Maybe some random shorts that didn’t match anything or just her lace underwear. Comfortable. Cute. Still hot as hell because she was her.

But this? This was a statement. This was intent.

His gaze dragged over her body like gravity had suddenly gotten stronger.

Y/N walked closer, lips twitching like she had a secret. Jungkook sat up a little, interest sparking in his eyes like a match catching.

“Hey, baby,” he said, casual, but sweetness clung to the word.

His eyes didn’t leave her. Y/N just smiled. That slow kind of smile that made his brain start filling in blanks he had no business filling in.

She leaned down, and Jungkook met her halfway, one hand sliding instinctively to her waist, thumb settling there like it belonged. He pressed a kiss to her lips — just two seconds of softness and familiarity, the kind that felt worn-in, like muscle memory rather than effort.

Then she pulled back. Jungkook’s attention dropped to his phone again, assuming she was just passing through, unfortunately for him.

Until she grabbed the pillow next to him.

He looked up, confused. Y/N was standing right in front of him now, tying her hair up. Arms raised. Tank shifting. Jungkook’s thoughts immediately went to hell.

Of course they did.

His dirty mind was already sprinting.

He watched her, silent, hopeful as shit. Y/N had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could literally see it — that glint in his big, stupid boba eyes.

The ‘please suck my dick’ written all over his face.

“Baby…” he chuckled, voice dipping. “What are you doing?” His tone was trying so hard to be chill. It was failing miserably.

Y/N didn’t answer. Just smiled, stepping closer. Then, she got down on her knees, weight on the cushion.

Jungkook’s grin spread instantly, bright and boyish, like Christmas came early.

“God—seriously?” he laughed, excitement bubbling out of him. “You’re doing this right now?”

He was looking down at her like a man seeing heaven open up in his living room.

Y/N’s hands slid over his thighs, slow, deliberate. Jungkook sucked in a breath, already reaching for the waistband of his sweats.

Ready. So fucking ready.

Then—

She turned around.

Jungkook froze.

Y/N sat back on the pillow between his feet, stretching her neck, rolling her shoulders like she was warming up for yoga or some shit. She groaned dramatically.

“Argh… babe,” she hissed. “Can you give me a massage?”

Silence.

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice. Fingers paused at his waistband.

“I think I slept wrong. My shoulders are killing me.” She added, like this was normal.

Jungkook just stared at the back of her head. His brain blue-screened. Because unfortunately for him, his body had not gotten the memo.

He could feel it — his dick trying to commit a prison break in his sweats while she sat there all innocent, cross-legged, asking for a shoulder rub.

He blinked again, voice cracking slightly. “…Uh. O-okay.”

His hands landed on her shoulders, fingers working automatically, but his face was still stuck somewhere between betrayal and disbelief.

The atmosphere was ridiculous — like a balloon inflated with anticipation and then stabbed with a needle.

His thumbs pressed into her muscles. Y/N lasted about five seconds before she broke. Her head flopped onto his thigh as laughter burst out of her. Jungkook’s hands lifted into the air.

“B-baby… what the fuck?”

Y/N turned her face, still laughing, cheeks warm.

“I was pranking you!”

Jungkook stared at her, jaw slightly open. Offended. Flustered. Devastated.

Then Y/N clapped once, loud as hell. “Your face—oh my god.”

“Ya! Fuck you!” Jungkook groaned, leaning back. “You got me hard for a shoulder massage?” He grabbed a pillow and smacked her arm, not even gently.

“That’s evil!”

Y/N shrieked, laughing harder.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist!”

“Nah,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Now you gotta fix it.”

“Huh—Jungkook—”

Too late. His arms hooked around her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Y/N squealed.

“Wait, wait—your show’s is still on!”

“I don’t give a shit about Switzerland right now,” he grunted, hauling her toward the bedroom.

Her laughter echoed down the hall like a victory bell.

Day one of the prank countdown and Jungkook was already suffering.

Day 2.

Jungkook adjusted his jacket at the shoulders, eyes flicking over his reflection like he was double-checking he still looked like a functioning adult. He was already done getting ready—hair styled, rings on, cologne lingering faintly in the air like a promise.

Behind him, at the foot of the bed, Y/N was very much not done.

Her clothes were laid out in a messy row across the duvet, casualties of indecision. Red dress. Black top. Jeans she loved but complained about. A silent battlefield.

Jungkook turned, an amused smile already creeping onto his lips. He crossed the room and slid his hands around her waist, fingers disappearing under the hem of the oversized shirt she was wearing—his shirt, obviously.

“Still can’t find an outfit?” he murmured against her neck, voice warm and unhurried. He pressed a slow kiss just beneath her ear, the cool touch of his lip ring grazing her skin like an afterthought, careful and familiar—enough to make her lean into him without even realizing it.

Y/N sighed, dramatic and content, one hand settling over his, thumb rubbing absentmindedly like she was grounding herself there.

“Myeah…”

He chuckled, eyes flicking down at the bed. “Wear this one.” He pointed to the red outfit in the middle. “You know I like you in red.” Another kiss—this one on her shoulder, softer, lingering.

Y/N giggled and bent forward to grab it, her ass brushing his bulge just enough to be intentional.

Jungkook huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mhmm,” she replied. “Red one it is,” she said sweetly, glancing back at him with a grin that definitely meant trouble.

He backed up, flopping onto the bed just as his phone buzzed.

“Oh—Tae texted,” he said, scrolling. “He said don’t be late.” A pause. “Better change quick, love.”

Y/N hummed in response, already turning back toward him.

A knowing smile tugged at her lips.

Next prank.

Her fingers hooked under the hem of Jungkook’s shirt she was wearing—about to pull it over her head—then stopped.

She turned slowly. Jungkook was sitting there, distracted, fidgeting with the matching bracelet on his wrist—the one she’d gotten him, the one he never took off.

“Uh…baby,” she said.

He hummed back immediately, soft and automatic, looking up at her with pursed lips like a question mark.

She hesitated just long enough to sell it.

“Could you…leave?” she said. “I wanna change.”

Silence.

Jungkook’s brows crashed together like two trains colliding, his face screaming ‘that sentence makes no fucking sense’.

His neck glitched forward. Actually glitched.

“W—what?”

“I wanna change,” she repeated, blinking innocently. “And I can’t do it with you in the room.”

He stared at her like she’d just announced the sky was green.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, disbelief dripping from every syllable, “I literally just had you cum on my face an hour ago—what do you mean…you can’t change in front of me?”

She almost lost it right there.

Almost.

His confusion spiraled fast.

“Did—did I do something wrong?” He was already moving, reaching for her hands and pulling her between his legs, worry flashing across his face like a storm cloud rolling in too fast. “Did I make you uncomfortable earlier?”

His hands were warm, steady, thumbs brushing the back of her hands like he was afraid she’d slip away.

“You can tell me,” he added quickly. “You know that, right?”

Her heart fucking swelled. God. He could go from cocky menace to soft, concerned boyfriend in half a second. It was honestly unfair.

“I mean—” he continued, rambling now, shoulders lifting and dropping. “It’s just not like you. We change in front of each other literally every day. Every. Day.”

She broke.

Her grin cracked first. Then her head tipped back, laughter spilling out of her like she couldn’t contain it anymore. Jungkook tightened his grip instinctively so she wouldn’t fall.

“…Baby?” he said, completely lost.

She looked back at him, eyes bright, cheeks warm.

“Aww,” she laughed. “You care!”

“O—of course I care!” he shot back immediately, offended but still worried. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable with me! But I wanna respect your privacy too!”

She laughed again, softer this time, and leaned down to kiss him.

“I was just pranking you. You already know I’m yours.”

The realization hit him all at once. His face collapsed into a flat, betrayed stare. ‘You’re fucking kidding me’ written all over his face.

She smiled.

“Argh! Again?” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “This is war, you know that, right?”

Y/N just grabbed the hem of the shirt and removed it, laughing.

Day two. And Jungkook was officially on edge.

Day 3.

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket were doing absolutely no favors for anyone’s complexion, but Jungkook still looked like he’d stepped off a damn runway.

He was a few aisles down, struggling with a stack of plastic storage bins like they’d personally wronged him. Brows furrowed, lips pursed, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms to display a peak of his tattoo sleeve. That focused, slightly clueless look that made Y/N’s brain short-circuit every time.

She leaned against the cart, watching him like a menace.

“Babe,” she called, voice echoing a little too loudly down the sterile aisle. “Can you take a video of me walking? Like a quick fit check.”

Jungkook looked up, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. He wiped his hands on his oversized black hoodie, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders.

"Really? Right now? We still haven’t found the right size trash bags, baby."

“Just one,” she pleaded, already pouting. “Please? It’ll take like…two seconds.”

He sighed, but his eyes were soft, full of that "I’d follow you into a burning building or a Supermart clearance section" energy.

"Fine, gimme the phone."

He took it, his fingers brushing hers—a quick spark of heat in the air-conditioned chill even after four years of being together.

Jungkook stepped back, framing her carefully, tongue poking into his cheek like he was taking this very seriously.

"Recording."

Y/N turned, her heart thumping with a mix of excitement and mischief.

Prank number three.

She started walking down the aisle, her hips swaying just enough to catch his eye. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and appreciative, like a physical weight against her back.

Then, she spun around, her face twisting into a mask of pure, simulated terror.

"Why are you recording me?!" she shrieked, the sound slicing through the quiet hum of the store like a jagged blade. "Stop it! Leave me alone!"

Jungkook froze.

His brain stalled for a split second, the gears grinding as he tried to reconcile the playful girl he’d just been filming with the panicked woman screaming at him.

“Babe?” he blurted. “What the fuck—”

"I said stop! Get away from me!" Y/N yelled, backing away, her eyes wide and pleading.

A middle-aged woman nearby gasped, hand flying to her chest like she’d just witnessed a crime documentary unfolding in real time.

"Hey!" the woman barked, her inner mama bear surging to the surface. She stepped forward, glaring at Jungkook with enough vitriol to melt lead.

"You need to leave her alone right now! What is wrong with you?"

Jungkook looked like his soul had exited his body.

He held up his hands, not in surrender but in a falsely accused way, the phone still gripped in one. His face was a masterpiece of confusion and mounting panic.

“No—no, wait, she’s literally my girlfriend,” he rushed out. “Babe, tell her! Please!”

"I don't even know who he is!" Y/N sobbed out, hiding her grinning mouth in her hands, though her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

"You heard her! Back off before I call security for harassment!" the woman snapped, her voice rising.

Jungkook’s eyes darted between Y/N and the stranger, his pulse racing. He looked like a deer caught in high-beams—vulnerable, beautiful, and utterly lost. "Y/N! Stop playing, please! You're gonna get me arrested, for real!"

Finally, Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. A snort escaped her, followed by a full-blown, doubled-over cackle. Then she was bent over, clutching a shelf of kitchen organizers like it was the only thing keeping her upright, her face flushed and eyes streaming with tears of pure joy.

"It's a prank! It's a prank, I'm so sorry!" she managed to wheeze out, leaning against a shelf of kitchen organizers for support. "He’s my boyfriend—I swear. Look at him, he’s too pretty to be a pervert."

The woman’s expression shifted from righteous fury to baffled annoyance. She looked at Jungkook, who was now leaning his head against a stack of bins, his chest heaving with a relieved, slightly hysterical sigh.

"You guys are a piece of work," the woman muttered, shaking her head as she pushed her cart away, though a small, begrudging smile played on her lips.

Jungkook finally looked up, his dark eyes burning with a mix of lingering adrenaline and genuine.

The second Y/N stepped closer, his hand shot out, gripping her waist and yanking her into his chest.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he said, voice low, breathless — the affectionate kind of threat. She grinned up at him.

“You’re a menace,” he continued. “An absolute…chaotic menace.”

“But it was funny,” she said, unapologetic.

He shook his head, still in shock. “Hahaha—I’m baffling so hard right now.”

Then he pulled her into a tight, possessive hug, burying his face in her hair. He smelled like detergent and cologne and home.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he muttered into her shoulder. “I almost had a literal heart attack.”

She smiled against his chest, listening to his heart still racing like it had just run a marathon.

“No promises,” she whispered.

Day three. And Jungkook officially trusted nothing.

Day 4.

The apartment was wrapped in the low, domestic hum of a Wednesday night — the kind of quiet that settles into your bones like a warm blanket you don’t realize you needed. The overhead lights were dimmed to that soft yellow glow that made everything feel gentler than it actually was. Somewhere in the background, the fridge whirred like it was gossiping to itself.

Jungkook was in the kitchen, hovering. Not cooking so much as existing aggressively near the stove—opening the fridge, closing it, opening it again like the answer to life might suddenly rearrange itself between the almond milk and the gochujang.

His phone was propped up against the backsplash, some Switzerland food vlog playing for the third time today, a man enthusiastically talking about cheese melting over potatoes.

“Baby,” Jungkook said suddenly, staring into the fridge like it had personally wronged him, “did you know they eat cheese like it’s a personality trait over there?”

He had that familiar crease between his brows, the one that appeared whenever he was either overthinking a recipe or dissociating completely.

It was peaceful.

It was cozy.

It was the perfect time for Y/n to absolutely ruin his night with today’s prank.

She stood by the counter with a bowl of gummy bears, leaning her hip against the marble like she wasn’t about to commit psychological warfare. She waited until Jungkook’s back was fully turned, shoulders relaxed, guard down — a man who trusted his home, his partner, his evening.

Y/n popped a gummy bear into her mouth, chewed slowly, deliberately. Swallowed. Made sure it went down clean.

Then—

Hack.

It started small. Innocent. A dry little cough, the kind that barely registers. She followed it with another. Then another. She bent forward slightly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter.

And then she went for it.

A sharp, wet, violent sound ripped out of her throat — guttural and ugly, like her lungs had suddenly decided to quit without notice. She wheezed, loud and whistling, like the air itself was fighting her on the way out. She doubled over, knuckles whitening against the granite, shoulders shaking like her body had turned against her.

The sound was horrifying. Oscar-worthy. Absolutely unholy.

Jungkook reacted like a bomb went off.

It wasn’t a casual turn. It was a full-body pivot — muscle memory snapping into place — his face draining of color so fast it was almost impressive. Panic hit him like a freight train, no warning, no brakes.

“Hey—hey, babe?” he barked, already dropping whatever the hell was in his hands. “Y/n—fuck—Y/N!”

He crossed the kitchen in two strides, moving with a terrifying, animal speed. The air around him changed — thick, heavy, charged — like panic had its own weather system and it had decided to rain directly on them.

Before Y/n could even blink, his hands were on her. Big. Calloused. Solid.

They slammed into her waist as he hauled her upright, arms wrapping around her like a vice. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t do the ‘are you okay?’ or ‘this ain’t another prank is it?’ bullshit.

He went straight for the Heimlich.

“I got you—fuck—breathe, baby, breathe!” he shouted, voice cracking like glass under pressure. He was strong — too strong — squeezing like he was trying to force the universe to cooperate. It genuinely felt like he might eject her lungs through her teeth.

His heartbeat was wild against her back, thudding like it was trying to escape his chest with his dick almost slapping her ass with every squeeze.

Y/n lasted exactly three seconds. Because the combination of Jungkook genuinely trying to save her life and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation was too much.

At the right moment, she intentionally let out a loud, obnoxious moan — dramatic as hell — and went limp in his arms.

“AHHU!”

And then—

“AHAHA! Y/n—baby—what the fuck—AHAHAHA!”

His head dropped forward, face pressing into her ass when his knees lost its ability to hold him up as his laughter took over completely, shaking his entire body. He was laughing so hard it sent vibrations straight through her bones, breath hitching, shoulders trembling like he’d just survived a car crash and found out it was filmed.

“It was a joke—Kook—AHAHAH!” she wheezed, tears streaking down her face now from actual laughter.

He jerked back like he’d been electrocuted, staring at her with smiling eyes. His chest was heaving, hair falling into his face, adrenaline still buzzing through him like static.

“You’re a fucking dick!” he shouted, voice cracking as another laugh escaped him against his will. “I thought you were dying! I was this close to performing emergency surgery on the kitchen floor, you psycho!”

“You moved so fast!” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “You were like…fucking…The Flash. I swear—you almost rearranged my organs.”

“Good!” he snapped, pointing at her, still laughing. “You deserve internal injuries for that shit!”

But the anger didn’t stick. It never did.

The fear in his eyes melted away, replaced by that familiar softness — the one that always showed up when he realized she was okay. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, breath still coming in ragged hitches.

“But seriously, baby…” He muttered, laughing under his breath now, exhausted. “Enough with the goddamn pranks. My heart was literally vibrating. If I die of a stroke at twenty-eight, it’s going on your tab.”

She grinned, reaching up to mess with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. But admit it. It was funny.”

He sighed, lips twitching despite himself. “It was funny,” he admitted. “Fucking hilarious.”

Then he pulled her into a kiss — tight, grounding, arms wrapped around her like he needed to remind himself she was real and breathing — the kind of embrace that said don’t ever scare me like that again without needing to say it out loud.

“I’d save you,” he murmured against her mouth. She smiled into the kiss.

At least Jungkook liked prank number four.

Day 5.

The afternoon was dragging its feet like a bored toddler. The sunlight was hitting the kitchen floor in long, lazy stripes, illuminating every speck of dust and the faint scuff marks from where Jungkook had been pacing earlier. He was restless—a coiled spring of a man with nothing to do, which was always the perfect opening for Y/N to stir the pot. Day five was going to be her favourite.

"Kook, baby?" Y/n called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. "I think the fridge is leaking."

Jungkook appeared in the doorway instantly, his face a mask of determined competence. He loved being the ‘fix-it’ guy. It was like his love language was written in instruction manuals.

"The fuck? We literally just bought this last month. This is not another one of your fucking pranks, is it?"

Y/n immediately frowned and clapped back, “what—no—I literally came in the kitchen for a drink and already saw the puddle!”

What a great actor Y/n was.

He was already on his knees, a towel in hand, his brow furrowed as he stared at the small puddle on the wood-look tile. He didn't see Y/n leaning against the wall behind the opened fridge door, a glass of water hidden in her palm like a magician's secret.

"Where is it even coming from?" he muttered, his voice muffled as he shoved the towel under the fridge.

He looked like a gorgeous, confused golden retriever trying to find a hidden ball. He pulled out the bottom drawer, muscles tensing beneath his shirt as his tattoo sleeve shifted with the movement, ink stretching over his forearm while the letters on his knuckles flashed briefly as he rummaged. A sight that usually made Y/n’s heart stutter—but right now, she was too busy being a menace.

"I don't know, it's literally everywhere," Y/n said, biting her lip to keep from grinning. "Should I call a repair guy or...?"

Jungkook snapped his head up, his eyes wide with offended pride. "I am the guy, Y/n."

He shoved the drawer back in with a satisfying thud and wiped the floor clean. "Fixed it. Probably just some…condensation buildup."

Y/n let him off for at least ten minutes before, tipping her glass. A slow, steady stream of water splashed onto the floor, right where he’d just dried.

"Oh babe...it's done it again," she chirped.

Jungkook, somewhere in the living room, spun around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. He strutted towards her and stared at the fresh puddle, his jaw dropping.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

The atmosphere in the kitchen was now thick with his mounting frustration, a heavy fog of ‘what the hell is happening’ that you could practically taste.

He was back on the floor, head practically inside the fridge, muttering curses that would make a sailor blush.

"Right, drawers out," he grumbled, his voice strained. He was wrestling with the plastic bins, his large hands fumbling as the adrenaline of a 'technical failure' kicked in. He couldn't even get the damn drawer back in; it kept jamming, mocking his supposed handiness.

Defeated by a piece of plastic, he eventually slumped against the cabinets and pulled out his phone. Y/n watched from the counter as he frantically typed, his thumb scrolling through search results until the tinny sound of a DIY repair video filled the kitchen.

"If your freezer has a buildup of ice..." the voice on the phone droned.

Jungkook leaned his head against his hand, eyes glued to the screen like he was studying for a neurosurgery exam. He looked so genuinely stressed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, tongue absently nudging the cold metal of his lip ring, that for a split second, Y/n almost felt bad.

Almost.

Halfway through the video, Jungkook’s eyes lit up. "Wait, it might be the drain tube. If I just—"

"Kook?" Y/m called out softly.

"Hold on, babe, I think I found the problem," he muttered, reaching for the fridge again.

"Jungkook," she said, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back a laugh. "It was a prank. Look."

She lifted the glass, tilting it just enough so he could see the remaining water.

Jungkook froze. He looked at the glass, then at the floor, then slowly up at her face.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the quiet hum of the fridge he’d just been ready to dismantle. He let out a groan that sounded like a dying engine, dropping his head onto the cool surface of the kitchen table.

"I hate you," he moaned into his arms. Obviously not meaning it. He could never. "My blood pressure is probably in the triple digits."

"But look on the bright side," she teased, walking over to ruffle his messy hair. "The floor has never been cleaner."

"Get out," he groaned, though he reached out and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist like a stubborn anchor. "You're lucky you're my pretty girl…” Jungkook shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips.

Prank five was the best so far.

Day six.

The room smelled like sex, sweat, and that faint trace of the vanilla candle Y/n had insisted on lighting “for ambiance.” Sheets tangled around them like a messy battlefield

Jungkook toppled onto the bed beside Y/n, chest rising and falling like a drum in a slow, steady rhythm. One arm tucked under her head, the other draped lazily across his stomach. Y/n quickly tugged the duvet up to cover them both, warm, sticky skin pressed together, before turning to face her panting boyfriend.

“Sex with you never gets old,” he murmured, voice rough and low, before claiming her lips in a lazy, post-sex makeout. The hand that had been resting on his stomach slid up her cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her jaw.

Y/n melted into the kiss, matching every slow, teasing motion. His lip ring pressed cool against her skin, sending little shivers through her lips. Smacking sounds filled the quiet room, breaking into soft giggles from Y/n as she pulled back just enough to grin at him.

Jungkook’s chest rising and falling against hers. Their lips were still brushing against each other in soft, lazy kisses — teeth grazing, tongues teasing — until he pulled back just enough to speak.

“Mm…maybe I should take a nap before we head out later,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied, hands still tracing patterns over her skin. His lips brushed her jaw as he spoke, eyes half-lidded and dark with lingering lust.

Y/n hummed softly, fingers threading through his damp hair. “Mm, okay… nap it is,” she murmured, nuzzling into him.

He flopped forward onto her chest, tattooed arm winding tightly around her waist like decoration, legs tangled together like two messy noodles under the duvet. The heat of him pressed against her like gravity, warm and heavy and impossible to resist.

Y/n’s eyes drifted to the ceiling for a second, a little sad.

Prank number six.

The countdown was almost over.

The past five days had flown by — each little chaos, each little scream and blush and laugh — and soon she’d have to go back to normal, which was boring as hell. She brushed her hand through his hair again, feeling that ridiculous, perfect weight of him.

Then she smirked.

Fuck it. last two pranks.

She grabbed her phone and pulled up a TikTok audio — a guy talking on FaceTime.

Slowly, she held the phone up to his snoring face, careful not to disturb the perfect, vulnerable rhythm of him resting against her chest.

The audio played:

“Yo, did you leave your bag over here? Oh…and, uh, I stocked up on condoms. Haha!”

Jungkook stirred. Five seconds later, one dark eye cracked open. Only then did he realise he was being recorded — entire face filling up the screen.

That’s when it hit him. The smell of betrayal, the betrayal of a girlfriend that just refused to quit.

Jungkook instantly lifted his head from her chest. The tangled limbs didn’t stop him as he pushed upright, hair mussed, chest heaving — and found her laughing hysterically, face flushed, hand over her mouth.

“Baby!” he whined, eyes wide and dark, and playfully slapped her belly. “Baby—ugh—not again!”

Y/n doubled over, tears of laughter streaking down her cheeks. “It’s hilarious!” she wheezed. “You’re so easy to prank, Kook!”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, trying to look exasperated while laughter still broke through every time he caught her smirking face. “Bro—ugh—enough with the fuck ass pranks!”

She leaned down to kiss his temple, murmuring, “Relax, baby. It’s just a joke.”

He froze. Eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, comprehension hit, and the tension melted — replaced by that familiar laugh, low and throaty, shaking through his chest and rolling off her skin.

“You little—fucking—little shit!” he growled, laughter mixing with mock anger. “I swear, you’re going to make me punch something, but I can’t even be mad because…holy fuck, you’re insane!”

Y/n laughed, full-bodied, gripping his sides as he wiggled under her hands, still laughing and muttering curses and adoring threats. “I mean… c’mon, you have to admit it’s hilarious. I even got it on video.”

He huffed a laugh, finally lying back into her chest, shaking his head.

“Fucking hilarious,” he admitted, voice low, dark, and warm against her skin. “But my heart? Holy shit. It’s still racing, and you almost killed me in our own bed. Fucking thought you were calling an actual dude or some shit! I—ugh—god, you’re lucky I love you.”

She smirked, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, murmuring against his skin, “lucky you…or unlucky?”

“Both,” he said, arms tightening around her, tugging her closer, stealing all her warmth and claiming it for himself. “Both are accurate.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled in sheets and laughter, chestbeats syncing like some ridiculous, perfect metronome, the prank lingering in the air like perfume.

And somewhere between her snickers and his grumbling laughter, Jungkook made a mental note: he was going to need a new heart — or at least a warning label — for this woman

Day seven.

Last day.

Last prank.

Valentines day.

Y/n couldn’t even put into words the storm of nerves and excitement boiling in her chest. Yes, she was buzzing for Jungkook’s actual surprise — the one she’d spent weeks planning — but the prank? The prank she had to pull first… that’s what made her stomach twist into a knot.

It was a popular one, something that could go sideways in a heartbeat. She just hoped — prayed, begged the universe on her knees — that Jungkook wouldn’t lose his shit. Though, let’s be honest, who wouldn’t when their partner did what she had in store?

Y/n didn’t receive any calls or texts from Jungkook when he was coming back. It’d be stupid if he did — that’s what he said himself — or Y/n would know a surprise was waiting for her.

Oh little did Jungkook know…

Y/n planted herself in front of the main living bathroom, body tense, muscles coiled like springs. The second the apartment door clicked, she’d slam the bathroom door shut and spring the trap.

Like she asked for it, Y/n heard the main door open.

Show time.

Last one.

Her pulse skyrocketed.

“Fuck—hide! He’s back!” she whispered into the empty hallway, and though it was quiet, the echo of her voice bounced off the walls and reached Jungkook like a warhorn.

From the doorway, his smile was tired but genuine, ready to surprise her right back. But the smile died instantly. The second he heard her, brows collided like two tectonic plates, twisting his face into a masterpiece of fury and confusion.

His boots scuffed across the hardwood — not caring to remove them — as he came closer, peonies clutched in one hand, veins and knuckles standing out like jagged cliffs. The bouquet, meant to be a love offering, suddenly felt like a goddamn weapon.

Y/n’s face went pale. Her movements were jittery, frantic — a marionette of nervous energy — slamming the bathroom door shut just as his gaze landed on her.

They froze, meters apart. Silence filled the apartment, alive and jagged, like shards of glass littering the floor. Y/n forced a tight, suspicious smile.

“Kook? You’re back. Thought you’d be home later,” she said, laugh trembling on the edge of hysteria.

He didn’t answer. His eyes were dark, sharp, dangerous — the peonies slipping from casual charm into lethal metaphor.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice deceptively calm, but the calm was like lava over ice.

“I…” Her eyes darted around, pretending to be casual. “I was just…using the bathroom? W-why?” Her hand hovered over the doorknob like it was a lifeline.

“Then why were you whispering to someone to hide?” His voice was low, dangerous, but steady. Not calm. Not safe. “Saying I’m back…”

Y/N twitched. “N-no…I wasn’t whispering.” Slow, deliberate shake of the head. “You…you were hearing things, baby.”

Jungkook took in a sharp breath. “Don't you dare play with me right now—if this is another one of your goddamn pranks, I swear to God, I’m done. I'm fucking done, Y/n."

“It’s not a prank!” she laughed nervously, voice cracking with effort. “I told you! I wasn’t whispering, I swear.”

“Then why’s your hand still on the fucking doorknob?” He jabbed the bouquet in her direction like it was a spear.

Y/N froze. The tiny movement of her hand betrayed her.

The peonies quivered in his grip, petals already bruised, the fragile beauty of them crushed under the weight of his fury. His gut twisted, hot and acidic, every prank from the past week flashing behind his eyes — supermarket humiliation, kitchen heart attacks, grocery store screams — a powder keg ready to explode.

“Open the door,” he growled, voice dropping, gravelly and jagged, like stones grinding together.

“N-no, it’s messy in there…”

“I said open the fucking door!” His roar shook the walls. The hallway vibrated. The air felt alive with his rage, a predator’s storm in a human body. He stepped toward the door, his shadow stretching long and menacing in the dim hallway.

Before Jungkook could reach for the doorknob, Y/n braced herself, leaning back against the door, hand frozen under his hovering ones. Their fingers brushed — hers grasping to keep him out, his to claim access. A violent dance of wills, hearts, and adrenaline.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Y/n! I come home to give you a surprise, and you’re…you’re hiding some goddamn man in our apartment?!” Jungkook bellowed, jaw tight. “Is that it? Are you ruining us for some random guy?”

“Ju—ah—Jungkook, stop! You’re hurting me!” she shouted, panic and laughter mingling in her voice.

He slammed his fist against the door. Wood groaned like it was screaming in protest. Every nerve in his body was electricity, every thought jagged with suspicion and jealousy.

“I lost it the second you slammed that door!” he screamed. “I there an actual guy in there? Open it!”

Y/n finally let herself go. He pulled her away from the door with the strength of a man who thought the world was burning. She didn’t resist. Not really.

He hurled his shoulder against the wood, splintering the frame, and the hallway shook. A small cry left her lips, but it was swallowed by the chaos.

He barreled through. Eyes wide, searching for a phantom threat, chest heaving, hands shaking.

It was empty.

Silent white tile, air freshener faintly clinging to the corners, and the soft hum of the fan — nothing else.

Jungkook froze, chest heaving, heart hammering like it was trying to break free. The silence was a living thing, mocking him, sharpening every nerve until he felt raw. The peonies, now mangled in his hand, fell with a pathetic thud onto the floor. He didn't look back at Y/n, who was playing with the hem of her hoodie, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

Without a word, he turned and stormed toward their bedroom, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic, like a funeral march. He was still clutching the mangled remains of the bouquet, the stems snapped, the beauty of the day utterly destroyed. He reached the bedroom door and kicked it open, ready to find whatever secret she was keeping, ready to end the agony once and for all.

He stopped dead.

The room wasn't a crime scene. It was a sanctuary.

The bed was a sea of deep red rose petals, arranged into a perfect, sprawling heart. Dozens of candles flickered on every available surface, their golden light dancing in the dark like tiny, trapped stars. Pink and red balloons bobbed against the ceiling, their ribbons trailing down like soft vines.

In the center of the bed sat a massive wicker basket, overflowing with everything he loved—his favorite valentines day tarts she makes every year, the rare whiskey he’d mentioned once months ago, and more things piled on more things.

Jungkook let the ruined peonies fall. His fingers, still trembling, barely touched the floor before he closed them into fists again. Rage evaporated instantly, replaced by awe, embarrassment, and the aching, slow burn of love so sharp it hurt.

He felt Y/n approach from behind, her footsteps silent on the carpet. She didn't touch him, just stood in the doorway, her presence a soft, grounding force in the aftermath of his storm.

"Surprise, Jungkook," she whispered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and a love that was far more resilient than he deserved.

Jungkook didn't turn around.

He couldn't.

He just stood there, staring at the heart made of petals, a man completely and utterly defeated by his own heart. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Only the sound of his ragged breath filled the room, a man utterly defeated by the woman he loved and the perfection of her chaos.

“Y—Y/n…what is this…” His voice came out low, rough, like it had scraped its way up from his chest.

“Your Valentine’s Day surprise,” she said softly. She chose her tone carefully, like one wrong note would shatter him into porcelain dust right there on the floor.

Jungkook finally looked down at her. Y/n blinked, her gaze dropping instinctively to his chest, rising and falling too fast. She took a breath through her mouth, steadying herself, then looked back up at his eyes — hopeful, wrecked, still trying to trust her.

“There’s no man, Kook,” she said gently. “It was just a prank. A distraction from…this.” She turned slightly, nodding toward the bedroom behind him.

His face crumpled just a little, like he was holding himself together with tape and prayer. His lashes fluttered.

“Bu—but why that?” he sniffed, embarrassed and raw all at once. “Why scare me like that, baby?”

Y/n let out a sad little chuckle. She stepped closer, finally lifting her hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing the skin she loved like muscle memory.

“Because you always outdo me,” she admitted quietly. “Every Valentine’s Day, every birthday, every…random Tuesday. You love so loudly, Jungkook. I just…wanted to give you something you deserve. So this year, I did a prank every day counting down to Valentines to give you the greatest gift I can.”

“And…you think pranks were the way to go.”

He laughed softly, disbelief threading through it, his hands sliding to her waist like they belonged there — because they did. His eyes searched hers, bouncing back and forth like he was trying to read her soul.

“But, baby,” he said, voice breaking into a smile that was sad and beautiful all at once. “You already gave me the greatest gift.”

She frowned slightly.

“You,” he finished, nodding at her like it was obvious. Like she was gravity itself.

She choked out a laugh. He laughed too, breathy and relieved, before pulling her into him — not fast, not desperate, just sure. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling her like she was home. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her loose hair, the other firm at the small of her back. Y/N clutched onto him just as tightly, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” she whispered into his skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Don’t.” A beat. Then a laugh burst out of him. “Don’t ever—ever—pull that shit on me again.”

They both snorted, tension breaking like glass underfoot. Y/N shook her head, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

He exhaled, long and heavy, like he’d been holding it for years. “Fuck,” he said quietly. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

Then he kissed her — not rushed, not frantic — a deep, consuming kiss that tasted like forgiveness, devotion, and four years of choosing each other. Their lips moved together slowly, reverently, like a promise being rewritten with every breath.

When they pulled back, foreheads resting together, both smiling, Y/N whispered, “Wanna see your gift?”

He glanced around the room again, amused. “What, is this not the gift?” he chuckled.

She shook her head. “Not necessarily.”

She slipped out of his arms and crossed to the basket, fingers trembling just a little as she pulled out an envelope. She handed it to him.

“Open it.”

He smirked — that knowing smirk — before tearing it open.

His eyes widened.

“Tickets to fucking Switzerland? You’re kidding!”

She nodded furiously, biting her lip, already bracing herself—because she knew.

She knew about the way he’d been spiraling over Switzerland vlogs at 2 a.m., rewinding clips of snowy mountains and cheese pulls like they were holy scripture. Knew about the offhand comments he’d make—one day, baby…—like it wasn’t a place but a promise he was scared to want too badly.

Jungkook let out a shout that cracked the air open. He lifted her by the armpits like she weighed nothing, spun her around the room, laughing like a kid who’d just been told Christmas was real, then kissed her breathless before setting her down—hands still shaking, smile too big for his face.

“See? Try topping that,” she teased.

She shouldn’t have.

(omg play carried away by madison beer here. TRUST ME!!)

Because the moment she saw that look — that soft, dangerous glint — she knew she’d fucked up.

“Shit…Kook. Don’t,” she whined. “Don’t ruin this win for me.”

He just laughed, shaking his head at her like she was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“Y/n,” he started, suddenly serious. “These four — soon to be five — years have been the most unreal, dream-like years of my life.”

A quiet laugh. Nervous. Real.

“I’ve loved a lot of things in my life. Dreams. Music. Success. But loving you? That shit ruined me—in the best way. I don’t think there’s ever been a day where you weren’t already part of my plans. Even before I knew it. You’re in the way I wake up, the way I come home, the way the room feels warmer just because you’re in it. And…I know we moved in together two years ago, but that’s not enough for me anymore.”

Y/n stilled.

“I love coming home to you. Eating your tarts. Waking up next to you. Finding your underwear stuck in my pants after laundry day,” he added, grinning when she giggled. “All those stupid little things…they only matter because they’re you.”

He took a breath.

“But I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.”

Her heart slammed.

He dropped to one knee.

What the fuck.

“Y/n Y/L/N,” he said, pulling out a small box and opening it, eyes shining. “Would you make me the happiest being on earth and marry me? Please?”

Her world stopped.

Tears welled instantly, blurring everything. This couldn’t be real. Not today. Not like this.

She laughed, breathless, nodding through tears. “Yes,” she whispered. Then louder, shaking. “Yes!”

He stood and kissed her like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. Their foreheads touched again, breaths mingling, slipping the ring onto her finger with hands that trembled just as much as hers.

“So,” he grinned, smug and glowing. “I think I still outdid Valentine’s Day this year.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed, kissing her once more.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/n.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jungkook.”

perm taglist: @afoluvztumblr , @bjoriis , @kookienooki

taglist: @bluehaven143 , @hanamgi , @jkjpg , @wonderlandxriki , @tastykookoonut , @starstruckbelieverdefndor , @kpopsmutty69 , @httpjeonlicious , @lilylikeslilies , @eyesforjungkook , @inhuno , @m4aimm

˖⌕ ࣪ ˖cyber sex ‎ꫂ᭪݁✆

Left. Left. Left.

Jungkook didn’t even know why he still had the app since it’d never done any good for him for the past year or so.

His thumb moved like it was bored of being attached to him — efficient, ruthless, already sick of the options. The same thumb that had greenlit mergers, axed entire departments, ended careers with a flick. This wasn’t new muscle memory. Just cheaper faces. Lower risk. Zero consequences.

Under the conference table, his phone rested against his thigh like a secret. Above the table, he was immaculate — black suit tailored within an inch of its life, shoulders squared, jaw locked into something expensive and unbothered. The face shareholders trusted. The face magazines loved. The face that ruined people quietly.

Another swipe.

Left.

Too polished. Corporate-hot. Eyes empty, like she’d already died a little inside.

Left.

Bathroom mirror. Topless. Boobs pushed up like a sales pitch.

Left.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Someone cleared their throat. Jungkook didn’t look up. He’d mastered the art of splitting himself clean down the middle years ago — one version present in glass rooms that smelled like money and fear, the other drifting somewhere else entirely, unreachable, unaccountable.

Left.

“Sir.”

“Yes,” Jungkook replied instantly. He had absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed to. Statistically, it would work out in his favor anyway.

Another slide clicked. Graphs bloomed across the screen, red and green arrows stabbing upward like they meant something sacred. The presenter kept talking — market reach, consumer behavior, projected growth — words stacking on top of each other until they turned into static.

Jungkook nodded once. Slow. Convincing. The nod of a man people believed.

Left. Left. Left—

He stopped. Not because she was naked. Not because she was trying. She wasn’t doing anything at all.

Her photo wasn’t trying to fuck him. No strategic lighting. No mouth parted just enough to promise something. No dead-eyed stare begging for validation. She looked like she belonged in a Vogue spread — head turned slightly to the side, hair caught by the wind like it’d been paid to behave. Effortless. Controlled chaos.

Bare face, maybe. No dramatic lashes. No aggressive eyeshadow screaming for attention. And still — stunning.

His gaze then moved down to her name and description.

Y/n. 21.

Her bio read: I talk to a camera for a living. I overthink everything else.

Jungkook frowned, thumb hovering. Annoyed at the pause. Annoyed at himself. Something in his head stalled — gears grinding, logic buffering like a shitty Wi-Fi connection.

His mouth twitched. A breath slipped out of him before he could stop it. “…huh.”

“You good, sir?” someone asked carefully.

“Yes…” Jungkook said, eyes glued to the screen. It was a lie. Interest crept up his spine like heat finding a crack — unwanted, irritating, dangerous. He scrolled.

Ah.

Influencer. YouTuber. Instagram linked.

“So,” the presenter said, voice tightening, “as you can see on slide twelve—” Josiah stopped mid-sentence when he noticed his boss. The absence.

“Sir?” he tried again, swallowing. “Sir,” he said, carefully. “Should I… pause?” The room stiffened.

“No,” he said. Calm. Still not glancing up “Continue.” His hand waving forward as permission.

Josiah hesitated. “You just— you seemed distracted.” That specific, horrible silence — the one where everyone collectively thought oh shit.

Jungkook’s thumb stilled. Slowly, he looked up. Finally. Josiah paled instantly.

Jungkook straightened in his chair, slipping the phone face-down onto his thigh. His posture shifted, something predatory clicking into place. The air felt heavier, like pressure before a storm.

“Josiah,” Jungkook said mildly. Which was worse “Are you uncomfortable presenting?” he asked mildly.

Josiah’s face drained of color. “No. No, sir. I just—”

“Then present.”

Silence. Then the click of slides resuming. Jungkook listened this time. Or enough of the time. Unfortunately for him.

When it ended, Josiah waited with a hopeful smile for an approval. Jungkook stood. The chair scraping back was obscenely loud. He buttoned his blazer with deliberate calm, rolled his shoulders like he was assembling himself piece by piece into something untouchable.

“We’ll move forward,” he said. “As proposed.”

There was a beat.

“All of it?” someone asked.

“Yes.”

“But the marketing cap—”

“Adjust it later,” Jungkook said, already turning. “Meeting’s over.”

Murmurs rippled around the table. Jungkook was already walking.

“Sir!” Mr. Song hurried after him into the hallway. “Sir—wait.”

Jungkook didn’t slow. His phone was back in his hand, screen glowing, her face filling it like a problem he suddenly didn’t want solved. He scrolled through her Instagram — captions casual, a little self-aware, written like she never expected someone like him to be reading them.

Mr. Song walked half a step behind him. Always had. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to not overstep. “You just approved everything.”

“Mm.”

“Without revisions.”

“Yes.”

“That’s… not like you.”

Jungkook didn’t answer. His shoes clicked against the floor, steady, unhurried.

“Sir,” Mr. Song continued, lowering his voice as they passed an open office, “we didn’t even discuss risk mitigation. Or timelines.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. “We’ve discussed them before. You guys would know what to do.”

“Yes,” Mr. Song said. “But not this.” They reached the elevators. Jungkook pressed the button once. Then again, unnecessarily. “You don’t usually end meetings early,” Mr. Song added. Not accusatory. Observational.

“That meeting was circling,” Jungkook replied. “Nothing new was going to happen in the next thirty minutes. Maybe get Josiah a presenting trainer or something.”

Mr. Song hummed, unconvinced. The elevator dinged. Doors slid open. Inside, the silence pressed closer. The doors closed. The elevator descended.

“Twenty thousand,” Mr. Song said. “You know it’s not enough.”

“It’s enough to start.”

“And if it fails?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Then we course-correct.”Mr. Song sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t usually ‘course-correct.’ You usually don’t move until you’re certain.”

The elevator slowed. Jungkook stared at the numbers ticking down like he was waiting for something to land. Jungkook stared at him. Then huffed a quiet laugh — not amused, not angry. Just… tired. “You’re worried,” Jungkook said.

“Of course I am, Mr Jeon.”

Jungkook exhaled, tired, indulgent. He patted Mr. Song’s arm like he was soothing a nervous dog.

“Relax. Your paycheck’s safe.” Then he turned away.

His thumb hovered again. This was…probably stupid. And God, he wanted it. Against instinct. Against habit. Against every rule that had ever kept him untouchable—

Jungkook swiped right.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

The building is dead quiet — the kind of quiet that presses against your skin, that makes you too aware of your own breathing.

Jungkook’s office is the only thing awake on the forty-fifth floor, lights still on like he’s got something to confess. Midnight pools against the windows. The city below flickers, restless, alive. Unlike him.

His tie loose around his neck. Jacket abandoned somewhere he can’t remember. Sleeves rolled up, forearms tight where the fabric cuts in — like his body’s been wound too long and never let loose.

He could’ve gone home. He didn’t. The monitor held him there like a bad habit.

Her Instagram glows on his desktop. Not his phone this time nor absentmindedly. Alone, finally, he scrolls without interruption, without employees asking “is this okay, sir?” or “what are your thoughts, boss?”. Nothing to pull his attention away from what he wants. Or more precisely — what his dick has already decided it wants.

Scroll.

Travel photos. Festival crowds. Recent birthday post. Club bathrooms. Hotel balconies. A photo dump, spoiling her next YouTube video.

He knows her rhythm now. When she posts. When she disappears. Her signature pose—a wink with her lips puckered. Sometimes even sticking out her tongue which damn made Jungkook feel himself stiffen inside his pants. How sometimes he’d imagine her tongue dragging up his cock from base to tip.

His shoulders ache — that dull, familiar stiffness from too many late nights and not enough release. He rolls his neck once, sharp crack echoing too loud in the empty room.

Scroll.

Then stop. Coachella. Last year. The photo hits him slow and deep, like a bruise forming.

Sunburnt confidence. Bare skin and reckless joy. Her top clinging like it’s losing a fight, skirt so short it feels illegal, like one wrong move would change everything. Tongue out like she could taste him through the screen. Wink sharp. Fingers pressed against boobs like she owns the moment — like she knows she’s being looked at.

Jungkook’s breath hitched before he can stop it. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice low, unused.

His body reacts before his brain catches up — heat pooling low, spine tightening, pulse thudding somewhere he can’t ignore. His cock throbbed against his thigh, already hard enough to hammer nails. He shifts in his chair, jaw tightening like he can physically bite the thought back.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, slower this time.

The room feels warmer. Smaller. His shirt clings faintly to his back. His hands curl once at his sides, then flatten against the desk like he needs something solid to ground him.

This isn’t porn. This isn’t fantasy. This is worse. This is real. A woman who exists in pixels and soundwaves and algorithms — who doesn’t know his name, doesn’t know he’s memorized the curve of her smile in less than a day.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucking pathetic—almost-mid-thirties, ceo, jacking off to a twenty-something influencer in his luxury office like some horny intern.

He could smell his own desperation—sweat and pre-cum and the stale tang of too many long, sometimes lonely nights.

His hand lifted from the mouse. The belt buckle clanked against the armrest as he wrenched it open. His zipper snarled halfway down, caught on the bulge straining against his briefs. Jungkook swore, shoving the fabric past his hips with one rough yank. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. Precum already beaded at the tip, glistening under the sterile office lights. Fingers wrapped around himself, calloused grip pulling a hiss from his teeth.

"Goddamn tease," he growled at the screen, hips bucking into his fist, thumb catching on the swollen vein running along the underside.

His fingers tightened around his cock—too tight, almost punishing—as he imagined dragging her back against his desk by that stupid little skirt. The one barely covering her ass. The one he'd hike up with one rough hand while the other smacked her ass pink, leaving marks she'd feel for days.

She'd whimper, he knew she would—she looked like the type.

Precum dripped down his fingers as he pictured her bent over his mahogany desk, his tie wrapped around her throat like a leash, his cock dragging wet stripes across her ass before shoving in without warning.

No foreplay, no mercy—just the choked-off cry he knew she'd make when he bottomed out, the way her nails would scratch at the polished wood as he fucked her stupid.

Bet you'd take it.

Thumb pressing against the slit, spreading the wetness down his shaft.

The monitor flickered—her tongue out, sweat glistening between her tits—and he groaned, hips stuttering. His balls tightened, the heat coiling low and vicious. Close. So fucking close.

His breath came rough, ragged. The leather creaked under his shifting weight, his free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to leave imprints.

The fantasy burned behind his eyelids—her mouth slack around him, mascara smudged, throat working as he fucked into it. The wet choke when he pushed too deep. The way her fingers would claw at his thighs, like she couldn't decide whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

"Fuck—" His wrist twisted, thumb circling the swollen head, and his stomach muscles locked. He could almost feel it—her cunt clenching around him, hot and slick, her nails raking down his back as he pounded into her. His teeth bared.

"Gonna—" The orgasm hit like a live wire, spine arching off the chair as his cum striped his stomach in thick, hot pulses.

Panting, he slumped back, chest heaving. The screen still glowed—her grin, her wink—and shame curled sour in his gut. He swiped a hand over his face, sticky with sweat.

"Fucking hell," he breathed, staring at the mess on his skin. The clock read 11:37 PM. The office’s silence and cold air returned. He reached for the tissues, crumpling them in his fist. This wasn't—he shouldn't—

His phone buzzed. A notification.

It’s a match!

For a second, he just stared. Like the words might rearrange themselves if he waited long enough. He blinked once. Then again.

Still there.

A stupid, disbelieving breath slipped out of him — half laugh, half disbelief. Of all things. The phone buzzed again, almost immediately.

“hey, handsome 💋”

⏮️⏸️⏭️

“And I’ll see you guys next week. Byeee!”

Y/N waved at the camera, head tilted just enough to be cute, smile wide and practiced — the kind she’d perfected over years of talking to a lens like it was a person. She hit the stop button, and the grin slowly slipped right off her face. Her cheeks relaxed. Her shoulders dropped.

Silence.

She stared at her reflection in the dark camera screen for a second, then scoffed softly. God, she was tired.

That was the outro. Finally. A week late, but whatever. The vlog was from Las Vegas — her twenty-first birthday trip. Neon lights, drunk laughter, too many shots, not enough sleep. Turning twenty-one felt less like a milestone and more like a quiet shift, something settling in her chest. She was an adult now. Not “legally allowed to watch horror, explicit movies” adult. Real adult. The kind with choices. Responsibilities. Freedom. And yeah — horny consequences.

Call her impulsive. Call her unhinged. But the very first thing she did when the clock struck midnight on her birthday was download Tinder. Sure, the minimum age was eighteen. But she’d still been living with her parents then, and the idea of them accidentally seeing Tinder notifications pop up on her phone, asking her whether she liked it rough or soft, made her soul want to leave her body. Now? Her apartment. Her bills. Her rules.

Like any other human being, the girl — or rather woman — was horny. No shame in it. Honestly, the older you get, the worse it becomes. Hormones with opinions. Curiosity with teeth. And what better way to meet people than an app literally designed for it?

She had briefly considered starting an OnlyFans — the thought crossed her mind once or twice — but realistically, she wasn’t that person. She liked attention, sure, but not like that. Besides, YouTube already paid her rent and then some. Normal dates? Casual hookups? Yeah. She could do that.

She set her camera aside and padded into the kitchen, glancing at the clock. 11:47 p.m.

“Fuck,” she muttered. She hadn’t eaten.

Editing had swallowed her whole — Vegas clips blurring together until she realized she’d forgotten an outro and panic-filmed one in her pajamas.

Dinner ended up being simple. Mushroom soup and garlic bread. Low effort, low expectations. One hand stirred the grey soup slowly, the other held her phone.

Swipe left…and swipe left.

Her sigh was heavy, restless. Cheeks puffing out as she exhaled.

The men were… fine. Debatably attractive. Either way too hot and clearly aware of it — asshole energy leaking through the screen — or just wildly not her type. Why was it always one extreme or the other?

Where’s all the fucking luck in the world when you need it? Lord, spare me.

Her thumb went numb, swiping left on autopilot, brain checked out. At this rate, she’d rather swallow the knife sitting next to the stove than sit through another profile that said “entrepreneur” with zero explanation. Then—She stopped.

Her thumb froze mid-swipe. Finally someone decent. Correction. More than just decent. Attractive. Hot. Handsome in a way that felt unfair.

Her gaze lingered on his photo. He had soft eyes — round, dark, almost innocent. Boba eyes, she thought stupidly. And yet, there was something under it. A pull. A look that said I could ruin you if I wanted to. Lip piercing. Silver ring at the corner of his mouth. Another just beneath his bottom lip.

Her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip. “Jesus,” she murmured. She looked down.

Jungkook. 33.

Okay. Older. She liked that.

His bio read: international playboy

“Pfft,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay—” she muttered, stirring the soup harder than necessary. “—Sure you are.” Still. She looked back up. Looked again. And again.

Something about him didn’t match the bio. The eyes were too calm. Too real. Like the caption was a joke, or armor, or both.

Her soup started bubbling over.

“Fuck—”

She turned the heat down, heart thumping for no logical reason, phone still in her hand.

“…annoying,” she whispered — and swiped right anyway.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. The soup simmered forgotten on the stove as she tapped out the message, lips curving like she already knew the outcome.

Y/N: hey handsome 💋

She hit send. And instantly.

Seen.

Her brows lifted. “Oh—” she murmured. “Okay.” Her phone buzzed again before she could overthink it.

Jungkook: that was fast

Y/N scoffed softly, stirring the soup again just to give her hands something to do.

You say that like you didn’t open it in two seconds, sir.

Y/N: what, no hello?

Jungkook: hello.

Jungkook: you always this bold or am i special?

She bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a grin. Heat crept up her neck — annoying, welcome.

“Relax,” she muttered to herself. “You’re literally hot. That’s it.”

Y/N: depends

Y/N: do u always ask questions u already know the answer to or…

Jungkook: mm

Jungkook: i like you already

Y/N: that makes one of us

Lie.

Jungkook: you dont mean that

Jungkook: you wouldnt have swiped right if you didnt like something

She laughed under her breath. “Cocky,” she whispered, fondly annoyed, like she could hear his smirk from across the screen.

Y/N: maybe i was bored 🤷‍♀️

Jungkook: at midnight?

She glanced at the clock. 12:06 a.m.

Y/N: okay…

Y/N: maybe not bored

Y/N: just curious

Jungkook: thats worse

Y/N: how so?

Jungkook: ever heard the phrase “curiosity killed the cat”?

She leaned her hip against the counter, garlic bread and soup forgotten, phone warm in her palm.

Is he flirting or threatening?

Y/N: sounds like experience talking

Jungkook: very much so

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. She waited, pulse ticking louder than it should.

Jungkook: so tell me

Jungkook: what made you stop scrolling?

Y/N: u put “international playboy” in your bio. i assumed u were joking.

Jungkook: half joking. half warning

Y/N: and which half am i supposed to believe?

Jungkook: the one that makes you stay

Her breath hitched — stupid, involuntary. She stared at the screen, smiling despite herself.

“Wow,” she whispered. “No filter at all.” Her gaze drifted back to his profile photo — the eyes, the piercings, the calm confidence that felt earned. Her phone buzzed once more, softer this time — like a final nudge.

Jungkook: you still there, birthday girl?

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Y/N: how did u know??

Jungkook: instagram

Jungkook: also, happy belated birthday.

Something in her chest softened — just a crack.

Y/N: damn

Y/N: already stalking me?

Jungkook: you were intriguing

Jungkook: your photos got me hard, baby

Jungkook: i just came but the process would’ve been much more pleasurable if it were you physically making me cum

Her throat went dry, fingers hovering over the screen. The confession was bold—no, outright filthy—but the way he delivered it felt like a challenge rather than desperation. A slow smirk curled her lips. Two could play this game.

Y/N: bold words for a guy who hasnt even touched me

The reply came instantly, a grainy video loading beneath his message—just the sound of ragged breathing and a tattooed hand wrapped around his cock, thick and flushed standing in front of his clothed body. Her breath hitched.

Jungkook: next time ill record it with you riding me and upload it

Jungkook: sound on so all your subscribers know who you belong to

Her pulse roared in her ears. She should’ve been scandalized. Instead, heat pooled low in her stomach.

Y/N: cocky bastard

Y/N: assuming there will even be a next time

Jungkook: oh there will be

Jungkook: youre already imagining it

The accuracy punched the air from her lungs. Her kitchen smelled like burnt garlic now, the soup bubbling ominously. She turned off the burner with one hand, the other typing fast.

Y/N: and if i am?

Jungkook: tell me where

Y/N: i just met u mr international playboy

Y/N: what makes u think i trust u enough to send my address?

Jungkook: valid

Jungkook: then we’ll do it through the screen

Y/N blinked. The words lingered between them—bold, ridiculous, delicious. She scoffed, shaking her head at her darkened reflection in the microwave door. She laughed to the empty kitchen, half-amused, half-aroused by the sheer audacity.

Y/N: like cyber sex?

Jungkook: haha unless you’re scared

Her thumbs flew before she could second-guess it.

Y/N: oh please

Jungkook: tell me what youre wearing baby

She hesitated, then smirked, typing one-handed while the other tugged her sweater above her chest to snap a quick tilted selfie—her neckline and below, the curve of her boob framed by her lace bra.

Y/N: wouldnt u like to know handsome

His response was instant. A voice message. She held the phone to her ear, his groan vibrating through her skull.

"Fuck. Teasing me already?" The sound of his voice—rough, impatient—sent a shiver down her spine. She bit her lip.

Jungkook: touch yourself for me

Y/N: youre awfully demanding for a man who hasnt earned it

Jungkook: then earn me

Jungkook: or are you all talk?

Y/N’s fingers twitched toward the waistband of her shorts.

"Bastard," she whispered—but she was already pulling them down to pool at her feet. The cool air kissed her ass as she tapped out a reply, hips shifting against the counter’s edge.

Y/N: bold of u to assume im not already

She pressed her fingertips against herself through the lace, exhaling sharply at the contact. The fabric was damp.

Jungkook: prove it

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she dragged the lace aside, fingertips finding slick heat. A shudder ripped through her. "Fuck," she hissed, thumb circling slow.

Y/N: happy?

She added a photo—just her hand disappearing between her thighs, the lace pushed aside, glistening.

Jungkook’s reply was a voice note. She played it, his voice darkening. "Look at you. Drenched for me already."

Her knees nearly buckled. "Cocky asshole," she breathed—but her fingers pressed deeper, rewarded by the slick slide of her own arousal and imagining it was him pleasuring her.

Y/N: ure not even here

Y/N: how could u be the reason im wet?

Another message lit up her screen—a video. Jungkook’s hand fisted around his cock, stroking slow.

"This what you wanted?" he murmured off-camera. The back of Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a moan. The wet sound of it—skin on skin, his quiet grunt—echoed in her skull.

Y/N: ure insufferable

Jungkook: and youre touching yourself to it

She couldn’t deny it. Her hips rolled against her hand, the counter digging into her back. "God," she whimpered, the word slipping out unbidden. Her breath hitched as her fingers curled—just right—and her head tipped back. "Fuck. Fuck." The words tumbled into the empty kitchen, unanswered. Jungkook’s next text glowed against the dark screen.

Jungkook: id make you scream my name

Jungkook: though, youd probably do all that by yourself already

Y/N’s laugh was shaky. “Not tonight,” she almost replied—but her fingers sped up, chasing the heat coiling low in her stomach. The idea of him—the audacity of him—wrapped around her tighter than any touch. She typed fast, pulse hammering.

Y/N: bold of u to assume i havent alr imagined it

The reply came instantly—a photo this time. Jungkook’s hand splayed against his clothed thigh, long fingers flexing. The text beneath it burned.

Jungkook: imagine these pushing in

Jungkook: slow at first

Jungkook: just the tips

Her breath caught. The specificity of it—the visual—sent a jolt through her. She pressed her thighs together, clenching her buried fingers, biting back a whimper.

Y/N: u talk too much

Jungkook: you like it

She did.

Jungkook: curling just there

Y/N: u dont know where ‘there’ is

Jungkook: dont i?

Her thumb circled faster, hips lifting off the counter’s edge. “Asshole,” she hissed—but her stomach clenched at the thought, wetness slick between her fingers.

Jungkook: youre arching right now

Jungkook: biting your lip

Jungkook: trying not to make noise

How the fuck?

She exhaled sharply, fingers stuttering. The certainty in his words—like he could see her—sent heat licking up her spine.

Y/N: lucky guesses

Jungkook: or im just that good

She rolled her eyes—but her thighs trembled.

Jungkook: imagine my mouth there next

Jungkook: my tongue flat

Jungkook: dragging up slow

Her hips jerked. “Fuck,” she gasped, the word cracking open.

Her phone buzzed again—a voice note. She played it, his groan vibrating through her: "You’re so fucking wet for me already." Her fingers slid deeper, the sound of him unraveling her.

Jungkook: cum for me

The command punched through her—rough, needing. Her back hit the cabinets, vision blurring as pleasure grew, gradual but sharp.

Jungkook’s next text was immediate—a video. Him, stroking fast. "Next time," he gritted out off camera, "it’ll be my tongue."

Her stomach flipped. Next time. The promise lingered, heavy and hot

Y/N fumbled with her phone, fingers still trembling as she adjusted the angle. The screen framed her parted thighs, the slick shine between them, the way her other hand moved—not fast enough.

She sped up, breath hitching, and hit record. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, her moans pitching higher, unchecked. A sharp gasp. Then the crest hit, her back arching away from the counter as her hips jerked, a broken cry tearing loose. The video cut off with her slumped against the cabinets, chest heaving. She sent it before she could rethink it.

One blink. Two. Her phone buzzed instantly.

Jungkook: fuck look at you

Jungkook: wanna ruin you and lick you clean

Her thighs clenched at the low groan that followed—like he was already imagining it. Like he’d drag her under the second he got the chance.

Y/N: i’ll ruin u first

She typed back, thumb hovering before sending. Bold. Maybe too bold. But the sting of her nails digging into her own hip still burned, proof she wasn’t just talking.

His reply came in bursts—deliberate. Taunting.

Jungkook: try

Jungkook: youll beg for more

The phone clattered onto the counter when she shoved it away, heat pooling low again.

God, he was insufferable. And she wanted him anyway. Wanted the way his voice dipped rough at the edges, the way he’d smirk if he saw her now—lips bitten red, skin flushed. She traced her collarbone absently, already imagining his mouth there instead.

Y/N: ure greedy.

Jungkook: for you?

Jungkook: always

A shiver ran down her spine. She bit her lip, considering—then snapped a quick photo: her legs still parted, fingers glistening. The flash caught the sweat at her throat, the messy hair sticking to her forehead.

Y/N: satisfied?

Jungkook: not even close

Jungkook: itd be much more satisfying if your cum was dripping down my cock kitten

Y/N rolled her eyes—but her stomach flipped.

Jungkook: but that’s for next time baby

The message blinked up at her—bold, presumptuous, electric. Y/N stared at the screen, fingers still twitching against her thigh. The aftershocks pulsed through her, slow and syrupy, and she exhaled a shaky laugh.

And the stranger on her phone—Jungkook, international playboy, arrogant bastard—had just wrecked her without laying a single finger on her.

She typed, deleted, typed again. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, her usual sharp retorts failing her.

What do you even say after that? After coming undone to the sound of a thirty-three year old man’s voice, after sending him proof like some desperate, panting mess? Hell she didn’t even know this man. Just that he was probably too old for her, had hot tattoos, and piercings paired with eyes that totally mismatched the vibe.

Y/N: ure ridiculous

Her thumb hovered over send—weak, deflection. She deleted it.

Jungkook: goodnight kitten

Jungkook: dont forget who got you off tonight

The message glowed on her screen like a brand. Y/N stared at it, thighs still slick, the ghost of her own fingers lingering between them. Her pulse hammered unevenly—part irritation, part thrill.

"Kitten?" she muttered, wiping her hand on her discarded sweater. "Who the hell says 'kitten'?" But her traitorous stomach swooped anyway.

She slumped against the counter behind her, the cold marble seeping into her bare skin. The kitchen smelled like sex and burnt garlic, the abandoned soup congealing in the pot.

"What the fuck just happened," she breathed.

A stranger—a glorified pixelated smirk—had just reduced her to a shuddering, gasping mess in her own kitchen at midnight.

And worse? She'd loved every second of it.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

It had been days since sexting mr international playboy. Four to be exact. Four fucking days since that last filthy message from Jungkook—since the videos that made her bite her lip raw the first time she saw them. No text, no voice note, no reaction emoji accidentally sent at 2 a.m.

Nothing. Radio silence.

YN felt stupid. Not heartbroken — that would be dramatic — but foolish in the way an immature teenager would feel when their crush rejected them.

What was she expecting anyways? The dude was thirty-three. He probably had meetings, deadlines, responsibilities. A whole adult life that didn’t involve lying on his bed with his phone in hand, waiting for her reply. Y/n found herself in her spinning chair, editing vlogs while her pussy throbs for some dick. Specifically Jungkook’s.

The pornographic videos were nailed in her head. She even still had excess to it in her tinder chat. Zero shame dressing her when she pulls them up as she pleasures herself at night with Jungkook’s voice playing in the background all grainy and echoey.

She hated how easily her body remembered something that wasn’t even real. But it wasn’t enough for Y/n. As much as she yearned for Jungkook’s touch and his inches, Y/n refused to be the girl who folded first just because she was restless and lonely. Pride mattered. Even now.

So she did what any modern twenty-something did when she needed distraction, validation, and noise loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She texted her clique.

Club tonight?

And just like that, the plan was set.

That night was Jungkook’s last in China. He returned to his hotel close to midnight, jacket shrugged off the moment the door shut behind him.

The dinner with investors had dragged longer than expected — too many toasts, too many questions, too many polite smiles stretched thin. This new market had been Josiah’s gamble, one he’d funded just barely enough to survive. If the room hadn’t been moved by Jungkook’s vision, Josiah would’ve been updating his résumé by morning.

Luckily, the concept landed. Still, relief didn’t erase exhaustion.

The past three days had been relentless — back-to-back dinners, galas that required the right laugh at the right time, store openings flooded with cameras, press interviews where every word had to be calculated. His schedule hadn’t just been packed; it had been unforgiving. There was no room for distraction. No room for indulgence.

No room for her.

Jungkook knew better than to send a casual text. A simple ‘hey’ would never stay simple. If he reached out, he’d want to mean it — to unravel the tension that had been coiled in him since that night, to let the conversation slide somewhere reckless and indulgent.

He’d want to send her details of how he’d take her. Have her face smashed into his pillow. Her bare ass up in the air as if inviting his hard dick to slide in. How he’d show no mercy and slam his cock balls deep and calling her his slut.

It was entirely inappropriate for a man running on four hours of sleep and a dozen obligations. So he didn’t text. Didn’t open the chat. Heck he didn’t even have time to wank. His work schedule straight up said ‘no cumming this week.’

Work had demanded everything this week — his focus, his restraint, his discipline. Desire would have to wait. Even if it lingered, heavy and unresolved, in the quiet of his hotel room.

Lucky for Jungkook, it was his final night overseas. His flight back to Korea wasn’t until late afternoon, which meant—for the first time all week—nothing was waiting for him. No assistants knocking. No calls lined up. No schedule breathing down his neck.

He shifted on the hotel bed, lifting himself just enough to fish his phone out from his back pocket. The mattress dipped again beneath his weight as he fell back, one arm flung over his head.

Finally. His phone—for him.

His thumb moved on instinct, tapping Instagram before he could overthink it. The feed loaded, and like the universe had been paying attention, her story sat first in the row.

Of course.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, faint and knowing. He’d been curious—too curious—about what his kitten had been up to while he’d been shaking hands and selling futures.

He tapped. Music burst through the speakers. Low lights. Movement. Y/n, flushed and glowing, dancing at a club with—

Jungkook stilled.

“A guy…?” he muttered, brows pulling together.

It wasn’t innocent dancing. Her arm rested easy over the guy’s shoulder, familiarity written into the way she leaned into him. A drink in her other hand. The man’s fingers lingered too comfortably at her waist, brushing her cheek when she laughed. And then—just barely—his hand slid lower.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening as he watched the clip move to the next story.

Three days. Three exhausting, sleepless days across the ocean, and this was what greeted him. As if she hadn’t been breathless on his screen days ago. As if she hadn’t undone him from thousands of miles away. As if she didn’t just sent Jungkook a video of her cumming on 4k.

He scoffed, shaking his head once. “You fucking slut…”

Still, his thumb moved—slow, deliberate—as he tapped the message box beneath her story. Not angry. Not impulsive. Possessive.

mnijungkook: i go mia for three four days and this is what i see when i open my insta?

mnijungkook: you’re begging me to punish you, kitten

He sent it before he could talk himself out of it, phone heavy in his palm as the story replayed once more.

Yeah. He was definitely back.

Within seven minutes, Jungkook was out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips, steam still clinging to his skin. He tugged on a clean shirt and sweats, barely drying his hair properly as he rubbed at it rough and careless, water dripping onto the hotel carpet.

He dropped onto the bed, mattress sighing beneath his weight, and reached for his phone with his free hand.

The screen lit up. As expected.

iamyn: hey handsome

That stupid little pet name hit him right in the chest every time. Jungkook exhaled a quiet laugh, head tipping back against the headboard, lips tugging into a smile he didn’t bother suppressing.

Thirty-three years old and reduced to this.

iamyn: u cant expect me to just stay home and wait for u

He pictured her saying it—chin lifted, eyes sharp, mouth unapologetic. His thumbs moved easily.

mnijungkook: i was on a business trip, baby

mnijungkook: back to back meetings and events

mnijungkook: i barely had time to breathe

mnijungkook: otherwise i would’ve checked in and told you exactly how much i want you

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

iamyn: business trip?

iamyn: tell ur boss i said fuck u

iamyn: how dare he stop u from making me feel good

iamyn: the screen’s already a good enough cockblock 🙄

A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it—low, genuine, echoing softly in the hotel room. He scrubbed the towel through his hair again, shaking his head.

God. She’s trouble.

mnijungkook: funny thing is

mnijungkook: i am my own boss kitten

mnijungkook: i run the company

Silence. No typing bubble. No immediate clapback. Jungkook smirked, settling deeper into the pillows.

mnijungkook: what?

mnijungkook: surprised?

The reply came slower this time.

iamyn: yeah…

iamyn: yeah actually

He could practically hear the disbelief in her voice now. The recalculation. The way her confidence would wobble just a little before snapping right back into place. Jungkook’s smile softened—dangerous, amused.

mnijungkook: dont overthink it baby

mnijungkook: im still just the guy who matched with you on tinder

mnijungkook: except now you know i’m busy

iamyn: yeah

iamyn: mr international playboy

iamyn: or better yet, mr ceo

He watched the typing bubble flicker on and off, a quiet thrill settling low in his chest.

Yeah. This wasn’t just flirting anymore.

The typing bubble appeared again. Disappeared. Came back. Jungkook watched it like a game of chicken.

iamyn: so

iamyn: ceo huh

iamyn: guess that explains the confidence

mnijungkook: confidence comes with responsibility

mnijungkook: and patience

A pause.

mnijungkook: something you seem to struggle with

iamyn: wow

iamyn: did u just psychoanalyze me

mnijungkook: a little

mnijungkook: you dont like being ignored

He imagined her scoffing, rolling her eyes even though he wasn’t wrong.

iamyn: i dont like being forgotten

iamyn: theres a difference

That one landed heavier than he expected. Jungkook sat up straighter, towel finally discarded, elbows resting on his knees.

mnijungkook: i didnt forget you baby

mnijungkook: i could never

mnijungkook: just didnt trust myself to text you halfway

mnijungkook: because i dont do half ass attention

The reply came slower this time.

iamyn: thats dangerously smooth

iamyn: do u practice this or does it come naturally

mnijungkook: you matched with me

mnijungkook: what do you think

iamyn: 🤭

iamyn: i should be fucking embarrassed

iamyn: i sexted a stranger with a corporate title

mnijungkook: and yet

mnijungkook: youre still texting me

Silence. Just long enough to make him wonder. Then—

iamyn: yeah

iamyn: cus i kinda wanna see what happens next

Jungkook leaned back against the headboard, phone warm in his palm, eyes unfocused.

mnijungkook: good

mnijungkook: because so do i

And just like that, the tension settled — not resolved, not rushed. The silence stretched just long enough for him to think about that guy again. The hand on her waist. The way she’d laughed into the camera like she didn’t belong to anyone. His jaw ticked.

mnijungkook: so…

mnijungkook: who was he

Simple. Flat. No emoji. No smile. She didn’t reply right away.

iamyn: who 😭

He scoffed softly, thumb tapping once against the screen.

mnijungkook: don’t play dumb

mnijungkook: the guy in your story

Three dots. Gone. Back again.

iamyn: mr ceo

iamyn:are u… jealous?

He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

mnijungkook: no shit

mnijungkook: youve been mine since we matched kitten

iamyn: excuse me???

iamyn: u disappear for days and now im urs?

mnijungkook: you want me to lie?

A pause.

mnijungkook: so tell me

mnijungkook: who is he kitten?

iamyn: hes just a friend

iamyn: i went out with friends

iamyn: im allowed to have those, mr ceo

mnijungkook: never said you werent allowed

mnijungkook: doesnt mean i have to like it

iamyn: youre ridiculous

mnijungkook: and honest

He shifted on the bed, tone changing—less sharp, more deliberate.

mnijungkook: listen to me

mnijungkook: i promise you this baby

mnijungkook: no more disappearing

mnijungkook: if im busy, ill tell you

mnijungkook: if i want you, youll know

Her response came quieter, stripped of jokes.

iamyn: thats a dangerous promise mr ceo

mnijungkook: i dont make empty ones

Then the line that sealed it—possessive but steady, not rushed.

mnijungkook: youre mine

mnijungkook: and im yours

iamyn: well shit

He smiled to himself.

Hooked.

mnijungkook: then its settled

mnijungkook: now, send me a pic of yourself kitten

⏮️⏸️⏭️

Three weeks passed like a bad habit no one bothered to quit.

It started filthy. Screens lighting up at ungodly hours, texts and video or photo attachments sent with zero shame and even less restraint. Words that made Y/N stare at her ceiling afterward, pulse still loud in her ears, wondering when exactly this man slipped under her skin. Sexting that blurred nights together, that made time zones irrelevant and self-control a joke. But somewhere along the way, it softened.

They still flirted like it was foreplay. Jungkook still called her kitten or baby like it rolled off his tongue naturally, like he’d earned the right. She still called him Mr. CEO or handsome just to hear the way his voice dipped when he laughed.

But they also… talked. Real shit.

Jungkook sent photos of airport windows streaked with rain, spreadsheets that meant nothing to her, hotel ceilings at 2 a.m. with captions like ‘another night babysitting grown men.’

He admitted—offhand, like it didn’t matter—that he hadn’t been in a committed relationship in nearly ten years. Not because he didn’t want one. But because work had a way of swallowing everything else whole.

Y/N told him about starting YouTube at nineteen with a shitty camera and blind optimism. About learning everything the hard way. About how weird it felt to have strangers know her voice, her laugh, her face while still feeling lonely as hell sometimes.

They send more voice notes now. Lazy ones. Sleepy ones. Sometimes even calls. Jungkook’s voice low and rough when he was tired, Y/N’s soft and unguarded when she forgot to be careful. It was comfortable. And that was the scary part.

That was how she ended up sprawled across her bed one night, phone resting next to her. Her laptop open, the soft glow of her editing software still running in the background. Midnight had already come and gone. Her room was quiet except for the hum of her air conditioner. Curiosity gnawing at her ribs.

She opened Tinder again on her phone—not to swipe, just to look. There he was. That same single photo. The only one he’d ever posted. Clean. Intentionally casual. Infuriatingly attractive.

She then opened Jungkook’s Instagram, again, on her laptop.

Still nothing.

No posts. No tagged photos. No stupid gym mirror pics on his highlights. Just a blank profile and a faceless display picture that told her absolutely jack shit.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she muttered. “One picture on Tinder and you think that’s enough?” Her finger scrolling like the app might suddenly take pity on her.

Three weeks of hearing his voice. Knowing his humour. The way he paused before saying her name. And she still only had that one image of him. Her thumb hesitated. Then moved before she could chicken out.

iamyn: can i say something without u making fun of me

His reply came fast.

mnijungkook: i dont make fun of you kitten

mnijungkook: i tease

She rolled her eyes, smiling.

iamyn: wtv

iamyn: i tried stalking ur insta and ure literally a fucking ghost

mnijungkook: and that bothers you?

iamyn: i realized ive only ever seen that one pic of u

iamyn: from tinder

iamyn: and i kinda wanna see more of u

iamyn: is that allowed, handsome ceo?

The typing bubble blinked once. Then disappeared. Y/N stared at the screen.

“…hello?” she muttered, thumb hovering uselessly like that might summon him back.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Then— Her phone and laptop buzzed. She jumped.

Incoming FaceTime — Jungkook

“Oh—fuck—” she whispered, pushing herself upright so fast she dropped the phone. She caught her mirror image in the screen of her laptop—messy hair, bare face, sweater slipping off one shoulder.

Too late to care. She clicked answer. And there he was.

Familiar, but different. Real. Moving. Breathing. Up close, he was worse. Better. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that felt like they were touching her through the big screen.

Jungkook was at work. The background was dim, all glass and steel, the city lights bleeding through the windows behind him. His suit jacket was gone, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows where Y/n could take a peak at his tattoo sleeve. Tie loosened like he’d been strangled by responsibility all day. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He looked…tired. Still unfairly handsome though. But real in a different way.

For a second, he didn’t speak—just looked at her through the screen with his back leaned against his chair and gazing down at her, like he needed to confirm she was actually there.

“Well,” he said, voice low, amused. “You wanted more, kitten.” His lips curled.

Her heart did something stupid.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, then laughed quietly. “You’re actually…insane.”

His smile came slow. Intentional. “And you,” Jungkook said, eyes dragging over her face and grazing his chin with his fingers he was committing it to memory, “look even better than I imagined, baby.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading fast and reckless. Yeah he’d seen her pictures on Instagram. But in real time, she looked unbelievably attractive in his eyes.

Three weeks of words. Finally given depth. And suddenly, it wasn’t just voices or texts anymore.

“What are you up to, baby?” he asked, voice already warm with amusement. “Other than—you know—thinking about how good I look.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling anyway. On her screen, Jungkook was sunk into his office chair like he’d been welded to it for the past twelve hours. One arm rested lazily on the armrest, the other tapping absently against the edge of his desk, fingers inked and restless. And still, his eyes stayed on her, steady and unhurried, like he wasn’t sitting in the middle of a goddamn office—like she was the only thing worth focusing on.

“Uh… I was in the middle of some…last-minute editing,” she said, glancing at the time glowing accusingly in the corner of her laptop. “I need to upload tonight or my comments will riot.” Her brow bounced on ‘riot’.

Jungkook hummed. “And…I’m not stealing your time, am I?”

She shook her head, smiling to herself. “Never,” she murmured. She hadn’t meant for him to hear it. The mic did anyway.

His lips curved instantly, slow and satisfied. “Cute,” he said. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t like me.”

She scoffed. “Excuse you. You’re the one who called.”

“Hmm,” he admitted easily. “And I’m glad I did.”

She tilted her head. “Oh yeah?”

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, the kind that made the muscles in his forearm flex as he adjusted his position—she tracked the movement without meaning to. His fingers drummed lazily against the armrest, his voice dropping into that low, rough register that always made her pussy tighten.

“Hell yeah. We could…start facetiming and I’d get to see you cum for me in real time, kitten.” His thumb brushed over his lower lip, slow, deliberate. “Watch your mouth drop when you realize I’m not gonna let you stop.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. God, the way he says shit like that—like it was already decided, like she wasn’t possibly halfway across the fucking world but right there in his office, pinned under that look. Her fingers tightened around her nothing.

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to stop.”

His laugh was dark, pleased. “Prove it.”

The dare hung between them, thick enough she could almost taste it. She bit her lip, considering. The editing could wait—her subscribers could deal with one night of her being distracted.

But Jungkook? He wasn’t asking. He was waiting, that lazy, knowing glint in his eyes like he already knew she’d cave.

She exhaled, slow. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His grin was all teeth. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes—but her hand was already making its way down her white cotton shorts.

“Let me see you touch yourself, baby.” Jungkook’s voice was lower than she’d ever heard, the words curling around her like smoke. It wasn’t a request. It was a command wrapped in velvet.

She exhaled shakily, fingers curling under the waistband of her shorts—his gaze pinned her in place, heavy and possessive. The fabric slid down her thighs, pooling at her knees before she kicked them off entirely. The bed dipped under her palms as she braced herself back, thighs falling open deliberately, slow, just to watch his pupils dilate. The damp lace clinging to her was obscene, the fabric sheer enough he could see the dark flush of her skin beneath, the way she was already dripping through the material.

“Fuck,” he breathed, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees like he could physically will himself closer.

“Look at that—already soaked for me. Didn’t even need to touch you.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his voice roughening. “Such a greedy fucking slut, aren’t you? My slut.”

Heat coiled low in her belly, sharp and electric—the degradation slid under her skin like liquid fire. She arched slightly, pressing her hips up, and his groan was ragged.

His fingers flexed around nothing, jaw tight. “Like knowing you’d spread yourself open for me anywhere I fucking asked. Wouldn’t you?” His voice dropped, husky with intent. “Wouldn’t even think twice before getting on your knees, begging me to ruin you.”

She whimpered—couldn’t help it—and his smirk was predatory.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Her fingers trembled as they slipped under the lace, dragging the fabric aside to expose the swollen, glistening heat of her. The air was cool against her oversensitive skin, but it barely registered—not when he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole.

“No. Do it through your panties, kitten.” Jungkook’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet, the kind that made her breath hitch before she’d even processed the words.

“Want to see those pretty fingers soak through the lace first,” he murmured, tilting his head. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Show me how desperate you get.”

She whimpered, high and involuntary, as she obeyed—sliding her fingers over the damp fabric instead, pressing down where she needed it most.

The friction was deliciously insufficient, the lace rubbing raw against her oversensitive clit. Her back arched off the bed, a broken moan tumbling from her lips when Jungkook’s gaze darkened, his pupils swallowing the honey-brown of his irises.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. His thumb dragged over his lower lip like he wanted to taste her. “Already fucking yourself through your panties like a slut. You’d do this anywhere, wouldn’t you? In my office? In the back of my car?”

The degradation pooled hot in her stomach, spreading like ink in water. Her fingers moved faster, the fabric growing slicker.

“Y-yours,” she gasped, hips jerking. “Only—ah—yours—”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his free hand gripping his cock through his dress pants, the fabric straining obscenely.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he breathed, but his voice was thick with worship. His smirk was cruel, beautiful. “Imagine if I were there—bending you over my desk, tearing these fucking panties off with my teeth—”

She cried out, her fingers stuttering as the tension coiled tighter. The lace was soaked, clinging to her skin, and Jungkook’s groan was ragged.

“That’s it—ruin them,” he urged, leaning closer to the screen. His breath hitched when her hips lifted off the bed, chasing her own touch. “Fuck, you’re close. I can see it—your thighs shaking, that pretty mouth falling open—”

She nodded frantically, her moans dissolving into whimpers. The heat was unbearable, the pressure—

“Stop.”

Her fingers froze. What the hell was he thinking? She was super close. And he wanted her to stop Her entire body trembled on the edge, suspended. Jungkook’s smile was feral.

“Hands off,” he ordered softly. “Now.”

She whimpered in protest, but he tsked, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to cum until I say so,” he murmured. His gaze dropped to where her thighs clenched around nothing.

Her breath came in shallow pants. The silence stretched—broken only by the quiet creak of his chair as he leaned back, waiting. And then she cracked.

“Please.” The word slipped out before she could swallow it back—broken and needy, her voice barely louder than the rustle of sheets as she shifted. Jungkook’s grin was wicked, his fingers tapping against his thigh like he’d already won.

“Please what, baby?” he drawled, tilting his head. The office lights caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the sweat-slicked column of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Her cheeks burned. The lace was glued to her skin with how wet she was, the fabric twisted and useless between her thighs.

“Want—wanna cum,” she admitted, voice cracking. The admission scraped her throat raw, humiliation curling hot in her belly when his eyes darkened.

“Take them off.” His command was low, rough—the kind that made her pulse stutter. “Those fucking panties. Now.”

Her fingers trembled as she hooked them under the soaked lace, peeling them down her legs with a wet sound that made his nostrils flare. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—heavy, possessive, tracing every inch of her like she was his to ruin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, though the praise was edged with something darker. “Now show me how empty you are without me. Fuck yourself open, slut. Let me see.”

She whimpered, high and broken, as she dragged two fingers through her slick, spreading herself for him. The first press inside was electric—her back arching off the bed, a moan tearing from her lips as she curled her fingers just to watch his jaw tighten.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jungkook growled, his own hand palming his cock through his pants, the fabric straining. “Taking your fingers so easy—like you were made for it. Made for me.” His tongue swiped over his lower lip, hungry. “Bet you’d take my cock even better, wouldn’t you? Stretch you so fucking wide, hear you cry—”

She nodded frantically, her hips rocking against her hand, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room. “Yes—yes, please—”

“Such a desperate little thing,” he crooned, his voice thick with mock pity. His free hand gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white. “Can’t even wait for me to fuck you properly. Pathetic.” The degradation dripped like honey, sickly sweet and addictive. Her fingers moved faster, her thighs shaking.

“Not yet.” His snarl froze her in place. “You cum when I say.”

She sobbed, her body trembling on the edge, her fingers still buried inside herself—waiting, aching, suspended by nothing but the ragged command in his voice.

Jungkook's control snapped like a frayed wire. With a sharp inhale, his belt buckle clattered against the desk as he wrenched it open, his dress pants shoved down just enough to free his cock—thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. The slap of flesh against his rumpled blouse echoed through the speakers, the sound lewd and undeniable.

Y/N’s thighs twitched open wider, her gaze dragging down shamelessly to watch him fist himself in rough, punishing strokes, his knuckles white with restraint.

"Fuck—look at you," Jungkook snarled, his hips jerking into his grip. His head slammed back against the leather chair, tendons in his neck straining as he panted. "Spreading yourself open—my personal little whore." His voice was wrecked, syllables slurring with pleasure.

"You see this?" He squeezed the base of his cock, veins prominent under his grip, and her mouth watered. "All yours. Only yours. But you don’t get to cum until I say—argh just wait till I’m fucking buried inside you for real, slut."

The wet sounds from both sides of the screens were obscene—her fingers plunging, his fist pumping, the shared rhythm filthy and syncopated. Jungkook’s breath hitched when she crooked her fingers just right, her moan dissolving into a whimper.

"Please—Jungkook, I can’t—"

"Watch me," he demanded while gazing into his computer, his thumb smearing pre-cum over his cockhead, his hips canting up into his touch.

"Watch how fucking hard you make me. How bad I want to ruin you." His laugh was ragged, almost pained. "God, you’re dripping—fuck, I can hear it. That’s my good kitten, taking it so well. But you’re not my good kitten right now, are you? You’re my desperate, fucking slut."

She shook her head frantically, her thighs trembling as the coil inside her wound tighter. Jungkook’s strokes turned brutal, his voice cracking.

“I’m close, Jungkook.” The words tumbled out of her in a broken whimper, her fingers twisting inside herself, thighs shaking violently. The air smelled like salt and sweat and the synthetic raspberry of her laptop charger overheating beside her.

Jungkook’s breath hitched—sharp, audible—his fist tightening around his cock, knuckles white.

“Fucking—look at you,” he snarled, voice shredded. His hips jerked into his grip, the wet slap of skin against skin punching through the speakers. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, eyes locked on hers through the screen.

The coil in her stomach tightened—too much—but he wasn’t letting her break yet.

“P-please—!”

“Beg.” The word cracked like a whip. Jungkook’s free hand gripped the edge of his desk, tendons standing out in his forearm. His cock glistened under the dim office lights, flushed and leaking, veins straining against skin.

“Beg me to let you cum. Fucking needy slut.”

She choked on air. “Please—let me cum, please, I—I can’t—Jungkook—ahh!”

His laugh was dark, wrecked. “God, you’re dirty.” He dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing pre-cum down the length. “Look at you—dripping for me, whimpering for me. My slut. Mine.” His voice dropped to a growl at his screen.

“Cum for me, baby.”

The permission snapped something inside her. Her back arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from her throat as pleasure ripped through her. White, hot, relentless, her fingers still buried inside her as she pulsed around them. Jungkook’s groan was raw, his strokes turning punishing.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” His hips stuttered, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Cum for me, kitten. Cum all over your fingers like the filthy little whore you are.”

She sobbed, oversensitive and shaking, her thighs clamped around her own wrist as the aftershocks rolled through her. Jungkook’s pace faltered, his head slamming back against the chair.

“Yn—” Her name was a prayer, a curse, his voice splintering. “Gonna—fuck—”

The sound he made when he came was animal—a guttural groan, his cock jerking in his fist as he painted stripes across his stomach, his dress shirt rucked up to his chest. His thighs trembled, his breath coming in harsh pants. Silence. Then—

“Holy shit…” he muttered, voice wrecked. His fingers twitched where they lay limp on his stomach, sticky with cum. “You’re insane.”

She laughed, breathless and weak, her body still thrumming. “Takes one to know one.”

Jungkook’s smirk was lazy, satisfied. “Yeah,” he agreed, dragging a hand down his face. “But you love it.”

⏮️⏸️⏭️

2AM was a stupid hour to be awake. The city outside Jungkook’s penthouse was still glowing like it didn’t know how to sleep—glass buildings blinking, traffic humming faintly, Seoul stretching on like an endless exhale.

Inside, though, it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you hear your own thoughts a little too clearly.

Jungkook sat in the comfort of his bed, hair damp from a shower he didn’t need, dressed in nothing but loose sweatpants, entire upper body exposed to the cold. The lights were low, the expensive kind of warm, but none of it mattered.

Because his phone was in his hand. And her face was on the screen.

Y/N’s Coachella vlog.

He didn’t even remember clicking it. One second he was checking sales statistics, the next he was watching her laugh into the camera like she wasn’t the most distracting fucking person he’d ever come across.

The video was shaky, chaotic, full of neon and bass and her friends screaming in the background. And there she was. Hair down, lip gloss catching the festival lights, eyes bright like she belonged in every frame she stepped into.

“Okay, guys,” her voice came through the speaker, cheerful and teasing. “Day one. I’m already sweating like crazy. I’m fucking hot!”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh.

“Oh you have no idea,” he muttered to himself.

His thumb hovered over the screen, like he could touch her through it.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

He kept watching anyway.

She spun the camera toward the stage, then back to herself, grinning. “I swear, Coachella is literally a fever dream.” Her voiced vibrated in his hands under the phone.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

A fever dream.

Yeah. That was one way to put it. Because she’d somehow crept into his life the same way—unexpected, unreal, addictive.

A little more than a month ago she was a match on Tinder. Now she was…this. A presence. A habit. A fucking problem.

Jungkook’s thumb tapped the screen, rewinding the video without meaning to, watching her lips form the words again—I’m fucking hot—and holy shit, she wasn’t lying.

The cream top was barely a suggestion of fabric, thin straps struggling against the weight of her tits, the swell of them pressing dangerously against the hem like they might spill over any second. Her skirt—if you could even call it that—was a scrap of white lace riding high on her thighs, riding higher when she danced, and fuck, he could see the shadow where her ass met skin, could imagine the heat of her under his palms, the way she’d gasp if he dragged her back against him right there in the crowd.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, shifting against the sheets, the rough fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide the way his cock was thickening, straining against the waistband. He could see the outline of it, the way the fabric tented obscenely, and he didn’t even bother adjusting, just let it happen, let his hand drift lower, pressing the heel of his palm against himself with a low groan.

The video kept playing—her laughter, her hips swaying to the bass, the way she licked her lips when she turned to the camera—and Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his phone.

"Holy fuck, kitten," he breathed, voice rough, "look what you’ve done to me." His cock twitched at the sound of his own voice, at the thought of her hearing it, of her knowing exactly what she did to him.

He wanted to mark her. Wanted to press his mouth to the smooth expanse of her stomach, to bite at the soft skin just above her waistband, to leave bruises where the fabric didn’t cover. Wanted to ruin her, just a little, just enough that she’d remember him when she got home, when she peeled that skirt off and saw the marks he’d left.

But she wasn’t here. She was there, laughing under desert stars, and he was here, hard and aching and fucking pathetic. And yet—he couldn’t stop watching.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching against his phone.

Fuck it.

He shoved the sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free, already leaking against his stomach, the tip flushed and angry.

"Fuck," he muttered, wrapping his hand around himself in one rough stroke, his hips jerking up into his own grip.

The video kept playing—Y/N laughing, her hips rolling to some beat he couldn’t hear—and he let his head fall back against the pillows with a groan, his grip tightening.

"Look at you," he gritted out, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, smearing precome down the shaft. "Dancing like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me." His breath hitched as she turned toward the camera again, lips parted, sweat glistening at the hollow of her throat. He could almost taste it—salt and heat and her. His strokes turned erratic, his thighs tensing.

"Fuck, kitten, I’d ruin you right there in the crowd. Let everyone see how fucking pretty you look when you come."

A whimper tore from his throat as he imagined it—her back pressed against his chest, his hand slipping under that pathetic excuse for a skirt, fingers dragging through slick heat. The video blurred at the edges of his vision, his focus narrowing to the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the way her collarbones caught the light. "Christ," he gasped, his hips stuttering.

"Just—just like that, fuck—"

His phone slipped from his grip, clattering onto the sheets beside him, but it didn’t matter. The image of her was burned into his skull—the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the fucking smell of her if he’d been there, sweat and sunscreen and something sweet underneath. He was close, so fucking close, his balls drawing up tight, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

"Y/N," he choked out, her name mangled between his teeth, "gonna—fuck—"

The orgasm ripped through him like a live wire, his back arching off the bed, his cum streaking hot across his stomach. His hand slowed but didn’t stop, milking himself through the aftershocks, his hips twitching helplessly.

The video kept playing, Y/N’s laughter muffled now under the rush of blood in his ears, her voice distant, like she was already slipping away.

Jungkook collapsed against the pillows, his chest heaving, his skin tacky with sweat. He blinked up at the ceiling, the high fading too fast, leaving him hollow.

Fuck. He’d cum, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not when all he had was a fucking screen.

His fingers twitched toward his phone before he could think better of it, thumb jamming the call button before he could talk himself out of it. The line rang once, twice, thrice his pulse hammering in his throat.

What the fuck was he doing? She was probably asleep, probably—

The screen flickered to life, but it wasn’t her face. Just darkness, the faint outline of her nose, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek.

"Jungkook…?" Her voice was thick with sleep, slurred at the edges.

He grinned, breathless, his free hand dragging through the mess on his stomach.

"Hey, kitten. Did I wake you?"

Y/N hummed, nuzzling deeper into her pillow, but then—her eyes cracked open, squinting at the screen. The faint glow lit up the confusion on her face, then the dawning realization as she took in his heaving chest, the sweat still drying on his collarbones.

"Kook?" Her voice sharpened. "K-Kook—did you just …wank?"

He laughed, low and unrepentant, his tattooed arm flexing as he tucked it behind his head.

"Yeah. To you, actually." His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I swear you’re begging me to slam my dick into you in your Coachella vlog."

Her mouth fell open, but he didn’t miss the way her thighs shifted under the sheets. "You asshole," she hissed, but it lacked heat. "It’s—god, it’s coming to three AM."

Jungkook’s grin turned wolfish. "And yet," he drawled, "you picked up."

Y/N groaned, rubbing her face with one hand, the other gripping her phone like she might strangle him through the screen.

"Because I thought it was an emergency, you fucking gremlin."

"Emergency," Jungkook repeated, rolling the word around his tongue like it was candy. "Yeah. I’d say my dick qualifies." He stretched lazily, muscles flexing under the dim light, his sweatpants still pooled low on his hips, his stomach still streaked with his own cum.

Y/N groaned again, louder this time, throwing an arm over her face like she could physically block him out.

"Jesus Christ, you’re insufferable." But her voice was thick with something else—something that made Jungkook’s smirk widen.

"Insufferably hot," he corrected, dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach, holding it up to the screen like she could taste it. "Admit it."

She peeked from under her arm, her nose scrunched in disgust—or what she wanted him to think was disgust. "You’re disgusting."

"Disgustingly into you," he shot back, grinning when she huffed.

"What do you need, handsome?" she mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Jungkook flashed a tired smirk, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"I’m needy."

She snorted. "When are you not?"

He barked out a laugh, shoulders shaking. "I’m serious, baby." His voice dropped, rough around the edges. A beat.

"I wanna see you."

Y/N blinked.

"What…?"

"I wanna see you, Y/N," he repeated, slower this time, softer.

Her lips parted, her fingers tightening around her phone. "Wait—you mean like…meet up? Face to face?"

Jungkook hummed, nodding. "Yeah." His thumb brushed over his bottom lip, his gaze darkening. "Not only do I wanna actually feel your walls clench around my dick. I wanna take you out."

Y/N went completely blank. Not in the hot, flustered way she was used to—this was different. This was the kind of speechless that sat heavy in her chest, like someone had pressed pause on her brain.

She knew what this was supposed to be. Fun. Filthy. Easy. A little cyber sex, some teasing, some late-night messages that didn’t mean anything past the screen.

Prolonged, sure. Addictive, yeah. But… this? She never expected Jungkook to say something that sounded almost like a confession. Like he was actually considering showing up. Like he wasn’t just Mr. Playboy behind a phone, but a real man with real intention.

And it hit her all at once—sharp and stupid and terrifying. Because she could handle lust. She wasn’t sure she could handle whatever the fuck this was.

"Baby?" Jungkook called, his voice gentler now, a crack in his usual cockiness.

She jolted, blinking rapidly. "You—you really wanna meet?"

He nodded again, slower this time, his smirk fading into something earnest. "Yeah."

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks flushing under the glow of her screen. "And…you wanna take me out? Like…on a date?"

Jungkook’s chest tightened.

Fuck. When she puts it like that—so small, so hesitant—it hit him like a punch to the gut. Because yes, obviously, but also no, not just that. He wanted everything. The dates, the sex, the stupid late-night convos where she falls asleep mid-sentence. He wanted her sleepy voice in his ear and her legs over his shoulders and her fucking laundry in his hamper.

But he couldn’t say that. Not yet. So he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Sure. Or I could just bend you over the nearest surface. Whatever floats your boat."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "You’re ridiculous." She muttered, looking away.

"And you’re stalling."

Y/N exhaled sharply, her fingers tapping against her phone case.

"It’s just—" She hesitated, her throat working. "We’ve never even—I mean, what if it’s weird?"

Jungkook’s chest ached. Because fuck, he got it. The fear. The what-ifs. The possibility that whatever crackling between them through screens might fizzle out in person. But—

"Then we’ll be weird together," he said, his voice rough. "And if it sucks, we’ll never speak of it again. Or we can—you know—be the adults we are and…talk it out."

She huffed a laugh, her shoulders relaxing. "That’s…weirdly reassuring."

Jungkook grinned, relief flooding his veins. "So? You in?"

Y/N hesitated for one more heartbeat—then nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. I’m in."

His stomach swooped.

Fuck yes.

"Good." He dragged a hand through his hair, his smirk returning full force. "Now hang up so I can jerk off to the thought of you regretting this decision."

Y/N’s laughter burst out of her, bright and startled. "Goodnight, Kook."

"Sweet dreams, kitten."

The call ended, the screen going black. Jungkook tossed his phone onto the bed, running a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He was fucked.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

Y/N almost didn’t go.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because she wanted to too much.

The kind of want that made her overthink her outfit three times, made her spray perfume like it could mask the fact she was fucking nervous, made her stare at herself in the mirror and mutter, “Get a grip. You’ve hooked up with strangers before.”

Yeah. But none of them had been Jungkook.

None of them had lived in her phone for weeks, in her late nights, in that stupid space between lust and something dangerously close to affection.

Her phone buzzed.

mnijungkook: I’m here.

Two words, and her stomach dropped like she was on a rollercoaster.

She stepped outside. The air was cold, biting at her bare legs, neon from the streetlights painting everything slightly unreal.

Then she saw him. Leaning against a black car like he had all the time in the world. Hands in his pockets. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. That same look — the one that always made her feel like he was smiling at a secret.

His eyes found her instantly. And his face shifted. Not smug. Not teasing. Just…real.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than any speaker could ever capture.

Y/N swallowed.

“Oh my god,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “You’re actually real. And…way more handsome in person.”

His lips curved. “So are you, kitten.”

And suddenly the screen wasn’t there anymore. No pixels. No distance. No mute button. Just him.

His gaze swept over her, not in a cheap way—not like a man checking off a list—but like he was actually taking her in. Like he wanted to memorize her.

“Pretty as always,” Jungkook murmured, voice quieter now, almost careful.

Y/n’s eyes gleamed at his compliment before gazing back up at him. That usual glint Jungkook would always catch on his screen. The butterflies he’d get when she looked at him through FaceTime? Yeah. This was worse. This was full-body. This was holy shit.

For a second, she just stood there like an idiot, heart kicking against her ribs, until Jungkook lifted his hand. Palm open and patient. A gentleman, somehow, despite being an ‘international playboy’.

“Shall we?” he asked, chin tipping toward the car.

Y/N let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “God, you’re insane,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Then she slid her hand into his. His warmth wrapped around her instantly, grounding and intimate all at once. And Jungkook didn’t squeeze too hard.

Just enough to remind her—He was real. And this was happening.

He guided her toward the passenger seat, and Y/N followed, still trying to convince herself her heart wasn’t about to beat straight out of her chest.

The car smelled like leather and expensive cologne, which was fucking unfair because Jungkook already looked like a goddamn crime, and now he smelled like one too.

The engine purred to life, and Seoul’s neon glow blurred past the windows as they merged into traffic. Silence stretched—thick and loaded—until Jungkook exhaled sharply, fingers tapping the wheel.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

It took at least half an hour to reach Jungkook’s penthouse. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the silence or the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel—tense, impatient—that made the ride feel longer than it was.

The elevator ride up was worse. Close quarters. His cologne wrapped around her like a goddamn trap. And that smirk? Yeah, she wanted to bite it off his face. But when the doors slid open and she stepped into his penthouse, she blinked.

The dining table was empty. No plates. No candles. No stupid single rose standing upright like a hostage in a glass vase. Just polished wood reflecting the overhead lights—and her own expectations, sitting there like an idiot.

Not that she’d been waiting for some over-the-top, five-star bullshit. She wasn’t that kind of woman. She didn’t need money waved in her face to feel impressed.

Still. Jungkook had sounded… different on the phone. Focused. Almost careful. Like this date actually mattered to him, like he’d thought it through instead of saying it on a whim between texts and dirty jokes.

So yeah. The emptiness threw her off more than she wanted to admit.

“Uh,” she said eloquently, turning to Jungkook. “Did your ‘five-star date’ plans get lost in translation, or—”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just reached for her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers closing around hers, warm and firm, and started pulling her toward the stairs.

“Patience, kitten,” he said over his shoulder. “Not everything’s about instant gratification.”

“Says the man who sends me a dick pics at two am,” she muttered, but let him pull her up the steps anyway.

His laugh was quiet, almost surprised, like he couldn’t believe she’d actually said it out loud in person.

Then, the rooftop opened up, and it hit her so fast she actually stopped for half a second. Not because it was some fairytale bullshit. Because it was thoughtful.

Candlelight flickered inside glass jars, scattered low across a wide mat beneath the night sky. Rose petals were tossed around in a way that looked deliberately careless, like someone had tried not to make it too perfect and failed anyway. And the food—Damn. Steak seared beautifully, the kind of plating that screamed expensive without trying. Wine breathing beside it, dark and serious. And—

“Kimchi?” Y/N’s eyebrow lifted before she could stop herself. “Seriously?”

Jungkook grinned, all teeth. “Gotta keep it authentic.” His hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her forward with an ease that made her stomach flip.

“And before you ask—no, I didn’t cook any of it. The perks of having a personal chef on retainer.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her chest did something stupid and warm.

“Yeah.” His voice dipped, rougher now, less teasing. “But you don’t hate it.”

It wasn’t pixels anymore. It was real. And she was so, so screwed.

Y/N and Jungkook sat close enough that their knees brushed every now and then, the kind of accidental contact that stopped feeling accidental after the third time.

The wind was cool, slipping under her jacket, but Jungkook barely noticed it—her perfume cut through everything. Soft and sweet.

He shifted, bending one leg up and resting his arm against it as he reached for the bottle. The wine was expensive—deep red, something he loved enough to save for special occasions, which said more than he wanted it to. He poured carefully, wrist steady, like he wasn’t hyper-aware of her watching him.

Y/N sat with her legs folded to the side, one arm braced behind her, posture relaxed but her fingers fidgeting just enough to give her away. When he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed. Brief. Electric. Stupid.

They raised their glasses.

“Cheers to…” Jungkook started, then stalled, his eyes catching hers and holding. Too long. Long enough for his brain to short-circuit and every smooth line he’d rehearsed to vanish. He cleared his throat, lips twitching. “Finally making it out from the screen.”

Y/N giggled, the sound light and real, and God—he felt it in his chest.

“And,” she added, tilting her head slightly, voice careful but honest, “cheers to… a new possible relationship.”

The word relationship landed between them like something fragile.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed on her, unreadable for half a second too long, and her stomach dropped.

Fuck. Did I go too far?

The thought barely finished forming before he let out a quiet laugh—soft, genuine, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and took all the edge out of the moment. He leaned in just enough to clink his glass against hers.

“Cheers to that,” he murmured.

They drank. The wine was cold and sharp as it slid down, warming on the way, settling low in their stomachs. Y/N exhaled without realizing she’d been holding her breath. Jungkook licked his lips, eyes flicking back to her again, slower this time.

Y/N’s brows lifted once, just enough to make him notice. “So…why did you want to take me out on a date?” Her voice was casual, but the edge of curiosity—maybe even a little challenge—rippled through it.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying her as if weighing the answer. His thumb traced lazy circles on the stem of his glass, the only movement betraying the way his chest had suddenly gone tight.

“Hm,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing. “Do I have to have a reason, kitten? Can’t I just…want to?”

Y/N smirked, but the smirk didn’t hide the quick beat of her heart. She picked up her steak knife, cutting a bite-sized piece and rolling it on her fork.

“Want to…what? Impress me? Or…entrap me in some luxurious penthouse trap?”

He laughed, quiet but warm, like a rumble vibrating straight through her.

“A little of both,” he admitted, eyes flicking to hers. He speared a piece of steak, chewing slowly as if savoring more than the flavor. “But mostly…because I got tired of having the screen in the way of your real face and realizing I wanted it in front of me. Real…Here. Right now.”

Her chest warmed, a little too fast, and she pressed the stem of her glass to her lips to hide the way her cheeks were creeping pink. She took a slow bite, trying to act casual, but her fingers trembled slightly around the fork.

“Jesus you…really think you’re smooth, don’t you?”

“I know I am,” he said, smirking. Another bite, another slow chew, his eyes never leaving hers. But then his gaze softened, darker edges melting into something just…real.

“I wanted to see if…this—”he gestured between them with a fork, just slightly, “—wasn’t just fun through a screen. I wanted to see if it felt like…me and you. In real life.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling in slower than she expected. Her chest fluttered, nerves and excitement twisting together in a messy, delicious knot. She cut another piece of steak, taking her time, pretending to chew deliberately.

“Well…fuck,” she whispered, shaking her head with a laugh. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re…stubborn,” he countered, his grin twitching like he knew exactly the effect he had on her. He pushed a piece of steak onto his fork, eating it as he leaned back on his elbows, savoring her reaction.

“But I like it. A lot.”

She glanced down at her plate, the wine catching the light, her stomach doing stupid flips. She chewed thoughtfully before answering,

“Okay…so that’s your reason.”

“Mhm” he hummed, retreating from leaning back on his elbows, letting the night air hit against his face. He cut another bite of steak, but his eyes stayed on hers.

“But the rest is…this. You. Me. Tonight. Fucking…whatever the hell this is going to be.”

Her lips twitched into a grin she didn’t fight. She speared another bite, letting it linger on her tongue before speaking.

“Sure. But only because I like being bribed.”

“And I’ll happily keep bribing you, kitten,” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl.

He leaned closer just slightly, letting her feel the heat radiating off him, and she felt it all the way down to her stomach. Jungkook leaned back slightly, swirling the wine in his glass.

“But I do also…” His voice softened, low and deliberate, “…wanna know you. Not just know what gets you wet or screaming my name.”

Y/N snorted, a little laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Oh, so you’re not just a horny asshole after all?”

He grinned, teeth flashing, but didn’t let the humor entirely mask the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m still a horny asshole, kitten,” he said, voice dropping a notch, “but…that’s only part of it. I wanna know Y/N. The real stuff.” She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty threading through his words.

He leaned forward a little, one elbow resting on his knees while the other palm flat on the mat, and the soft glow of the rooftop lights caught the angles of his face. His gaze was sharp, intent, like he was memorizing her.

“What music makes you sing in the shower. How long you take in the shower. What you crave when your period hits you like a goddamn hurricane.”

Y/N choked on a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Jesus Christ, Kook…you’re…you’re really trying to embarrass me right now.”

“Nope,” he said, grinning wider. “I’m genuinely curious. And…fuck, I mean it. I don’t just want the show through a screen. I want the real, messy, human you. The you I can’t get through a screen.”

Her chest tightened in that stupid, fluttery way it did whenever he said things like that. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to act casual, all the while feeling the ridiculous pull in her stomach, her pulse spiking.

“And seriously…this?”—he gestured between them—“feels different. Not just fun or wild. I want…more. Even if I’m an asshole about it half the time.”

Y/N shook her head, letting out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” she said again, but her voice was warm, softer than before. She took a slow bite of her steak, letting the taste anchor her while she tried to process the sudden gravity in his words.

“Yeah. But I think you like it.” He leaned back, stretching his arm across the mat, letting the tips of his fingers brush hers.

Her lips twitched into a grin, but it faltered as he leaned closer, just a fraction, enough that the space between them shrank to inches. Her breath hitched, and she realized she could count the faint imperfections along his jaw, a scar at his cheek, see the way his dark lashes grazed the tops of his cheeks.

Jungkook’s eyes were locked on hers, intense, hypnotic, like he was memorizing every flicker of expression, every subtle twitch. The world around them—the candles, the city, the wine, the steak—faded until all that existed was the heat radiating between their bodies.

“Are you…fucking with me…?” Y/N whispered, her voice soft but serious, not teasing at all. Her eyes searched his, pure curiosity, unguarded. She didn’t want games. Not tonight. Not with him.

Jungkook didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t even blink for a beat. He just shook his head slowly.

“Let me court you, Y/N…” His voice dropped to a whisper, low and rough, vibrating against her skin even though it was just sound.

His gaze dipped briefly, raking over her full lips, then snapped back to her eyes, dark and unwavering.

“I want to…” He swallowed hard, the words heavy but deliberate. “…I want to learn…to love you.”

The L-word hit her like a punch, sudden and unexpected, burning hot in her chest. She blinked, her fingers tightening against her wine glass like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her stomach churned, not from the wine, not from the food, but from the raw, unapologetic intensity of him.

Jungkook’s own insides were doing gymnastics, his heartbeat loud in his ears, stomach knotting and twisting—not from the meal but from the nerve-wracking exposure of saying it. He wanted to hide his face behind his hands, to mask the vulnerability, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not when she was right there.

Then, before he could retreat, before he could even think about how exposed he felt, Y/N moved. Fast and sure. Her lips smashed against his. No hesitation. No questions. Just connection.

Jungkook froze for a split second—surprised, stunned—but the second her lips pressed to his, the world shifted. The city lights, the wine, the rooftop, all the careful planning—they vanished. There was only her, soft and warm and real, and him, desperate not to let her go.

His hands went to her waist instinctively, fingers digging in lightly as if to anchor himself in the moment. Her arms curled around his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear as she pressed closer, and every nerve in his body screamed that he wanted more.

The kiss wasn’t tentative nor was it polite. It was messy, hungry, claiming. And for the first time since they’d met in pixels and whispers, everything—the teasing, the cyber nights, the late-night messages—collapsed into a single, undeniable truth: this was real life.

Y/N shifted carefully, her thigh brushing against Jungkook’s hip as she swung her leg over him, mindful of the half-empty wine glasses still precariously balanced on the table. The movement was slow, deliberate—like she was testing the weight of this moment between them.

Jungkook adjusted beneath her, his hands sliding up the curve of her back, fingers tracing the dip of her waist before gripping tighter, pulling her flush against him. She arched slightly, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch.

"Fuck," he muttered, the word rough against her lips as she rolled her hips experimentally, the friction drawing a low groan from his throat. She pulled back just enough to catch his expression—dark eyes blown wide, lips parted—and huffed a breathless laugh.

"You’re insane," she murmured, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

Jungkook’s grin was all teeth, predatory and pleased. "Says the woman grinding on me right now." His hands slid lower, gripping the backs of her thighs to drag her harder against him, the pressure sending a jolt of heat straight through her. "Like you weren’t thinking about this the second you saw me."

She could feel the accusation in his voice, the smugness—but he wasn’t wrong.

Every late-night video call, every stolen screenshot of his smirk, every time she’d imagined his hands exactly where they were now—it had all led here.

Her nails scraped against his scalp, eliciting another curse, and she leaned down until her lips ghosted over his ear.

"And what if I was?"

His grip tightened, and suddenly she was being flipped onto her back, the coolness of the mat pressing into her skin as Jungkook loomed over her, breathing ragged.

"Then I’d say," he murmured, dragging his teeth over her bottom lip, "we’re both fucking insane."

The city lights blurred below them, the world reduced to the slide of skin and the sharp, shared gasps between kisses. Somewhere, a utensil tipped over, but neither of them heard it. Or at least bothered to care.

The rooftop air was cool against Y/N’s exposed legs as Jungkook’s fingers hooked under the hem of her dress, hiking it up her thigh with a rough, impatient tug. The fabric bunched around her hips, and she arched into him, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as his mouth left hers to trail down her chin, her throat, the sharp dip of her collarbone. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, and she hissed, fingers knotting in his hair.

"Fuck, Jungkook—"

Her leather jacket was suddenly in the way, the stiff material blocking his path, and Jungkook growled against her neck before pulling back just enough to yank it off her shoulders. Y/N helped, the jacket hitting the mat with a soft thud. Then his hands were on her again, shoving her back down, his mouth reclaiming hers. She melted into it, her legs wrapping around his waist as he settled between them, the heat of his body pressing her into the mat.

His lips left hers again, this time to bite at the curve of her shoulder, and Y/N gasped, her head tipping back.

"You’re gonna leave marks," she warned, though her voice was more amused than annoyed. Jungkook chuckled darkly against her skin, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh.

"Good," he murmured, sucking another bruise into the hollow of her throat. "Then every one of your subscribers’ll know who you belong to."

"Possessive bastard," she muttered, but the way her hips rocked up against his betrayed her. Jungkook smirked, nipping at her earlobe before dragging his tongue along the shell of her ear.

"You love it though, kitten." he breathed, and she couldn’t even argue, not when his hands were sliding higher up her thighs, not when his lips were now tracing the lace edge of her underwear like he was memorizing the feel of it.

Jungkook dragged his lips back up, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of damp kisses from the dip of her belly to the delicate curve of her ribs. Each press of his mouth was a promise, a tease—like he was savoring the journey just as much as the destination.

When he finally reached the swell of her breast, he paused, exhaling a hot breath against the lace-trimmed fabric still clinging to her skin. His fingers hooked into the neckline of her dress, tugging just enough to make the material strain.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice rough with appreciation as the fabric gave way, her breast spilling free into the cool night air. “Even better in person, baby.” The sight punched the air from his lungs—her nipple already pebbled tight from anticipation, the flush of her skin glowing under the dim rooftop lights.

Jungkook didn't hesitate. His mouth closed over her, tongue swirling in a slow, filthy circle that had Y/N arching off the mat with a sharp gasp. One hand fisted in his hair, holding him there while the other scrabbled at the remaining strap of her dress.

He grinned against her skin, nipping lightly his fingers making quick work of the straps. The dress pooled around her waist, baring her completely to the night—and to him.

Jungkook took his time, palming her other breast, thumb brushing over the peak in lazy, torturous strokes.

"Always knew you'd be this perfect," he admitted, the words half-groan as he dipped his head again, sucking hard enough to make her thighs clamp around his hips.

Y/N's head thudded back against the mat, a breathless laugh escaping her.

Jungkook grinned, teeth grazing her nipple. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear with deliberate slowness. "Now let's see if you taste as good as you look."

Y/N’s fingers tightened in Jungkook’s hair just as his hand skimmed the lace edge of her panties—then she shoved him back with a sharp push to his chest. The sudden movement knocked him off balance, his hips jerking away from hers as his brows snapped together in confusion.

She didn’t utter a word. Instead, she wiggled out of the ruined remains of her dress, the fabric slinking down her hips and pooling on the mat like a discarded second skin. Her panties followed, leaving her bare except for the strappy heels still strapped to her ankles.

Jungkook’s gaze darkened, tracking the deliberate arch of her back as she stretched, the way her thighs parted just slightly, taunting him.

"Take off your clothes, handsome," she ordered, voice low but edged with something dangerous.

Her eyes never left his, and Jungkook recognized that glint instantly—unapologetic. Fucking trouble. He exhaled a rough laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Oh, so now you’re calling the shots?"

"Always was," she countered, kicking one heeled foot lazily against his thigh.

"You just didn’t notice ‘cause you were too busy trying to be all”—she waved a hand—”chivalrous or whatever."

Jungkook snorted, but his fingers were already working the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one with deliberate slowness just to watch her eyes track the movement. He shrugged the fabric off, letting it slide down his arms before tossing it aside.

Y/N’s breath hitched when his belt buckle clinked open, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet between them. She shifted her weight to her knees as she crawled toward him. Jungkook’s grin turned wolfish as her fingers replaced his on his zipper, tugging it down with a sharp rip.

"Did I do that?" She whispered, her breath hot against his ear as she palmed him through his briefs.

Jungkook’s laugh dissolved into a groan when her fingers dipped beneath the waistband, curling around him. "Fuck—you—" he managed, hips jerking into her grip.

Y/N’s smile was all teeth. "Oh, I plan to. Eventually."

Jungkook barely had time to process the shift—one second, her fingers were wrapped around him, tight and promising, and the next, she was swinging her leg over his hips again, her back now turned towards his chest.

He propped himself up on his elbows, blinking at the sudden change in position, the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the way her ass settled perfectly against his chiseled abs. His chuckle was low, breathless, as his hands automatically found her hips, thumbs tracing the soft skin there.

"The fuck kinda game you playin’?" he muttered, voice rough with amusement and want.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching the way his dark eyes raked over her bare skin, lingering on the swell of her ass pressed against him. She arched her back deliberately, leaning forward just enough to brush her cheek against the head of his cock, her smirk audible.

"Gotta suck each other off first. That’s how this works, right?"

Jungkook’s head fell back against the mat with a groan, half-laugh, half-exasperation. Hips rolling up instinctively, the friction drawing a hiss from both of them.

"You’re fuckin’ evil." His hands slid up her sides, fingers skimming the underside of her breasts before settling possessively on her ribs. "You’re talkin’ way too much for someone who’s supposed to be on her knees."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and unrepentant, even as she reached back to wrap her fingers around him again, this time guiding him between her thighs instead of her mouth.

"Who said anything about knees?" she countered, squeezing just enough to make his breath catch. "I’m multitasking." Jungkook’s groan was half-growl as his fingers dug into her hips, pulling her tighter against him.

"Christ, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, but the way his cock was hardening under the warmth of her hands, betrayed how much he loved it.

She hummed, rocking back against his abs just to feel the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched. "Better hurry up then," she breathed, tilting her head to give him better access. "Tick-tock, Jeon."

His response was lost against her skin, swallowed by the sharp gasp she let out when his hand slid between her thighs, fingers pressing exactly where she needed them.

Y/N’s lips brushed the tip of Jungkook’s cock—soft, almost teasing—before she pulled back, her breath hot against his skin. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her ass, spreading her wider as if he could memorize every curve with his hands alone.

The view was obscene: her bare back arched, the dip of her spine leading down to where his cock stood thick and flushed between her thighs.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice rough.

Then her mouth was on him again—no hesitation this time—swallowing him down with a wet, filthy suck that had his head slamming back against the mat. A broken moan tore from his throat, his fingers reflexively squeezing her ass hard enough to leave marks.

"Shit—fuck—" The words were half-strangled, his hips jerking up instinctively, but Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks, tongue swirling around the head in a way that made his vision blur. Jungkook’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, his fingers kneading her flesh like he was trying to ground himself.

"You’re—shit—gonna kill me, kitten." He gritted out, thighs trembling as her tongue traced the vein underneath. Y/N hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to his groin, and his grip on her hips turned desperate.

The duality of it—her mouth on him, his hands on her—was fucking maddening. Jungkook’s thumb brushed her entrance, slick and warm, and he groaned at the contrast.

"God, you’re wet," he rasped, rubbing slow circles just to feel her shiver. Y/N’s rhythm stuttered, a whine escaping her as her hips rocked back into his touch.

"Don’t—mhmm—don’t distract me," she warned, but the way her lips tightened around him betrayed how much she liked it.

Jungkook chuckled, low and dark, dragging his thumb lower. "Too late," he murmured, pressing just enough to make her gasp. And fuck if that didn’t send a thrill straight through her.

The moment Jungkook’s fingers pressed deeper, Y/N’s mouth went slack around him, a muffled moan vibrating against his skin. He smirked, twisting his wrist just to feel her thighs clamp around his forearm—but she wasn’t one to surrender so easily. Her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock, dragging up in one long, slow lick before she swallowed him down again, her nose brushing his pelvis.

Jungkook’s breath punched out of him, his hips jerking involuntarily, fingers gripping her ass like a lifeline.

"Mhmm—fuck—" he choked out, the words dissolving into a groan as her nails dug into his thighs in retaliation.

She pulled back just enough to smirk up at him, lips glistening. "Distracted now, Mr ceo?" she taunted, but the hitch in her voice betrayed her when his thumb circled her clit with deliberate pressure.

Jungkook’s grin was feral, his free hand tangling in her hair to tug her head back down. "Less talking," he ordered, voice rough. "More sucking."

Y/N rolled her eyes but obeyed, taking him deep with a wet, filthy sound that went straight to Jungkook’s already-throbbing cock. His fingers worked her in tandem, matching the rhythm of her mouth—slow, teasing strokes that had her hips rocking against his palm. Every gasp she muffled around his length sent heat coiling tighter in his gut, every twitch of her thighs under his touch made his own muscles tremble.

Then Jungkook crooked his fingers just so, and Y/N’s entire body locked up, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she came, her mouth still wrapped around him. The vibration of her moan was his undoing—Jungkook’s grip on her hair tightened, his hips stuttering up as he spilled down her throat with a ragged groan. Y/N swallowed reflexively, her lashes fluttering as she pulled off with a soft pop, her lips swollen and glistening.

The moment Jungkook's tongue dragged flat and slow over her clit, Y/N's thighs trembled violently around his shoulders, her grip on his cock faltering as a punched-out moan escaped her. She tried—tried—to focus, to reciprocate, but his mouth was relentless, alternating between sucking her swollen flesh and circling it with the pointed tip of his tongue in a rhythm that had her hips jerking uncontrollably against his face.

"F-fuck," she slurred against his length, her lips brushing his shaft uselessly as another shudder wracked her body.

Jungkook chuckled darkly against her, the vibrations rippling through her sensitive flesh as his hands clamped down on her hips to still her movements.

"Stay still, baby." He muttered before dragging his tongue lower, swiping through her folds in one long, filthy stroke that had her back arching sharply. Then, just to watch her unravel, he pressed the flat of his tongue against her asshole, licking upward with deliberate, teasing pressure.

Y/N's head snapped back at the sensation, her lips parting in a silent cry as she twisted to look down at him, her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked shoulders. Jungkook's tongue still tracing that obscene path between her cheeks, sent a violent throb of heat straight to her core.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his thighs for purchase as her thighs quivered around his head.

Jungkook smirked—the bastard—before diving back in, his tongue flicking over her clit in rapid, dizzying circles while his fingers spread her wider, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

Y/N's moan was ragged, her hips rolling desperately against his mouth as her own grip on his cock grew lax, her focus obliterated by the way he was devouring her.

"Jungkook—please—" she begged, the plea dissolving into a broken whimper when he sucked her clit hard between his lips, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud just enough to make her vision whiten.

Her thighs clamped around his head instinctively, her body bowing as pleasure coiled tight in her belly, but Jungkook didn't relent—if anything, he doubled down, his tongue fucking into her in shallow, relentless strokes while his thumb pressed firm circles against her clit.

Jungkook’s tongue didn’t slow—if anything, it grew more insistent, lapping at her throbbing clit with rough, deliberate strokes that had Y/N’s thighs trembling against his ears. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, spreading her wider, his breath hot and uneven against her slick skin.

"C’mon," he growled, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure up her spine. His teeth grazed her inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the wet heat of his mouth still working her over. "Wanna feel you—fuck—wanna taste you come on my face."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around his cock reflexively as his words registered.

The filth of it—the demand—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. She could feel the way his lips curled into a smirk against her skin, could feel the way his tongue flicked over her clit in quick, teasing circles like he already knew she was close.

"You’re—ahh—impossible," she managed, her voice breaking on the last syllable as his fingers pressed harder, urging her hips down against his mouth.

Jungkook hummed, the sound vibrating through her core as he sucked her clit between his lips, his tongue swirling in tight, relentless circles.

"So fucking hot," he murmured against her, his breath scalding, just enough to make her gasp, and Y/N’s hips jerked forward, her thighs clamping around his head as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter.

His laugh was dark, muffled against her skin. His tongue fucking into her in rough, uneven strokes that had her seeing stars. Y/N’s back arched violently, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as the first wave crashed over her, her thighs shaking around his head. Jungkook didn’t let up—if anything, he pressed, his lips sealing around her clit to suck hard as she came, her release slicking his chin, his lips, the sharp line of his jaw.

The taste of her—bitter, sweet, utterly hers—flooded his senses, and Jungkook groaned against her, his own hips jerking up instinctively into the loose circle of her fingers still wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he rasped, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue through her folds one last time, savoring the way her body twitched at the overstimulation.

"That’s…what I wanted." His voice was wrecked, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he tilted his head up to meet her dazed gaze. "Now quit teasing and put that mouth to work, kitten." Y/N’s laugh was breathless, uneven, but she didn’t hesitate.

Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue swirling over the head in slow, filthy strokes—payback—and Jungkook’s fingers tightened at her ass, his groan echoing across the rooftop.

Y/N hollowed her cheeks with renewed determination, her lips tightening around Jungkook’s cock in a relentless rhythm—no teasing now, just raw, hungry suction. Her tongue dragged along the underside with each pull, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet between their ragged breaths.

Jungkook’s grip on her ass turned bruising, fingers kneading the plush flesh before landing a sharp slap that made her gasp around him. The vibration rippled through his length, and he cursed, hips jerking up off the mat.

"Fuck—yes—just like that, baby—" His voice was shattered, his thighs trembling as her pace intensified, her fingers digging into his hips to keep him grounded.

She could feel him tensing beneath her, the way his abs flexed, the way his breath hitched—closer, so close—and she doubled down, taking him deeper until her nose brushed his pelvis.

Jungkook’s groan was guttural, his fingers twisting in her as his control snapped. "Gonna—shit—"

The warning was half-formed, cut off by the hot spill of his release down her throat. Y/N swallowed reflexively, her lips still sealed tight around him as he came in thick, pulsing waves, his hips stuttering against her mouth.

Jungkook’s head fell back with a ragged exhale, his grip on her ass slackening only slightly as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a moment, neither moved—Y/N’s lips still wrapped around his softening length, Jungkook’s breath still uneven against her thighs. Then, with a slow, deliberate lick, she pulled off, swiping her thumb over her swollen lips as she glanced over her shoulder back at him. Jungkook’s dark eyes locked onto hers, his expression equal parts wrecked and smug.

"Knew it," he rasped, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Perfect fucking mouth." Y/N rolled her eyes, but the way her thighs clenched around his shoulders betrayed her.

"Keep talking," she muttered, shifting just enough to feel the slick mess between her legs smear against his collarbone, "and I might start thinking you’ve got a thing for hearing yourself."

Jungkook’s grin was lazy, triumphant, as he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip—tasting her still.

"Oh, kitten," he murmured, fingers tracing idle patterns on her hips. "I’ve got a thing for a lot more than that."

Jungkook’s hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly before laying her back down on the mat with a roughness that sent the last of her breath hitching.

His kiss was bruising, teeth catching her lower lip as he fisted a hand in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the column of her throat.

"Want you around me," he growled, the words hot against her skin. "Every fucking inch."

Y/N chuckled, the sound breathless and uneven, but it died in her throat when Jungkook slapped his cock against her swollen clit—the wet, stinging contact drawing a sharp gasp from her.

"You like that, kitten?" he murmured, voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he dragged the head of his cock through her slick folds. "Can’t do that through the screen."

Y/N’s hips jerked up instinctively, seeking friction, but Jungkook denied her, his grip tightening on her thighs to hold her still.

"Patience," he chided, though his own breathing was ragged. Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he slid into her, the stretch exquisite, the heat unbearable.

“Ngahh!” Y/N’s head fell back with a moan, her neck arching until her skin brushed Jungkook’s lips. He didn’t hesitate—his mouth latched onto the exposed curve of her throat, sucking a fresh bruise into her skin as he bottomed out inside her.

The dual sensation was maddening: the relentless stretch of him filling her, the sharp sting of his teeth against her pulse. Her thighs trembled around his hips, her nails scraping against his shoulders as he pulled back only to sink in again, deeper this time, harder.

Jungkook’s groan vibrated against her neck, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy rhythm that had her toes curling.

"Fuck," he muttered, his breath scorching against her skin. "Knew you’d feel like this." Y/N could only gasp in response, her fingers twisting in his hair as he picked up the pace, each thrust dragging a broken sound from her lips.

Jungkook’s name spilled from her lips like a prayer. His lips found hers again, swallowing her moans as his hips snapped forward, the angle just right to have her seeing stars.

"Mine," he breathed against her mouth, the word less a claim than a fact.

"Fuck! Jungkook faster." Y/N gasped, her voice ragged as her nails carved crescent moons into his shoulders, her thighs clamping around his hips like a vise.

The demand was half-broken, half-desperate—but Jungkook only chuckled darkly against her throat, his thrusts deliberately slow, his teeth grazing her pulse point in retaliation.

"Ask nicely, kitten." He murmured, the words hot against her damp skin as he dragged his cock out agonizingly slow before pushing back in with a filthy grind that made her back arch off the mat.

Y/N hissed, her fingers twisting in his hair to yank his head up, her lips brushing his in a taunt.

"Or I’ll take my time," he growled, punctuating each word with a punishing thrust that had her seeing stars. "Make you beg for it." The threat sent a violent shudder through her, her hips lifting to meet his with a desperation that betrayed her.

"Bastard," she choked out, but the way her legs locked around his waist told another story—one of surrender, of hunger.

Jungkook’s laugh was rough, breathless, as his hands slid beneath her ass, lifting her higher to drive deeper. "You love it," he countered, his voice cracking on a moan as her walls clenched around him.

Then—because he was a man of his word—he slowed again, his rhythm turning torturous, each withdrawal a tease, each penetration a promise. Y/N’s whimper was muffled against his collarbone, her teeth sinking into the muscle there in frustration. Jungkook groaned at the sting, his hips stuttering before he regained control, his lips finding her ear.

"Please, baby," Y/N whimpered, the words ragged against Jungkook's collarbone. Her thighs trembled around his hips, her nails scoring down his back in a silent plea—more, faster, now.

Jungkook smiled, slow and wicked, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness before he finally—finally—obeyed. His hips snapped forward with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs, his rhythm turning punishing, relentless.

The shift was instantaneous—Y/N's back arched off the mat, her cry swallowed by Jungkook's mouth as he fucked into her with a pace that left no room for thought, only sensation. Every thrust was a claim, every drag of his cock inside her a revelation. She could feel him everywhere—the heat of his skin pressed against hers, the sting of his fingers gripping her hips, the way his breath hitched against her lips when her walls clenched around him.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with approval as her legs tightened around his waist. "Take it. Take my big cock."

Y/N's response was lost in a broken moan as Jungkook's hand slid between them, his thumb circling her clit with ruthless precision.

"Jungkook—fuck—" His name spilled from her lips like a prayer, a curse, a surrender. He kissed her again, swallowing her cries as his thrusts grew erratic, his control fraying at the edges.

The rooftop air was thick with the sound of skin slapping against skin, their shared breaths, the occasional muttered curse or gasp. Jungkook's forehead pressed against hers, his dark eyes locked onto hers as he drove into her one last time, deep enough to make her see stars.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice raw. "Wanna see your face in real time when you cum."

Y/N couldn't look away even if she wanted to—her gaze trapped in his as pleasure crashed over her in waves, her body tightening around him like a vice. Jungkook followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, his name a ragged whisper on her lips.

For a moment, neither moved—only their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city below filling the space between them. Then Jungkook's lips brushed hers, soft and slow, a stark contrast to the bruising force of moments before.

"Holy shit," Y/N exhaled against his mouth, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slicked back. "That was better than cyber sex."

Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and rough against her throat as he rolled onto his side, pulling her flush against him. His thumb swiped lazily over her hipbone, tracing the crescent marks his nails had left there.

"Understatement of the century," he muttered, nipping at her earlobe. "And we had good cyber sex." Y/N hummed, stretching like a satisfied cat beneath his wandering touch.

The mat was cold against her bare back now, the night air prickling her overheated skin, but Jungkook's body was a furnace beside her. She tilted her head to catch his gaze—dark, heavy-lidded, smug as hell.

"Yeah, well," she murmured, dragging a fingertip down the center of his chest, "turns out your mouth works even better offline."

His grin was all teeth as he caught her wrist, pressing her palm flat against his sternum where his heart still raced.

"Funny," he mused, shifting just enough to trap her thigh between his. "I was gonna say the same thing about your thighs."

A laugh burst from her lips—bright, startled—before Jungkook silenced it with another kiss, slower this time, tasting of salt and shared satisfaction. His hand slid up her ribs, pausing to thumb at a nipple just to feel her shiver.

"Round two?" he murmured against her jaw, though the way his fingers tightened on her waist betrayed how little patience he had for waiting.

Y/N arched into his touch, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "You’re insatiable," she accused, but her hips were already shifting, seeking friction against his thigh.

Jungkook's smirk was wicked as he pulled her closer to his glazed chest without warning, his knee nudging her legs apart. His lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hands mapped the dip of her spine.

Y/N's answer was lost in a moan when his teeth closed over the crook of her neck. Y/N laughed, breathless and uneven, but her fingers found Jungkook’s chin, tilting his face up until their eyes locked.

The air between them shifted—less frantic, more charged with something neither of them had named yet. His hands still grazed her hip, her ass, but the heat had softened into something slower, quieter.

“Before that,” she started, blinking like she was trying to clear her head. His thumb brushed a slow circle against her skin, waiting. “I wanna know.” She swallowed, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, hesitant. “Are we…you know…” The words trailed off, cowardly, but Jungkook heard them anyway.

He chuckled, but it was quieter now, less smug.

“You mean, what are we?” His voice was rough, but not from lust this time—something thicker, harder to name.

Y/N nodded, her lips tucked between her teeth like she was afraid of the answer. Jungkook exhaled, long and slow, his grip on her tightening just enough to ground them both.

“Like I said,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Let me court you.” The word was old-fashioned, ridiculous even, but the way he said it—like a vow, like a challenge—made her chest tighten.

“Let’s not…let this just be sex.” His grin was crooked, softer at the edges. “And eventually, when you’re sick of pretending you don’t like me, we can be more.”

Y/N’s laugh was half-disbelieving, half-relieved. “Court me?” She arched a brow, but her fingers were already curling into his hair, tugging him closer. “What are you, a fucking Regency duke?”

“Nah, kitten. Just a guy who wanted to take you on a goddamn date before you start stealing my hoodies.” She rolled her eyes, but the way her thighs tightened around his hips betrayed her.

“Okay,” she muttered, kissing him hard enough to bruise. “But if you’re courting me, you better fucking mean it.”

His grin was pure trouble. “Wouldn’t dream of half-assing it.”

And fuck if that didn’t feel like a promise.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

“And I’ll see you guys next week! Bye!” Y/N clicked the camera off. The sudden silence felt loud.

She let herself fall back onto her bed, limbs heavy, staring up at the ceiling like it might give her something back. Her outro for her 22nd birthday vlog was finally done. Same old routine—Vegas with the clique, too many drinks, flashing lights, a club that smelled like perfume and bad decisions. Fun. Sure. But now she was back in Korea, back under her own blankets, back in the kind of quiet that made you think too much.

This year could’ve been different. If only he’d been there. But when you owned a massive company, “busy” wasn’t just an excuse. It was real. Meetings, flights, responsibility—life always getting in the way at the worst possible time.

Still…God, she missed him.

Not just the sex. The warmth. The way his voice softened when it was just them. The stupid little things he’d say that stuck in her head long after the call ended. She missed being held like she belonged there.

Y/N shut her eyes, letting herself sink into the memories. Until her phone buzzed. She blinked, then reached over.

handsome ceo: lets ft baby

Her lips curved instantly, like her body reacted before her brain could.

y/n: why??

handsome ceo: i wanna get freaky on camera

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Missed turns ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

The rain had left the streets slick, glittering like broken glass under the fluorescent parking lot lights. Jungkook’s car stopped with a soft hiss of tires on wet concrete, droplets sliding down the windshield in lazy rivulets. He sat there, hands falling off the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

Y/n.

The memory of her drunkenly blabbering bullshit in his arms burned in his chest. Her soft weight, the faint scent of vanilla and liquor, the way her lips had mumbled nonsense about Chanel being cheaper than Louis Vuitton—all of it replayed like a damn highlight reel he never asked for.

The memory hit like a punch to the chest, and for the first time, he realized the pull wasn’t just physical attraction anymore. Not just some electric, fleeting fixation that had him chasing adrenaline on the streets.

This was different. Dangerous. Terrifying.

For him at least.

He could feel it coil in his chest, tightening like a vice. He’d always known the moment he let someone close, grief would get him. But…he wanted her anyway.

God, he wanted her.

He groaned and shoved his face into his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice swallowed by the rain. “The hell is wrong with me?”

His phone buzzed, harsh and demanding against the soft patter of the storm. A notification from his mother:

ma: you home yet, guk?

ma: the rain is insane!

ma: text me immediately once you’re home

He stared at it, the familiar guilt and irritation warring in his chest.

Reply? No. Not now. Not with this spinning chaos in his head. He shoved the phone into his pocket.

And that’s when his eyes fell to the passenger side.

A pair of heels.

Nude, glossy, red-backed. One of Y/n’s. Probably some designer nightmare that cost more than rent, but hell, it wasn’t the price that mattered. It was her. That perfect, infuriating, stubborn girl, almost asleep in his arms just earlier, drunk and rambling about Chanel being better than Louis Vuitton, her words as chaotic and alive as her body had been pressed against him.

He leaned forward, fingers hooking at the back. Jungkook almost swore he could feel her warmth still radiating off it.

“Shit,” he growled under his breath, jaw clenching so tight it ached. “Fucking left her heels…” He slammed the side of the heel against his palm, just enough to make a sound like thunder.

The rain outside mirrored the storm inside him—relentless, cold, and unforgiving.

“Damn it…don’t do this to me,” he muttered, voice rough, as though saying it out loud would expel some of the madness twisting his insides.

He swung the heels around his fingers like weapons and pushed the car door open, rain sounds immediately piercing his eardrums. Lightning flashed, brief and blinding, but he barely flinched.

The world was loud, wet, chaotic—but nothing compared to the mess inside him.

Jungkook tucked the heels under one arm, fumbling with his keys. The car locked with a harsh click, echoing like a judge’s gavel. He paused, glancing back at the empty passenger seat, the place that had been hers, now cold and hollow. A pang shot through him.

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, Jungkook gave his head a small shake, like that might physically knock them loose. It didn’t work, but he let his body take over anyway — heels hooked on his fingers, shoulders tense, feet moving on instinct. He didn’t look back. He just kept walking until the noise thinned out and the streetlights blurred together, until he was unlocking the door to his small rental apartment and shutting the world out behind him.

The door clicked shut, perfectly timed with the thunder cracking outside — like the sky was mocking him for thinking he could outrun anything.

Jungkook exhaled long and slow, shoulders slumping as he dropped Y/N’s heels onto the grey couch. They landed soft, almost delicate, before he followed suit, letting himself fall back hard enough to make the cushions bounce beneath him.

The apartment greeted him the same way it always did: small, sterile, silent. Too clean. Too empty. A place that looked lived in but never felt like it. No warmth. No clutter. No proof that anyone stayed longer than they had to.

He preferred it that way.

He always had.

Ever since that one moment in childhood — the kind that rewires you permanently, that hollows you out and leaves something feral in its place — Jungkook had learned how to survive by not lingering. Not in places. Not in feelings. Not in people. His passion had grown out of that loss, twisted and sharpened until it turned into something illegal, something dangerous, something that paid the bills and kept his hands busy.

But Jungkook doesn’t dwell. Didn’t look back.

What happened, happened.

Bare feet kicked up onto the low coffee table as he grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. Some random series filled the room with noise — engines revving, metal screaming, adrenaline bleeding through the screen.

Cars.

Good.

He hoped the sound would be a tsunami, something loud enough to drown out the static piling up inside his skull. And for a moment, it worked.

Until his eyes betrayed him.

They drifted, slow and traitorous, to the couch beside him — where her heels lay abandoned. The long, elegant stems crossed over each other like they were relaxed. As if they belonged there.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. No curse. No explosion. Just a heavy rise of his chest as his hands laced together beside his head, fingers restless, fidgeting like they didn’t know where to go.

It felt like his mind — no, his heart — was trying to tell him something he refused to hear.

That no matter how hard you ignored someone, how deep you buried them, they always found a way back. A smell. A sound. A pair of stupid fucking heels on your couch.

The phone rang and Jungkook stilled.

Ma.

The name glowed on his screen like a warning sign. He stared at it, jaw tightening.

Speaking of people he ignored.

With a dramatic huff, he picked up the call and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Mmm. Ma.”

“Jungkook? Are you home yet?” Her voice crackled through the line — sharp, worried, wrapped in that unmistakable maternal edge. “You didn’t reply my text and it’s pouring out.”

His lips tugged into a smile that didn’t reach anywhere meaningful. “Yeah. I’m home.”

“Oh, good…good.” Her tone softened instantly. “I just wanted to make sure. The rain’s awful tonight.”

A beat.

“How was work?”

He let the silence sit there, stretching, heavy. Licked his lips. Nodded to no one.

“Yeah. Me and Joon had…a shit ton of cars to fix at the garage today.”

“That sounds exhausting, sweetheart. At least you’re getting paid.”

Hopeful. Gentle. Useless.

“Anyway, Guk,” she continued, hesitant now. “I wanted to ask when you’re free.”

“Why?”

“Your father’s birthday is coming up. I thought maybe we could do something. Together. The three of us.”

Something inside him seized. His breath hitched — not enough to notice unless you were looking for it. He blinked once. Twice. His throat dried out like it had been sandblasted.

When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“Why?” he said.

“Dad’s dead.”

The silence on the line was thick, suffocating.

His mother sighed — quiet, broken. “I know, but—”

“Ma.” His jaw clenched. “He’s dead. He’s—he’s gone, okay? We need to get over it.” The words came out sharp, cruel, honed. “See—this is what happens when you love too much.”

A pause.

“I’m not celebrating shit just to walk away feeling empty.”

“But, Seoyeon—”

“Bye.”

He hung up before she could finish.

The apartment swallowed the silence whole. Jungkook tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling, chest tight, pulse loud in his ears. Outside, the rain kept coming down — relentless, unforgiving — like it knew he deserved it.

And beside him, Y/N’s heels stayed exactly where they were.

Waiting.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

“No—fuck—I swear I kicked them off right here before I slept!”

Y/n yanked her sheets back like they’d personally betrayed her, the fabric whipping through the air. She dropped to her knees, palms flattening against the floor as she checked under the bed even though the space beneath it was barely more than a shadow.

As if a pair of Louboutins could just…evaporate.

She even tugged up the corner of her rug, ridiculous and desperate, like the heels might be hiding under there out of spite.

“Y/n,” Jin said, voice sharp with disbelief, “those are heels. How the hell do you lose those?”

Y/n snapped upright so fast her spine cracked.

Her arms flew out wide, frustration spilling out of her like water from a tipped glass.

“I don’t know, dude!” she barked. “All I remember is wearing them to the party, coming back drunk as shit, and then I woke up in my bed.” Her palms slapped against her bare thighs when she dropped her arms, the sheer sleeves of her top brushing her skin like ghost fingers.

Jin stared at her for a second, then something clicked behind his eyes. His brows furrowed. His arms crossed over his chest.

“How did you even get home last night?”

Y/n froze. Her brain stalled, gears grinding.

“I don’t know…” she mumbled, shrugging as she turned back to the crime scene of her missing shoes. “Jungkook sent me.”

Jin let out a loud, unimpressed snort. “Pfft. And you say you don’t know.”

“Oh my God,” Y/n groaned, whipping her head toward him. “Okay—whatever. He sent me home, alright? I was drunk.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?”

“Didn’t exactly come to mind when I was busy chugging liquor down my throat like it was fucking water and ruining my life choices,” she shot back.

Jin sighed, long and theatrical, like he was carrying the weight of her stupidity on his shoulders. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping it at the nape.

“Okay. You know what? I’ll find you another shoe that matches the look while you settle this.” He turned toward her walk-in closet like a man going into battle.

Meanwhile, Y/n’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled, exhausted from squatting and crawling around like a raccoon looking for treasure.

She dropped onto her messy bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. A groan dragged out of her throat.

“Ughhh…”

She pushed her hair back, slouching, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it might replay last night for her.

She tried—she really fucking tried—to remember. The party. The drinks. Jungkook’s voice. His hands steadying her.

Did I even kick them off myself?

Or…

Her stomach twisted.

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering before she scrolled to his contact. The name sat there like a dare.

She hit call. It rang.

Once.

Twice.

“Hello?”

Y/n blinked.

Huh.

No teasing. No pet name? No smug little, ‘Miss me already?’

Just…flat and tasteless.

Her lips went dry instantly.

“Jungkook…” she started, quieter than she meant to. “I…needed to ask—uh—do you remember what I did with my…heels?” Her voice climbed at the end, betraying her nerves.

A pause. Then, monotone as a dead radio station—

“Your heels are here.”

That’s not what threw her. Not the heels. His voice. It sounded like someone had scraped all the warmth out of him. Like as if he had warmth in the first place.

He kind of did.

“O-oh,” she stammered. “They are! Okay—great!”

God, she sounded stupid.

On the other end, Jungkook hummed. The sound vibrated low, unsettling, like a door half-closed.

“Well then…uh…can I have them back?”

“Yeah.” Another pause, like he was doing something else. Like she wasn’t his full attention “You coming to the race next Friday?”

Y/n’s brows lifted.

Race?

She hadn’t even known there was another one. She wasn’t planning to go. But her heels—

“Uh…yeah,” she lied automatically, nodding like he could see her. “I’ll be there.”

“Bet. I’ll see you then.”

Her chest tightened. Something about the way he said it felt like a dismissal.

“Thanks, by—”

Peep.

Peep.

Peep.

The line went dead.

Y/n stared at her phone like it had personally slapped her.

“…What the fuck?” Her voice came out small, incredulous.

Did he just—hang up?

Before she could even say bye?

The quiet in her room suddenly felt too loud, pressing against her skin. And for the first time since she met Jungkook, Y/n didn’t feel amused. She felt…uneasy. Like she’d just reached for something warm—

And found nothing there.

“Found it!”

Y/n’s head snapped up at Jin’s voice echoing from inside her closet. The sliding doors parted to reveal him holding up a pair of knee-high black leather pumps, the heels sharp, unapologetic.

“These,” Jin said, nodding to himself. “These Dior heels would fit the concept way better.”

He tossed them into the open Louis Vuitton duffle on her bed.

Y/n blinked once. Then again. Her head tilted, just a fraction.

“Wait—” She cleared her throat. “You never told me what the concept was.”

Jin paused, hand hovering over the bag. “Uh…” His brows pulled together as he thought. “The board said something like…biker? Or edgy? Something aggressive—I don’t know.” He waved a hand vaguely, as if that solved it. “Same vibe.”

Y/n pressed her lips together, then dragged her tongue over them, slow. She let herself fall back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

She shook her head once, sharp, like she could physically dislodge the lingering feeling from the call.

“I’m supposed to be on a break,” she muttered, forearm flopping over her eyes. “Why the hell are they calling me back in?” She sounded tired. Not dramatic. Just… worn.

Jin sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Uh, because I need money?” He raised a brow. “If you don’t work, where exactly am I supposed to get my income from, huh?”

He smacked her thigh lightly.

“Ow—what the hell?” Y/n yelped, jolting upright.

Jin dropped onto the bed beside her, unfazed. “You’re welcome.” She shot him a look, but it didn’t have the usual bite.

“And anyway,” he continued, leaning back on his palms, eyes scanning her face. “Look at what this holiday’s done to you.”

Y/n frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jin tilted his head, studying her. “You come home thinking it’s gonna be quiet. Instead—” He ticked it off on his fingers. “You find out your brother’s the leader of some illegal street racing thing.”

She winced.

“Then,” he went on, “you go on a date with his arch nemesis.”

“It wasn’t a—”

“And then,” Jin cut in smoothly, “you start hanging around those punks—except Marquise, she’s cool—”

“She is,” Y/n said automatically.

“—you get drunk,” he continued, “and suddenly you’re trusting that… what’s-his-name—”

“Jungkook.”

Jin snapped his fingers. “Him. You trust him to take you home.”

His hands flapped in emphasis, but his eyes stayed sharp.

The room fell quiet.

Y/n didn’t respond right away. Her jaw tightened—not defensive, not angry. Just thoughtful.

He wasn’t wrong though.

This break was supposed to be nothing. A pause. A reset. Instead, it had peeled things open she didn’t know existed—her brother’s double life, the underground scene, the way danger didn’t always look loud or reckless. Sometimes it looked cocky. Annoying. Familiar.

She swallowed.

“I didn’t trust him because he’s nice,” she said finally. Her voice was steady. “I trusted him because he didn’t push.”

Jin studied her again, longer this time.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

She shrugged, small. “I don’t know. I’m just saying.”

Jin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re in deep, Y/n.”

She scoffed softly. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s what worries me,” he said.

She looked away then, eyes drifting to the duffle bag, to the black leather heels sitting on top like a decision already made.

Friday hovered unspoken between them. The races. Him. The version of herself that hadn’t existed a week ago.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .