#omgpage

you twist the faucet left, right, all the way to red, then all the way to blue. like maybe sheer aggression could bring heat back into existence.

spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

“fuck me,” you mutter under your breath, dripping onto the bath mat as cold air hits your skin like a betrayal from the universe.

you wrap yourself in the soft pink towel, shivering, hair clinging to your neck like wet spaghetti. the shower glares at you, silent and smug, like it’s judging every life choice you’ve ever made.

barefoot, water pooling under your feet, you flop onto the edge of your couch. today was supposed to be your day off. working with finance bros five days a week, dressed in stiff suits and pretending to care about quarterly projections, was enough to make anyone want to scream. so you decided to take a week off. obviously, the universe did not get the same memo as you.

you stare at the ceiling, hair dripping like a sad, vanilla-scented fountain, thinking about your shower. it was supposed to be your sanctuary. a place to feel slightly human between board meetings, investor calls, and polite small talk about charity galas your family funded. instead, it’s a betrayal machine, hissing, roaring, and apparently auditioning for formula 1. congratulations, universe, you win.

you tug a soft graphic-tee over your damp hair, muttering a string of curses under your breath as it sticks to your neck. sweatpants are next, stubbornly refusing to slide past your soaked thighs without a battle. you decide to give up on matching socks. today, apparently, is a no-coordination kind of day.

your apartment, your sleek, spotless, high-rise sanctuary in gangnam, is supposed to reflect the fact that you come from old money, where floors gleam, art is worth more than what most people make in a decade, and everything runs perfectly. and yet here you are, toes wet, no warm water in out bathroom, hair damp and clinging, towels laying on your couch in rebellion, living proof that luxury can’t save you from chaos.

you tug your shirt higher on your shoulders and reach for your phone. typing in 'plumbing repairs near me', then you see 'jeon home repairs.' five stars. fast. polite. doesn’t overcharge. "at least someone in this city can be competent" you mutter to yourself

you tap the number, rehearsing how to explain that your shower now sounds like a race car while simultaneously flooding your apartment.

ring. ring.

“jeon repairs?” a calm, steady voice answers. there’s a hint of roughness, like someone who fixes plumbing and maybe breaks hearts on the side.

you freeze. a slight hint of recognition in your mind, 'you've heard his before' you think

“uh… hi. yeah. hi,” you blurt, immediately hating how it sounds. “my shower… um… it stopped working. completely. and now it’s cold. and… makes this, uh, roaring-car-engine noise.”

there’s a pause.

“alright,” he says, calm, patient. amused even. “i can come take a look. when works for you?”

“uh… like… now?” you stammer, trying to sound casual but imagining the puddles in the bathroom, towels, and the hair disaster he’s about to witness.

“okay. can you give me your address?”

your fingers fumble over the keypad. “y-yeah… i’m in the gangnam high-rise apartments… flat 1204.”

there’s another pause, then “got it. i’ll be there as soon as i can.”

thirty minutes later, your bathroom looks like it survived a war, and a stranger is about to walk straight into it.

a knock at the door. you curl your head into you hands, muttering, okay, just breathe. you’re fine. nothing here is going to kill you… except maybe your dignity.

you open the door. and then your brain just short-circuits.

he’s standing there: young, long dark hair falling just right, casual but confident like he owns the world, or at least this building.

and then it hits you. like a punch to the gut.

oh no. no no no.

that's jungkook. the guy that had the entire high school crushing over him. the one who somehow made algebra slightly more bearable. the guy I probably spent more nights wet-dreaming about rather than getting a goodnights rest or maybe studying?.

your mouth opens, closes, opens again. probably looks like a goldfish flopping onto dry land.

“are you just gonna stare… or are you gonna let me in?” he asks, voice teasing, calm, almost smug.

“uh… yeah. come in,” you squeak, stepping aside, internally screaming that your awkward, chaotic, self is about to be seen by the person who once had your sixteen-year-old heart.

he steps in, surveying your apartment like it’s normal to encounter a apartment that looks right out of vogue. sleek floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, however the bathroom is a different story, now partially submerged with mini puddles pooling on the marble floors.

he crouches by the faucet, glancing at you. “so, whats the issue with this beauty?”

“my shower decided to audition for formula 1 today,” you groan, “and my bathroom looks like a water park exploded.”

he smirks faintly, eyes flickering over the chaos—and then your face. something flashes in his expression. amusement, recognition, disbelief? maybe all three.

“we went to the same high school right?” he mutters, voice softer now, like he’s thinking out loud. “you’re y/n, right?”

and your heart skips a beat. he remembers me. he knows me. we cheer out loud!

you choke on your words. “uh… yeah. i’m… i mean—”

he tilts his head, smirk widening. “y/n. of course. wow. it’s… been a while.” he says

if only he knew how bad you wanted him, or how its been oh so long since you've been touched. if you're counting (you are) its been 5 and a half months, since you even remotely showed interest in a man, and even that ended poorly, sobbing into a tub of ice-cream, and binge watching shows for 2 weeks thats what happened for the story cut short.

safe to say its been a while since you've been laid.

you try not to hyperventilate, toes curling as a act to calm yourself. he’s here. in my apartment. seeing me like this. and somehow, it doesn’t feel fair that he still looks… so fucking good.

he shakes his head lightly, crouched by the faucet again addressing the matter at hand. “so, when the shower sprung cold water on you what did you do?”

“I tried turning the knobs like fifty times to the warm side, then the cold side, kind of aggressively you could say? in hopes that the warm water would come back.. but judging by the fact you're here that did not happen,” you ramble, voice lower higher than intended, laced with the irritation of your day off being spoiled.

he chuckles softly. “still stubborn, huh… some things never change,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, a hint of amusement dancing in his tone.

you feel your cheeks heat up. “stubborn? i prefer… determined.”

“determined, huh?” he teases, leaning slightly closer, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ve always liked that about you.”

he starts fiddling around with his tools, and you start zoning out thinking about what you were gonna have for dinner probably just gonna order takeout, maybe a burger? or a pizza.

then rather abruptly, he stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. “done. try it.”

you twist the knob. warm water gushes out, steady and normal. you blink. “it… works.”

he nods once, calm, collected. “told you.”

the silence stretches. your eyes meet. your chest tightens—not from the shower this time.

“thanks… for coming so fast,” you manage to say, voice catching.

he shrugs, calm, like it’s nothing. “hey… kind of my job to rescue people from plumbing disasters.” his eyes flick up to yours, just a little teasing. “though i can’t say i expected to be doing it in… such dramatic circumstances.”

“so… what have you been up to? i mean, what field of work are you in?”

jungkook leans against your doorframe, arms crossed casually, eyes studying you like he remembers more than you’re letting on. “well… uh, i’m in finance. i deal with douchebags five days a week, nine to five. so you could say…” you pause, smirking despite yourself, “…i’ve become really good at rolling my eyes professionally.” you chuckle out

he chuckles, the kind of low laugh that makes your chest tighten. “sounds exhausting. and here i thought your high school self complaining about math homework was dramatic.”

you scoff, tugging your shirt higher around yourself. “oh, high school me had no idea. now, multiply the drama by ten and sprinkle in people who think their attractive, wanting you to worship their every move.”

“huh,” he says, tilting his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “and here i thought being rich and obnoxious was a full-time job.”

your eyes wander to his buff chest, down to his arms that are quite literally encased with tattoos. designs snaking down his skin, and it takes all your might not to reach out and touch them. now you’re thinking about his hands doing something else to you... his veiny hands. and those long, long, long fingers..

“you have a lot of tattoos,” you manage to blurt out ripping your mind out of a trance like state.

he glances down at his arm, then back at you, eyebrow raised. “yeah, you like them?” his voice low, teasing, like he’s daring you to admit

your cheeks burn, heat crawling up your neck. you laugh softly, a little breathless. “i think that’s obvious,” you admit. “i’ve been trying not to stare for the past five minutes.”

his smile falters—not disappearing, just softening. “yeah?” he asks quietly.

“yeah.” you swallow, meeting his eyes. “i always thought you knew.”

he exhales, a short huff of disbelief. “funny. i spent years thinking you barely noticed me.”

you blink. “what? jungkook, everyone noticed you.”

“not like this,” he says, stepping closer. his hand lifts, hesitates, then brushes your jaw like he’s asking permission without words. his forehead rests against yours, warm, grounding. “i’ve been into you since high school. tenth grade.” his voice is low now, stripped of teasing. “i told myself i’d get over it. go to college. move on. didn’t work.”

your heart stutters. “i had the biggest crush on you,” you confess, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “it was embarrassing. i thought you were untouchable.”

he lets out a quiet laugh, disbelieving. “me?”

“you,” you nod. “and apparently… i never really got over it either.”

there’s a beat of silence. his thumb brushes lightly against your skin.

“so,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips and back, “guess that makes this… mutual?”

you smile, small but certain. “yeah,” you whisper. “it does.”

"can—"

“yes,” you say, desperate as if he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might spontaneously combust and die, before his lips press against yours. the cool touch of his lip ring contrasts with the heat building between your legs.

his lips feel soft and plush against yours a soft moan getting caught in your throat. parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in dominant and demanding. his strong bulky hand snake around your body, rough and commanding. cupping your ass causing more heat to pool between your thighs aching for his touch

and when you pull away to catch your breath your heart feels like its about to fucking escape out of your chest— his lips pink and swollen and yours probably are too, but that doesn't stop him from kissing you again, lips trailing down your neck, causing you to moan out and tug on his hair. he was sucking roughly painting your skin in vibrant hues of blues and purples, finding sensitive spots that you didn't even know you had, hand coming up to roughly squeeze your neck before asking "where's the bedroom?" he says voice low, pupils blown with need "third door on the right" you scramble out—god you were acting like a horny teenager.

your brain is hazy with need and him pressing open mouth kisses against your jawline wasn't helping, then suddenly he's laying you down on your plush bedding with your hair fanning around you like a halo, "fucking hell,” he moans out against your neck, and then his hands are on you again taking your graphic tee off, throwing it somewhere on his left "your so perfect" he mutters against your skin causing a swarm of butterflies to kick up in your stomach aching for contact.

"jungkook.. please touch me before I lose my mind.” you beg, hand reaching for his shirt which he quickly discarded "patience pretty girl" you reach out groaning at the sight of his abs, they were so well defined glistening with sweat. he had your stomach turning into knots just at the mere sight of him.

he placed open mouth kisses from your chest down to your lower stomach stopping right where you wanted him. he tapped your hips and you happily obliged lifting them while he discarded your sweats and panties in one swift motion, he had you gasping as the cold air hit your core

you’re so so desperate right now. gripping onto his wrist as he rubs slow deliberate circles around your clit, "fuck." you moan out, you were bucking your hips onto his hands harshly. “needy, aren’t we?” he mumbles. 

"fuckin' vixen" he mutters “what do you want, princess? hm?” he asks staring right into your eyes never breaking eye contact, you can't even bring yourself to answer he's got you in such a hazy like state, unable to answer. he asks again "i asked you a question baby" voice deep and dripping with need

“I want- i want your fingers,” you whisper barely audible. “want you to fuck me with them.” you mewl out. he rips his fingers away from your clit, teasing your entrance with his fingers dripping with slick "your soaked baby, all for me? hm?" voice dripping with venom "all for you," you meekly reply before slipping his finger in entirely filling you up, he could feel you clench around him, and that had him whispering sweet words into your ear like 'good girl' and 'taking it so well baby'.

"harder." you moan out he added another finger before thrusting faster desperate to just get you off "i'm close." you moan out strings of curse words leaving your mouth as your orgasm hit you like a truck; blinding white seeing stars. he muttered out a string of 'good girls' before capturing your lips in a rough kiss, he rid himself of his pants throwing them away to some corner—you really could care less “holy fuck, you’re so fucking wet baby. I can’t wait to be inside you." he says

he’s oh so dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around fucking nothing. the sight of his big red angry cock had you salivating desperate to please him

“fuck me please” you half moan half beg out desperate and needy, before you can even say what you wanted to say, his hips slam against yours, your fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving behind angry red half-moons. "look at me when I fuck you" he moans out. he lets out a thick groan and moves even faster, fucking into you with a bullying tempo. Pain shoots through your scalp, and you realise that he’s fisted a hand in your hair, tugging backwards, a knot forming in your stomach. "good girl, taking it s'well" he says moaning pleasure builds hot and fast in your lower stomach—before you can even tell him your close you manage to moan a string of 'yes' before your second orgasm hits. this one had you clawing at whatever you could reach, his chest? his shoulder? both covered in angry red painful half moons.

jungkook was mewling at the sight of you arching your back, desperately chasing his own high “used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby." he says, admitting it so causally as if it wasn't so fucking vulgar. "I'm s'close where'd you want it baby?" you wrap your legs around him instinctively, you want him to cum inside you, "yes baby, yes baby" you moan out, with that he finished grunting and plopping down beside you.

"your fucking insane" he mumbles before capturing lips in a hungry kiss. 'well that just happened' you think to yourself.

the room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that feels earned.

he rolls onto his side, breath still uneven, and without a word, pulls you into him. not rushed. not needy. just… there. his arm wraps around your shoulders, tucking you close until your cheek rests against his chest, right over his heart.

it’s still pounding.

you let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding, fingers curling into his skin. 'he’s so warm' you think to yourself.

“hey,” he murmurs, voice gentle.

you hum in response, too comfortable to lift your head.

his hand moves in slow strokes along your back, thumb tracing absent-minded circles like he’s memorizing you. like he’s afraid if he stops touching you, the moment might disappear.

“you okay?” he asks quietly.

you nod against him. “yeah. more than okay.”

he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering there. no teasing. no bravado. just warmth. “good.”

you shift closer, legs tangling with his, fitting together like this is something you’ve done a hundred times before. your fingers trace idle patterns over his ribs, feeling him relax beneath your touch.

Martinez, one of the other detectives on night duty, stood beside you, eyeing you with that grin that meant trouble.

“So,” she started, voice hushed but playful, “the way you and Reed go at it? I swear, it looks like you two tear each other’s clothes off after shift.”

You snorted. “Gross. No.”

“I’m serious!” she laughed. “All that arguing, the tension? You two have the kind of hate sex energy that melts walls. You sure there’s not a little unresolved tension there?”

“The only tension is me not punching him in the face.

“Uh-huh.” Martinez sipped her drink. “Bet he’s good with his hands though.”

You gave her a warning look, but your ears were burning.

“You’re insane,” you muttered.

“You didn’t say no fast enough.”

“Martinez—”

“Don’t stop on my account,” came a voice from the doorway.

You froze. Slowly, you turned. Gavin Reed leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your girl talk,” he said. “But, hey—good to know I’m living rent-free in your head.”

Martinez laughed and made a quick exit, clearly proud of herself.

You stayed behind, heart pounding with embarrassment and irritation.

Back at your desk, the silence between you two was sharp. You focused hard on your files, pretending you couldn’t feel him looking at you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice lazy, “you didn’t exactly deny it with much conviction.”

“Deny what?” you asked flatly.

“That you’ve thought about it.”

You looked up slowly. “Do you want me to tase you?”

He grinned. “Kinky.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are. Alone. Again.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to reading. A few moments passed.

“You doing anything tomorrow night?” he asked casually.

That made you pause. “Why?”

“Thought maybe we could get a drink. Talk. Argue somewhere with better lighting.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” He leaned in a little. “I asked because I want to. Not because I want to mess with you.”

You stared at him for a long second. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m writing you up.”

The bar he picked was tucked away on a quiet street. Low lights, soft music, and a few scattered booths. You slid into the one he was already sitting in.

“You’re not late,” he said.

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nah.” He took a sip of his beer. “I kind of wanted to see what you looked like when you weren’t glaring at me under fluorescent lights.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Flatter me again, and I might throw my drink at you.”

“Noted.”

They ordered. The food was forgettable. The banter wasn’t.

“You always been this much of a pain in the ass?” you asked.

“Pretty much. My mom says it builds character.”

You actually laughed, a quiet, surprised sound. “You have a mom?”

“Believe it or not.” He looked at you for a second, eyes more serious now. “What about you? Always been the type to pick fights in the bullpen?”

“Only with guys who deserve it.”

“Lucky me.”

There was a pause. The kind that felt like something unsaid hung just between you two.

“Look,” Gavin said, voice lower, “I know I’m a lot. I give people crap. It’s easier that way.

You tilted your head. “You trying to explain yourself to me now?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Just… I don’t hate you, okay? I might’ve acted like it. But I don’t. I like that you fight back. I like that you’re not scared of me.”

You looked at him carefully, surprised by the sudden honesty.

“You’re not so scary, Reed,” you said softly.

He smiled, just a little. “Good. That’d make this date a real HR nightmare.”

Later, you walked back toward your cars, the chill air sobering after the heat of the bar.

“So…” Gavin started, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Did I ruin it?”

You shook your head. “Not entirely.”

“Damn. I was going for charming.”

“Debatable,” you smirked.

You stood there, the city buzzing around you. You stepped a little closer.

“You kiss me right now, Reed, and I’ll break your nose,” you warned.

“Noted,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t kiss. But you didn’t walk away either.

Just stood there a little too long.

Something had changed.

And both of you knew it.

The next morning, the DPD was its usual chaotic self. You were already at your desk, coffee in hand, eyes bleary.

“So,” Martinez slid up beside you, eyes glittering, “how was the date?"

You didn’t look at her. “It was fine.”

“Fine? That’s all I get? Come on, did he show up in that stupid jacket? Did he say anything dumb? Did he make you laugh?”

You bit back a smirk. “Yes, yes, and maybe.”

Before Martinez could say more, Gavin dropped a file on your desk without a word. As he walked away, he shot you a subtle wink.

Martinez’s jaw dropped. “He winked. That’s basically marriage in his language.”

You just sipped your coffee. “Shut up, Martinez.”

But you didn’t stop smiling.