#sub jungkook

he stared at you. you smiled, snapping him out of it.

“hello.”

“did you order breakfast?”

he stepped out of the door way, gesturing for her to come in, “yes.”

you rushed to start arranging his food on the table. for a moment, he only heard the clicking noise of dishes.

“how’s your morning?”

he swallowed.

that should be trivial. meaningless. but it wasn’t. he didn’t remember the last time someone asked that question. 

jungkook’s eyes flicked down to the table before looking at you, “it’s… quiet.”

your hands paused mid motion, turning to him before you smoothed down the front of your skirt. “good quiet or bad?”

he didn’t answer. 

you deflated slightly, turning to his coffee. “i guess it depends on the person,” you set the mug down next to some syrup, “how many pumps?” 

he ran a hand through his hair, “four.”

you nodded, “yes, sir.”

he watched you move like you belonged there—like this was routine, like he was just another guest, another door to knock on, another voice to answer politely before moving on.

but you didn’t feel like just another housekeeper.

his gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the small details he had no business noticing. the way your fingers curled around the handle of the coffee pot, the soft concentration in your expression, the quiet rhythm of your movements.

it made something twist low in his chest.

something warm. something unfamiliar.

he shouldn’t be looking at you like this.

shouldn’t be feeling this… drawn.

and yet, when you’d asked him how his morning was, it hadn’t felt like small talk. it had felt real. like you meant it.

like you actually cared about the answer.

and he’d just… stood there.

said nothing.

watched you pull back, just slightly.

“it’s good quiet,” jungkook blurted.

you glanced at him, a little surprised, before offering a small smile.

“that’s good,” you said gently. “everyone needs a little quiet sometimes.”

you both fell silent, the only thing heard was the clinking of dishes and silverware.

you brushed off your apron, then gestured to his breakfast on the table, “your breakfast is ready, mr. jeon. have a beautiful day.” 

this time he was the one to smile first, “thank you.”

“my pleasure!” you replied enthusiastically, your hospitality training shining through as you closed the door behind you.

•••••

you didn’t hate your job.

your coworkers were kind. the guests weren’t, but you always told yourself that made the nice ones feel even nicer. the hotel was beautiful, a place that every service worker in your area aspired to be. 

as you sat in the break room with your fellow housekeepers, they all couldn’t stop talking about the same thing: jeon jungkook, maknae of the bts was staying there. 

what you didn’t tell them was that he was staying on your assigned floor. you had  found out when your manager sent you to a mr. jeon’s room and jungkook greeted you at the door.

the guests you served were almost always  memorable—powerful, rich, and sometimes famous people stayed at your hotel, but he was different.

your heart broke a little when you saw him. jeon jungkook was a beautiful man, of course, but what you couldn’t get over was the exhausted look in his eyes. they were dark, lonely, and sad. you had always heard the idol life had its struggles, but you had never seen it first hand. 

throughout the day, you didn’t know why you kept thinking about him.

maybe it was the way he looked at you like he was trying to figure something out.

or maybe it was the way he answered your question.

it’s good quiet.

it didn’t sound convincing.

•••••

when jungkook got to his room from a long shoot, he wanted to flop onto the bed and never get up again.

but he knew he couldn’t do that.

because he had a studio session tonight.

jungkook loved being a singer. he was living his childhood dream, and he couldn’t be happier he was doing it, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it back out of his room, his body aching for a good night’s sleep that it would not receive.

he grabbed the hotel landline and dialed the room service number. 

“hello! this is room service,” an undistinguishable, customer service voice greeted.

“do you serve coffee this late?” he blurted.

“yes, sir.”

he sighed, proceeding to order an iced coffee with four shots of espresso—something he knew would give him jitters, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

he heard a knock in what felt like no time, “room service!”

jungkook forced himself to get up.

it was you behind the door, holding his coffee with a bright smile on your face. 

“hello, mr. jeon!” you exclaimed, glowing even under the slightly dim hotel lighting. 

he cleared his throat, “it’s you again.“

“yes, you’re on my assigned floor. we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” you offered the coffee to him, “please take a sip so i know it’s to your liking.”

he took the cup, fingers slightly brushing against your soft hands. “thank you, it’s great.“

you watched him intently, brows furrowed, “may i ask why you want coffee this late?”

he took a moment to figure out what to say, drawing a blank. “um… it’s a work thing.”

your head tilted ever so slightly, “okay, please take care of yourself.”

he was slightly taken aback. why do you care? 

“is there anything else you need?” you asked, hospitality training shining through yet again.

“no, thank you.” he took another sip.

“good night, mr. jeon.”

“good night.”

after that, he was shameless.

he asked for more towels, soap, sheets, blankets, food, whatever he could just to see your face. he was an addict and your mere presence was his fix. 

when he went on set during the day, he had a pep in his step that created whispers amongst the crew and his management. 

it didn’t take long for him to notice it.

the difference.

the way his chest didn’t feel as tight when he knew he’d see you.

the way the day felt… manageable.

jungkook had spent years learning how to perform exhaustion away, smiling through it, laughing through it, pushing through it until it didn’t matter anymore. but this was different.

this wasn’t something he had to fight.

it was something he waited for. between takes, his mind drifted. not to the music, not to the cameras, but to you.

to the sound of your voice, soft and polite through the door. to the way you said his name like it didn’t carry any weight. to the way you looked at him like he was just a man standing in a hotel room.

he found himself checking the time more than he should.

counting down hours without meaning to. wondering if you were working. if you were on his floor. if you were knocking on someone else’s door, smiling that same smile, asking someone else how their morning was.

his jaw tightened slightly at the thought. then he exhaled, shaking it off. it didn’t matter. you always came back.

you always knocked on his door.

and when you did, everything quieted.

the noise in his head, the pressure in his chest, the weight of everything he carried all softened, just a little, just enough.

just because you were there. just because you looked at him like that.

like he was someone worth asking about.

jungkook leaned back in his chair between takes, staring at nothing, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

he didn’t know when it had started.

didn’t know when you had become the part of his day he looked forward to the most.

he yearned for you. not your looks, not your body. you.

he just knew that the thought of not seeing you tomorrow felt wrong. unsettling. like something important would be missing. like the quiet would come back.

and this time, he didn’t think he could stand it.

the next day, he called for you again. he knew he didn’t need anything, but the room felt too quiet again. 

and he already knew what fixed that.

this time, he got breakfast. he loved when he could order food. that was when he had the most time with you. you would tell him little stories about your college classes or your family.

sometimes jungkook thought about what it would be like to meet them. how you would introduce him, your beautiful smile meant for just him. how your mother would overanalyze him as you said she overanalyzes everything. how your father would talk his ear off like you said he did to everyone. how you would cover your face with your hands like you did when you got flustered.

his heart almost skipped a beat when he heard the a knock on his door and your cheery voice, “room service!”

he practically ran to the door as if you would disappear if he didn’t reach you soon enough. 

any tension he felt earlier melted away as he opened the door and saw your face. the look you gave him was different this time. still sweet, but a little curious.

he froze.

you giggled, “you really like room service, mr. jeon.” 

“i—yeah, i guess,” jungkook rubbed the back of his head, “it’s… convenient.”

he felt heat crawling up his neck as he stared at you. 

you had a gold necklace on today. you normally wore silver. was this a special day? did you have anything planned after this? did you change your preference? did you—

your eyes crinkled in confusion. “um… would you like me to come in?”

he jumped. “uh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, “sorry.”

“it’s okay, it’s early,” you strolled to his table, setting down his breakfast.

when you passed him, his eyebrows furrowed. you had perfume on. you never wore perfume. this had to be a special day. 

“i like your jewlery,” he finally said. “is it new?”

your cheeks flushed slightly, “thank you. i’m surprised anyone noticed.” 

you paused for a moment, as if thinking about what you wanted to say next, “it’s because…” you sat down the breakfast platter for a moment to lean closer to him. his heart raced. 

“i have a date,” you whispered.

the words didn’t register at first.

they hung in the air between you—soft, almost shy, like they weren’t meant to hurt anything.

you have a date.

jungkook blinked. once. twice. as if his mind needed a second longer to catch up to something his chest had already understood.

oh.

that’s why.

the necklace.

the perfume.

the way you looked a little brighter today. it wasn’t random. it wasn’t for no reason.

it wasn’t for him.

something in his chest dipped, slow and heavy, like a quiet drop he hadn’t braced for. he swallowed, forcing his expression to stay neutral, even as his fingers curled slightly at his side. 

“a date,” he repeated, softer this time, like he was testing how it felt to say it out loud.

you nodded, a little bashful now, eyes flicking away from his.

“it’s nothing big,” you added quickly, “just… someone who asked me out.”

just. the word sat wrong with him. because it didn’t feel small. not when it was you. not when it explained everything he had been noticing. every detail he had been turning over in his head like it meant something.

it did mean something. just not what he thought. his gaze drifted to the necklace again, the way it rested against your skin, unfamiliar in a way that suddenly felt… deliberate. chosen. for someone else to see.

his jaw tightened before he could stop it. he didn’t like that. he didn’t like the idea of someone else noticing the same things he did. the way your smile softened when you got a little shy. the way your voice dipped when you said something personal. the way you stood just a little closer when you forgot yourself. he had noticed those things. he had been noticing. and now someone else would, too.

“that’s… nice,” he said finally, the words coming out steadier than he felt.

you smiled at that. soft. grateful. the same smile you gave him. and for the first time, it didn’t feel like his.

something tight settled in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

because he realized, all at once, how easily you moved through your day. how easily you smiled. how easily you would leave this room, step into the rest of your life, and forget him.

jungkook looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, something fragile flickering behind his eyes. he hadn’t realized how much he had started to look forward to you.

hadn’t realized how much space you had taken up in his day, until suddenly, there was someone else standing in it. someone else who would get your time, your attention, your laugh.

his grip tightened slightly around nothing.

because the thought settled, heavy and undeniable.

he didn’t want to share.

tonight was a rare night off.  due to a scheduling conflict, the studio was booked and jungkook didn’t have to work tonight.

his friends dragged him out, saying that the club scene in this city was great, but no matter what, jungkook couldn’t shake the overwhelming numbness of it all. he couldn’t have fun. not when you were out somewhere tonight with another guy.

the music was too loud. the lights were too bright. jungkook sat back in the booth, barely listening, nodding along to conversations he wasn’t part of. he checked his messages. not because he had any he wanted to respond to, but because he wanted to pass time.

his thumb hovered over his screen before it dimmed, reflecting his face back at him. it was tired, distant.

his mind drifted to you. to the way you had smelled that morning. soft. different. how you’d smiled when you mentioned your plans. how easily you had said it. i have a date.

his jaw tightened. he didn’t like that he remembered it so clearly. didn’t like that it had followed him here, into a room full of people, into a night that was supposed to distract him.

“you’re quiet tonight,” one of his friends said, nudging his shoulder.

“just tired,” jungkook replied automatically, not looking up.

“then drink,” someone else laughed, sliding a glass toward him.

he took it, more out of habit than anything, bringing it to his lips without tasting it. it didn’t help. nothing did.

another wave of bass shook the room, lights flashing across the crowd, bodies moving too close, too loud, too much.

he exhaled, leaning back further into the booth, eyes scanning the room without interest.

and then he saw you.

everything stopped. not the music. not the lights. not the people. just him.

his grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand as his gaze locked across the room.

for a second, he thought he was imagining it. that maybe his mind had gotten so used to thinking about you, it had started placing you in places you weren’t.

but no. it was you. standing near the bar, turned slightly to the side, your face lit up by a softer light than the rest of the room.

you weren’t in your uniform. no pressed apron. no neat, careful presentation. you looked… different. your hair fell a little looser. your clothes hugged you in a way he hadn’t seen before. there was a lightness to you, something unguarded, something that didn’t belong to the girl who knocked on his door every morning.

you were smiling.

not the polite, practiced smile he had memorized. this one was wider. easier. real. something in his chest pulled tight.

you laughed at something. soft at first, then brighter, and jungkook’s eyes shifted. to him.

the man standing next to you. too close.

close enough that he leaned in when he spoke. close enough that you didn’t step away. jungkook went still. 

oh. this was what you meant.

your “plans.”

his fingers curled slightly against the glass, condensation damp against his skin.

he watched the way the man looked at you like he was trying to charm you, like he had the right to stand there and take up your space, like he was someone you had chosen to spend your time with.

something unfamiliar twisted low in his chest. sharp. uncomfortable.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like it at all.

you didn’t laugh like that in his room. you didn’t smile like that at him.

the thought came before he could stop it. and it lingered.

his gaze didn’t move. couldn’t.

the rest of the room blurred into nothing, the music fading into a dull hum, conversations dissolving into noise.

it was just you.

you, and the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you got shy. you, and the way you looked down for a second before looking back up at him—at him—with that same soft expression.

his jaw clenched.

he forced himself to take another sip of his drink, but it did nothing to ground him. nothing to pull him away.

“jungkook.”

he didn’t respond.

“jungkook.”

a hand waved briefly in front of his face.

he blinked, finally tearing his eyes away for a split second.

“what?” he muttered.

“you good?” his friend asked, brows furrowed slightly.

“yeah,” he said, too quickly.

his gaze drifted back. you were still there. still smiling. still with him. 

jungkook’s  chest felt tight. too tight. he shifted forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, like that would somehow bring him closer, like it would make any difference at all. 

it didn’t. you were still out of reach. 

worse, you didn’t even know he was there. the thought settled heavy.

you didn’t know. you didn’t look for him.

you weren’t waiting for him the way he—

he exhaled sharply, leaning back again, dragging a hand down his face.

this was ridiculous.

he barely knew you.

you were—

you were just—

his gaze flickered back to you again, softer this time, something quieter slipping into the sharpness.

you were you. that was the problem.

another laugh left your lips, and the man beside you said something that made you nudge his arm lightly.

jungkook looked away this time. he couldn’t watch that. not again.

“i’m heading out,” he said suddenly, already pushing himself to his feet.

“already?” someone asked, surprised.

“yeah.”

no explanation. he didn’t wait for one either.

the music hit him harder as he stepped out of the booth, weaving through the crowd without looking back.

but he felt it. the pull. the urge to turn around. to look for you one more time. to make sure you were still there. he didn’t.

he pushed through the doors instead, the cool night air hitting his skin as he stepped outside.

it was quieter out here. not the same quiet. but better. he stood there for a moment, breathing, trying to steady something inside of him that felt… off. unsettled.

his mind replayed it anyway. your smile. your laugh. the way you stood next to someone else like it was normal. his jaw tightened.

he hadn’t realized how much he had started to think of you as his. not until he saw you with someone else.

•••••

jeon jungkook had become your favorite guest.

he was polite, quiet, shy, and thoughtful. he wasn’t too difficult on the eyes, either. jungkook carried this sadness with him that made your heart ache. his eyes were wracked with a deep exhaustion that made you want to lock him in his hotel room so he had one good night’s sleep.

and yet, sometimes, rarely, he smiled. a real one.

it was subtle. quiet. but when it happened, it was like catching sunlight in your hands. you wished you could play it on loop. 

your date was… disappointing. the guy was handsome, successful, everything that would make him perfect to bring home to your parents, but neither of you could escape the feeling of emptiness. when you noticed his eye start to wander to other girls in the club, you called your uber. who takes someone to a club for their first date anyways?

the night air was cooler than you expected.

you wrapped your arms around yourself as you stepped off the curb, the sound of the club fading further behind you with every step. your heels clicked softly against the pavement, slower now, no rush in your stride.

you felt silly for thinking maybe tonight would be something more than what it was.

you sighed, glancing down at your phone, debating whether to call it a night completely or stop by the convenience store on the corner before heading home.

“hey.”

your steps faltered.

you turned, brows knitting together slightly, and your breath caught. “mr. jeon?”

he stood a few feet away from you, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, shoulders slightly tense like he hadn’t expected to actually say anything once he saw you.

his hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it too much. his eyes—

you noticed his eyes first. they weren’t distant like usual. they were focused.

on you.

“i—” you blinked, taken aback. “hi.”

a small, awkward silence fell between you, the distant hum of traffic filling the space.

“you know someone around here?” you asked, trying to fill it.

he nodded once.

“yeah.”

he didn’t.

but that didn’t matter right now.

his gaze moved over you, slower than it ever had before, taking in everything—the outfit, the way your hair had loosened, the faint smudge of your makeup, the same soft scent that had been lingering in his room earlier.

“you went out,” he said.

it wasn’t a question.

you let out a small laugh, a little embarrassed now under his attention.

“yeah,” you nodded. “i had a date.”

there was a pause.

you didn’t know why you kept talking.

maybe it was the way he was looking at you. maybe it was how easy it felt to just… say things to him.

“it wasn’t that great, though,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “i left early.”

something in his expression shifted.

subtle. but there.

“good,” he said, too quickly.

you blinked.

he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“i mean—” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “i just… you deserve better than that.”

your heart skipped.

“you don’t even know him,” you said softly.

“i don’t have to,” he replied just as quietly.

the air between you changed.

you could feel it. thicker now. heavier. your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.

“mr. jeon—”

“jungkook,” he interrupted.

your breath caught again.

“jungkook,” he repeated, softer this time. “you can call me jungkook.”

you swallowed.

“okay… jungkook.”

the way you said his name—it did something to him. something that made his chest feel too tight, too full all at once. he stepped closer. not enough to crowd you. just enough that you noticed.

“can i walk you home? it’s pretty late.”

you nodded, him walking beside you as you both began to walk up the empty streets. it didn’t take long before you reached your apartment door. 

“i saw you,” he admitted, breaking the long silence.

your brows furrowed slightly.

“what?”

“at the club.”

oh. your stomach flipped. “you were there?”

he nodded, “yeah.”

you looked down for a second, suddenly self-conscious.

“that’s… kind of embarrassing,” you laughed softly. “i didn’t even see you.”

“i know,” he said.

there was something in the way he said it.

something that made you look back up.

his eyes hadn’t left you.

not once.

“you looked…” he started, then stopped, like he didn’t know how to finish it.

you waited.

he tried again, “you looked happy.”

you frowned slightly.

“i wasn’t.”

another step closer. this one smaller.

more careful.

“i know,” he said quietly.

your breath hitched.

“how would you—”

“because i was watching you.”

the words settled between you.

your heart started beating a little faster.

“that’s…” you trailed off, unsure what to say.

but you didn’t step away. you didn’t feel scared. just confused. overwhelmed.

“why?” you asked softly.

his jaw tightened slightly.

“because i couldn’t not,” he admitted.

your breath caught.

“jungkook—”

“i don’t like it,” he said, more firmly now. “seeing you with someone else.”

your eyes widened slightly.

“what?”

“i don’t like it,” he repeated, quieter this time. “i thought i could ignore it. i thought—” he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i can’t.”

your heart was racing now. this didn’t make sense.

“why?” you asked again, barely above a whisper. “you don’t even know me.”

“i do,” he said.

you blinked.

“what?”

“i know the way you knock,” he continued softly. “twice. always twice.”

“i know you hum when you think no one’s listening.”

“i know you like extra syrup in your coffee even though you pretend you don’t.”

your lips parted. you hadn’t realized—

“i know you,” he repeated.

your chest tightened.

“that’s not—” you shook your head slightly, overwhelmed. “that’s not the same.”

“i know it’s not,” he said quickly. “i know i should take more time, i know i should do this the right way but—”

he stopped. looked at you. really looked at you.

“i can’t stand the idea of you walking into someone else’s life like that,” he said quietly.

your heart stuttered.

“like what?” you whispered.

“like you did mine.”

silence. the city noise faded again, just like before. just like when he first saw you. your fingers curled slightly at your sides.

“i’m just—” you let out a small, nervous laugh. “i’m just the girl who brings you food.”

his expression softened immediately.

“don’t say that.”

his hand moved before he could stop himself, gently brushing against your wrist—warm, careful, nothing like the rush in your chest. 

“you’re not just anything.”

your breath hitched.

“then what am i?” you asked, barely steady.

he didn’t hesitate this time.

“mine.”

the word was soft. not demanding. but certain. your eyes widened.

“jungkook—”

he closed the distance. slowly.

giving you time to pull away.

you didn’t.

his hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, like he was afraid you might disappear if he touched you too firmly.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured.

you didn’t. you couldn’t.

not when he was looking at you like that.

not when your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest.

not when you wanted this.

his lips pressed against yours. soft, hesitant at first. like he was testing something fragile. then a little firmer when you didn’t pull away.

your hand came up instinctively, gripping lightly at the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in something real.

you kissed him back. just for a second. just enough.

when you pulled away, your breath was uneven, your eyes wide as you stared up at him.

“you… you want me?” you asked, disbelief laced through your voice.

jungkook’s expression softened in a way you had never seen before. completely unguarded.

“i think about you all the time,” he admitted quietly.

“i wait for you.”

“i look for you.”

your head spun. this is was a lot to process for you. 

his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, “of course i want you.”

you unlocked your door, letting him in and locking it behind him.

this time, you kissed him, and pure catharsis washed over you. he kissed you like starved man devouring his first meal. he gently pressed you against the nearest wall as he moved from your lips to your neck, your breath hitching as he left little lovebites all over your neck and chest.

his hands trembled slightly against your skin, a stark contrast to the confident way his mouth claimed you. he was shaking, you realized. this powerful, quiet man was trembling in your arms, and it sent a heady rush through you. he was completely undone, and you were the cause.

"jungkook," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, encouraging him. "don’t stop."

he let out a choked sound, something between a groan and a sigh of relief. his kisses became more desperate, more worshipful. he wasn't just kissing you; he was memorizing you. his lips traced the line of your jaw, down the sensitive skin of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the rapid pulse beating there. he was addicted, and this was his first real hit in months.

"you have no idea," he murmured against your collarbone, his voice thick with an emotion that sounded dangerously like adoration. "no idea how long i’ve wanted this."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and swimming with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. he looked completely lost in you, his gaze roaming over your face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. he looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question passing between you.

you answered by pulling him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. You took control, tilting your head and deepening the kiss, your tongue sweeping against his. he yielded instantly, a soft moan escaping him as he let you lead. He followed your rhythm, his hands gripping your hips like you were his only anchor in a storm. the power was yours, and he was willingly, desperately, giving it all to you.

"please," he whispered against your lips, the word barely audible but loaded with meaning. It was a plea. a surrender. he was asking for permission to fall apart, and you were the only one who could catch him.

you nipped at his lower lip, a sharp, possessive bite that made him gasp. "jungkook… what do you want?” you asked sweetly.

"you," he answered immediately, without hesitation. "everything… just you."

you led him down your short hallway to your bedroom, giving him quick kisses on the way there. 

you both tumbled onto your bed, you laying below him. 

he grabbed the bottom of your dress, “can i?”

you nodded, and he pulled the fabric over your head, leaving you in just your panties. he drunk you in for a moment, staring at you like a worshipper at a shrine. he crawled down so his face was between your legs. 

he looked up at you with wide, shiny eyes.

 “can i…” he started, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “can i taste you?” he slid his fingers to the waistband of your panties in anticipation, “please.” 

just as you were about to say yes, he kept going, “please," he whispered again, his voice thicker this time, more desperate. "i need to... i need to taste you. i've thought about it for so long. please, let me make you feel good. i'll be so good for you, i promise. just... please."

the plea was so raw, so sweet that heat shot straight to your core. “yes,” you breathed, barely a sigh.

he let out a shaky, grateful gasp and surged forward. his hands gripped your thighs as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slowly pulled them down, his eyes closing for a second as if he was in prayer. and then his mouth was on you.

it wasn't rushed or clumsy. it was slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. he explored you with his tongue, learning every fold, every sensitive spot with an artist's focus. he took his time, building a slow, burning fire deep in your belly that made your toes curl. it was overwhelming, the intensity of his focus, the way he seemed to be getting as much pleasure from this as you were.

your hand flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pleasure mounted, higher and higher, a tight coil of heat ready to snap. the pressure built until it was almost unbearable, and your fingers clenched, pulling hard.

he stopped instantly. the sudden loss of sensation made you gasp, your eyes flying open. panic seized you. "oh my god, did i hurt you? jungkook, i'm so sorry, i—"

he looked up at you from between your legs, his lips swollen and glistening, his eyes hazy with pleasure. there was no pain on his face, only a dark, blissed-out need. "do it again," he rasped, his voice rough. "please. pull my hair again. i liked it."

your breath hitched. he liked it. the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. hesitantly, your fingers tightened in his hair again, pulling harder this time. his eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping his lips before he dove back in, his mouth more demanding, more hungry than before.

with his plea echoing in your ears, you stopped holding back. you tightened your grip, a sharp, deliberate tug that pulled a ragged, beautiful sound from his throat. he didn't flinch away; he leaned into it, his whole body shuddering with what you now understood was pure, unadulterated pleasure.

and then his mouth was on you again, and the world narrowed to this single, devastating point of contact. he was so sweet about it, so devoted. every movement of his tongue was a prayer, every gentle suck a promise. he wasn't just trying to get you off; he was trying to prove something, to show you with his mouth what he couldn't yet find the words for. he was showing you that he was yours, completely.

the contrast was intoxicating. the harsh sting in his scalp from the way you were pulling his hair, and the soft, reverent way he was worshipping you with his mouth. you could feel his moans vibrating against you, little whimpers of pleasure that he couldn't hold back every time you tightened your grip. he was getting off on this, on the pain, on the submission, on the taste of you.

"jungkook," you gasped, your head falling back against your soft pillows. your hips started to move against his face, chasing the friction, the building pressure. you weren't thinking anymore, just feeling. feeling the heat coiling in your stomach, the tingling in your limbs, the overwhelming sweetness of his utter surrender.

he sensed you were close. his movements became more focused, more determined. his tongue found that perfect, sensitive spot and circled it relentlessly, while his lips sealed around you, sucking with a gentle, insistent pressure that made your vision blur. you pulled his hair again, harder this time, a sharp, possessive yank that made him cry out against you.

the vibration was the final push. the coil in your stomach snapped, and pleasure crashed over you in a blinding, all-consuming wave. you cried out his name, your body arching off the wall as you came, your fingers still tangled tight in his hair, holding him to you.

he didn't stop. he stayed with you, his mouth gentle now, lapping at you softly, helping you ride out the aftershocks until you were limp and trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up. he finally pulled back, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his face flushed and slick, his eyes looking up at you with a look of such utter adoration it made your chest ache.

he looked completely blissed out, like he'd just been given the greatest gift in the world. "was that... was that okay?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

you could only manage a breathless nod, your fingers still stroking through his hair, now gentle instead of pulling. "more than okay," you managed to say, your voice soft. "jungkook... that was perfect."

he looked at you, a fine tremor still running through him. he was wrecked, his lips swollen and his eyes dark with a desperate, possessive hunger.

"please," he whispered against your lips, the word a raw, needy sound. "i need to be inside you. please, i need to feel you. i need to know you're mine."

you answered with a nod, and he quickly crawled up over you, his body covering yours. he settled between your legs, his hips pressing forward, the hard length of him straining against his jeans. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.

"are you sure?" he asked, though it sounded less like a question and more like a plea for you to confirm that this wasn't a dream.

instead of answering, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down, guiding him to your entrance. he gasped as he slowly pushed inside, his eyes rolling back, a high, broken whine coming out of his mouth. he filled you completely, a perfect, aching stretch.

he didn't move at first, just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. "don't let go," he whimpered, his voice muffled against your skin. "please, don't ever let me go."

"i won't," you promised, your hands tangling in his hair again, this time in a gentle, grounding hold. "i've got you."

that seemed to break something loose in him. he started to move, slowly at first, then with a little more confidence. his thrusts were deep and deliberate, not fast, but full of a desperate, aching need. he was making love to you like it was the first and last time he'd ever get to do it.

every sound he made was a whimper or a moan of your name. "you feel so good," he'd pant, his voice breaking. "so much better than i ever imagined." he was clingy, his hands never leaving you, one gripping your hip, the other laced through your fingers, holding on for dear life. he was needy, seeking your mouth for kisses between ragged breaths, his eyes constantly searching yours for reassurance.

the intimacy of it was overwhelming. this wasn't just sex; it was a confession. it was him laying himself bare, giving you every broken, desperate, devoted piece of himself. and you took it all, holding him close, meeting his thrusts, whispering soft words of encouragement against his lips.

"say it again," he panted, his voice thick with emotion. "tell me you're mine."

"i'm yours, jungkook," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "all yours."

the words seemed to fuel him, his thrusts becoming a little deeper, a little more possessive. he was still sweet, so needy, but there was an edge to him now, a desperate need to claim you, to mark you as his own.

"mine," he sobbed, his rhythm faltering as his own release started to build. "you're all mine."

you came first, a quiet, intense wave of pleasure that washed over you, pulling a soft cry from your lips. feeling you tighten around him was his undoing. he buried his face in your neck again, his body shuddering as he found his release, a broken, beautiful moan of your name spilling from his lips.

he collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, but you didn't mind. you held him as he trembled through the aftershocks, his face still hidden in your neck. you could feel his tears, hot and silent against your skin. you just held him tighter, stroking his hair, whispering that it was okay, that you were here.

after a long moment, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. his face was tear-streaked and flushed, his eyes red-rimmed but shining with a light you'd never seen before.

"stay," he whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. "please... just stay with me tonight."

you reached up, gently wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "i'm not going anywhere," you promised softly. "i'm right here."

he let out a shaky breath, a small, watery-eyed smile finally gracing his lips. it was the real one. the one that was like catching sunlight in your hands. and it was all for you.

author’s note: thank you for reading! i hope you liked this, because idk how to feel about it!!! i’ve been wanting to try writing sub!jk so i hope it worked out! if you liked this, please check out my other fics<333

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

Despite sharing a wall with the exam room, you leave the door to the break room ajar to better catch any important sounds, and then you set the first of your twenty-minute alarms. The couch you stretch out on has to be one of your all-time favorites; fortunate when you and your colleagues often need quick rest. Therefore, it's not long after you've propped your head on your pillow and pulled your blue blanket over your body that you drift off. Unsurprisingly, you dream of those dark eyes.

"So, nothing else that I should know?"

"No," you say, muffling a yawn with the back of your hand as Yoongi watches. "Good vitals, should start waking up soon. I haven't taken him for a potty break yet, so he might need to go soon. That's it. I've updated the chart."

"Mhm. Okay," Yoongi says. He hasn't even bothered with scrubs, showing up in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, pushing the most minimalist-looking glasses you've ever seen higher on his nose.

"Okay. See you."

With a parting smile, you turn. But before you can head to the locker room to get changed, a call of your name has you pausing, looking back to see what else Yoongi wants.

"Maybe I should walk you to your car?"

"It's twenty meters from the entrance," you point out.

"I know. Still."

Your slight smile grows warmer. "I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

He gives you a short nod. "Be careful."

You return the gesture.

Only a few months ago, you'd often end your day shift with a thirty-minute walk home. Headphones at the bottom of your bag, it would be just you and your thoughts. Borderline insane in this day and age, sure, but you find that you need to process your work before you fall asleep or you won't fall asleep. Especially if the day blessed you with delightful moments such as putting someone's best friend to sleep.

These days, however, you always take the car. Especially to and from night shifts. The few minutes behind the wheel—even if spent in silence—aren't nearly enough to decompress from a whole workday, but you try.

The air is cold as you step outside the clinic, but the shiver that runs down your spine isn't a result of the temperature. Tonight, walking out of the clinic and locking the door behind you feels more like stepping out on stage, lights already on and harshly focused on you. You try to dismiss it, but you can't shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Inconspicuously, you scan the quiet area as you quickly head toward your car, but there's no one around. Either way, you hurry, locking the doors around you the moment you get behind the wheel and driving off as soon as you can.

The short drive through the sleepy town is fortunately uneventful, and you feel the exhaustion creep up on you too; it takes you three tries to unlock your apartment door. But then you remember something, sleepiness momentarily washed away.

Fishing the phone from your pocket, you begin a new text, but then you pause, thumb hovering over the digital keyboard. Was he really serious about wanting you to message him in the middle of the night like this?

Fuck it. You're too tired to overthink it: not the concept of sending a text nor the words themselves.

You: I'm home safe now :)

Pressing send, you place your phone on the bathroom sink as you reach for the face wash, beginning the process of cleansing your skin from makeup and whatever other fun things cling to it from an entire day of handling sick animals. You'll shower and change the sheets tomorrow.

Something between a minute and two passes before your phone vibrates, and you lean your dripping face over the screen to read the notification.

Jeon Jeongguk: 😀👍🏼

Staring at the odd reply until the screen goes dark again, you're not sure what you expected. A cryptic message of some kind? Maybe even something… flirty considering his last words and the way he held your hand and twirled you back inside the clinic?

You grab a towel, dabbing your face dry, and then your lips pull into a dumb smile. It's kinda cute, though.

"Hey, slept well?" Nayeon grins when you step inside the main exam room at ten p.m. the following night. You slept until three and then spent the next few hours cleaning your apartment and doing a well-needed load of laundry before you drove out to the clinic.

"Yeah, was super tired. Any plans for the night?"

Leaning back in the chair, Nayeon stretches her arms high over her head, her blue scrub shirt lifting slightly at the waist. "If I do. Carbs and TV, baby. I'm having the worst noodle cravings. Funny how I never eat noodles except when I'm like… day four into my period."

You laugh. "Yeah, I've never heard anyone period-crave noodles. I was just craving chocolate or something super salty."

"Hm. You know, I'm thinking about getting a new IUD but the last insertion was…" she trails of, grimacing. "Yours was alright?"

You shake your head, mirroring her pained expression. "Passed out."

"Fuck. Honestly, the people that claim it's not painful, I think they're just bullshitting."

"Definitely. I dread getting mine out, but it's reaching the end of its life," you answer, turning your focus to the patient before the painful memories have you hurling. "Anyway, anything I need to know?"

Nayeon rises from her seat and comes to stand beside you, her eyes following yours and landing on one of the largest dogs the clinic's probably ever seen, currently snoring in the lowest of the wall-built kennels. It's a male Broholmer; a danish mastiff type of dog with short brown fur.

"No, not really. We puked him, and I explained that the amount of chocolate isn't really dangerous for this type of dog. More specifically, this size of dog and the type of chocolate."

"Milk?"

"Yeah. Like 50 grams. Well, they weren't sure, but most likely."

You nod. "Not enough theobromine either way."

"Yeah, but they wanted us to keep him overnight regardless. He peed like… an hour ago."

"Alright. Well, I'm here to relieve you of your duty, so you're free to go."

"Thanks!" she claps her hands once before letting her quick feet take her in the direction of the locker room. "Tell Yoongi that I ate his chips."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! No, Nayeon! Oh my God."

Her laughter echoes down the hall, and you sigh. You love the woman, but she has a talent for putting you in mildly inconvenient situations. "Send a text when you're home, at least!" you call after her.

"Of course!"

Shaking your head, you sink down onto the black swivel chair she just occupied, pulling up your phone to scroll all of your social media apps. The uneventful shifts are the longest, and while you honestly wish a certain mythical creature would stop by, you haven't planned anything. You'd text him, but God, you need to preserve at least a little bit of what dignity remains, right?

However, twenty minutes into a Youtube video—an hour and a half after Nayeon left—a notification drops from the top of your screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: Knock knock

It's almost scary how your heart skips a beat and you feel your mood lift beyond what's probably good for you. Standing, you push your phone into your scrub pocket as you leave the exam room and head toward the dimly lit entrance.

Despite your previous dignity-related concern, not even embarrassment can stop your face from lighting up when you spot him outside the door. You hadn't noticed, but it looks like it's raining? Quite a bit at that.

Unlocking the door, you can't help but smile as you meet his dark eyes through the glass.

You push the heavy door open, greeting him through the first sliver. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles confidently. "I'm here for my daily dose of attention."

You gasp, pulling the door shut before Jeongguk's even made the slightest of efforts at entering.

Though he could very well grab the door and pull it open by force, he doesn't. He just stands there, in the rain, looking down at you through the glass with a curious smile and a tilt of his head. As if patiently wondering when—or even if—you're gonna let him in.

It's such a dangerous mix; his very, very slight teasing, blended thoroughly with how gentle he is. Of course, you only take one deep breath, and then you're opening the door again.

"Don't be mean," you warn as you let him through. It doesn't help that he's wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans, and there's a few drops of water rolling down the leather and others threatening to fall from his hair.

"Mean?"

"Yeah, teasing me for being interested in you."

He chuckles, running his hand through that dark, slightly wet hair. "Wasn't my intention. I was merely referring to myself as… what do you youngins call it these days? An attention… whore, is it?"

"Okay, grandpa."

"See, now that's mean."

You laugh, cheeks still a bit warm but the unintentional offense already forgotten.

Jeongguk's heavy boots thud against the linoleum floor as he follows you past the dark reception and back into the main exam room, reclaiming his spot on the exam table. But as he starts to remove his jacket—and you see how much rain he's actually collected—you back up toward the doorway.

"I'll be back in a second."

With a nod of his, you head toward the locker room, quickly grabbing one of two towels folded on the top shelf of your locker.

Jeongguk is waiting patiently when you return. But as you do, rounding the corner to enter the room, for a brief second, it looks like he's… scenting the air. Very subtly and reminding you of a dog; just a slightly lifted head, short inhales, and an analyzing but unfocused gaze.

It hits you that you haven't asked him about his sense of smell, and he might very well be smelling… Nayeon? God, you've never been so relieved not to have a period. It's not something you should be embarrassed about, but your cheeks heat a little either way; you wouldn't want anyone to know your cycle without your consent. You'll definitely ask about his sense of smell. …Another time.

"The clinic towels—although washed—always seem to have just a bit of fur stuck to them. This is mine," you say, throwing the towel at him and watching him catch it effortlessly. "Also clean, of course," you're quick to add.

He doesn't comment on it, just bows his head in casual gratitude, and begins to dab his hair dry. Already forgetting about him potentially smelling period blood, you watch him, particularly mesmerized by his thick, bulging bicep, generously exposed by the black t-shirt he wears. At least the rain didn't soak him to the bone.

"Who's that?" he asks, gesturing toward the massive, brown dog.

"Mo. He ate some chocolate and is staying the night for observation."

"Mo?" Jeongguk questions, brows furrowing slightly.

Having just woken up, Mo looks at you and Jeongguk before he drops his head back down and lets out a sigh so big his jowls bubble in the wind.

"Short for 'Thermostat.' Apparently, he's a splendid bed-warmer. He'll be fine."

"So… fluids?" you start—hand on the back of the swivel chair—before Jeongguk can comment on your patient's unusual name, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "You can't possibly mean that you don't have to consume fluids at all? You mean besides the blood, right?" you ask, eyes so focused on him, you almost miss the chair when you go to sit down.

He's grinning happily, surely amused by your almost-accident. You scratch the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise once again.

"No, I do mean that I don't really need to consume them. Technically, sure, certain circumstances could force me to drink even water, but normally, no."

You feel the confusion grow, and you blink rapidly, trying desperately to understand. "Huh?"

What on earth does that mean? Normally…. no? But… other times?

What?

"Okay, so we need a certain amount of fluids in our bodies, right? For our own blood and venom and whatnot."

You nod, showing that you're following along, at least so far. It would definitely be easier if his thick arms weren't on display, big hands gripping the edge of the table.

"But normally, we don't lose fluids," he continues. "We're really, really efficient at extracting all the nutrients, so it doesn't really leave any waste that needs to be flushed out. We don't really sweat either, as overheating isn't usually a problem for us. So, we don't lose a lot of fluids. In general."

Subconsciously, you lean in. "What's the exception?"

"Just because we don't usually sweat doesn't mean we can't. My body is a lot less heat sensitive than yours. I'm fine until around 44-45 degrees Celsius, after which I start to slow down."

"As in your metabolism stalls? To prevent overheating?"

He nods, and when a strand of his black, almost entirely dry hair falls into his face, he runs one veiny hand through it. "Yeah. Basically all of me slows down. I get a little sluggish, you know, my body tells me to take it easy. And then I start to sweat; It's a bit like a last resort."

"So you can die from overheating?"

"Yeah, but it's very uncommon."

You pat your pockets, realizing that you should be taking notes. "But sweating means you lose fluid."

"Right. We can lose more than a human can without it being close to severe, but if we sweat profusely, or… get injured and lose a lot of blood, we do need to replenish it. The best way is through consuming blood."

"If you don't have access to any, though?"

"It depends on how much we need. A bit, we can pull from our venom, saliva, skin… all that. If it's bad, and there's no blood, even water will do. Or anything liquid, really."

The letters you rush to put down on paper are messy to say the least, and you hide your gaze in them as you formulate your next question. "Is there a… rage element to it? Getting fluids no matter what?"

He licks his lips, looking a little… unwilling to share when you finally look up again. "I mean… it can be. But it's rare. In this day and age especially. Water or something else is practically always available; having to feed from a human just to get fluids is uncommon."

You nod. "And when you feed, you replenish whatever you might need. The rest, you pee out?"

"Exactly. So normally, there's nothing to replenish, and just… all water is peed out."

"And that means you could also consume powdered blood," you conclude, consumed by just how amazing that is. "For a long time, just powder. No liquids at all. Everything is just circulated."

"Yeah."

"That is so interesting," you speak without really thinking, pen hot against the paper.

"Thank you."

You think even your ears heat up this time. "I gotta stop," you mumble, glancing at him.

Jeongguk chuckles, leaning back on his arms. "Don't stop, please. I never get to feel special like this."

God. For a quick moment, you let yourself drink in the vision of his thick forearms, inner sides exposed and veins out for you to admire, thinking to yourself that you never in a million years would've imagined a vampire both exist and somehow be this… masculine, intimidating, and endearing.

But also…. he never gets to feel special? As if this isn't the most head-turning man you've ever seen? The inhabitants of your boring little town all practically getting whiplash as they turn to get a second look at him? You have absolutely no doubt that the effect is the same regardless of city size.

You meet his eyes, hoping he doesn't notice just how much you like to simply… look at him. "You also said something about… super strength, was it?"

"Mhm."

"So… how strong are you?"

Humming, he looks around the room, clearly in search of something. And so do you, following his gaze curiously.

"Don't really know how to show you, doesn't seem to be anything heavy in here."

You guess he's right. While you'd struggle immensely to lift the table he's perched on, you'd imagine it's not actually that heavy. The heaviest thing inside the room that isn't bolted to the floor or wall is probably you or Mo, and you're not about to ask him to toss either of you around. While you're sure the huge ultrasound machine sits unused in the next room over, a crack in that would lead to your demise.

What your eyes instead land on is a recently opened bag of dog food, slumped against the wall. 10kg / 22lbs is printed toward the bottom. You consider it, but then you look away.

"You think that's too heavy for me?"

Your eyes shift back to his inquiring ones, and you smile. "No, even I can carry that. But it's too difficult for the… test I'd like to do."

"Huh? Why would it be too difficult?"

"'Cause—" you start, but instead of explaining it to him, you decide to just let him try. It might still provide a glimpse into his physical capabilities.

"Look," you say, approaching the bag. Using both hands, you grab it at the top, swinging it forward barely above the floor as you return to him. You could hoist it into your arms, but for such a short distance, you don't bother. "I'd like you to do an isometric hold, which is already extremely difficult with something this heavy. But this bag doesn't even have any handles or anything."

The kibble settles when you lower the bag down to the floor. Jeongguk stands from the table, listening to your explanation and watching you talk with your hands.

"So you can try grabbing it at the top here and then lift it, keeping your arm straight and parallel to the floor, but it's not really a failure if you can't. You'd have to have an extreme grip strength to do it, and that's not even what the test is supposed to—"

Like it's an apple in a plastic bag, Jeongguk grabs the top of the bag you just let go off and lifts, the kibble inside shifting audibly.

"—test… Uh… Humans… aren't built to do that," you mumble, watching with wide eyes. The fact that he can even lift it off the floor with one hand is a feat in your book, and you rush to gather your thoughts.

"…Especially not for a long time, and that is a very heavy weight to attempt it with. No matter how strong, a human man's arm will start to tremble pretty soon, like way before a minute—I think—and he'll have to drop it."

"A minute?" Jeongguk asks in mild disbelief, something you find almost unreasonably attractive.

"Yeah. For a lot lighter weights. Something like a few-kilo dumbbell. Or at least I think so; humans aren't my area of expertise. But still, believe it or not, we're better at it than say, apes and gorillas, who in general are a lot stronger."

"Why is that?" he asks, unbothered, like he's not currently accomplishing a feat deserving of an Olympic medal.

You're definitely blaming biology because the showcased strength—so much worse when you're up close and can see his body working—undoubtedly has you feeling things. Either his body heat is warming you, or it's that flexed strength and those dark eyes, watching you intently.

"Humans have longer—slower, I guess—muscle fibers that make us good at endurance strength. Apes and gorillas have shorter, faster muscle fibers. They're a lot more explosive, which generally generates more 'pure' strength. But those faster fibers also burn out quicker."

"Hmm. Interesting."

You nod, glancing back at the clock on the wall. 50 seconds. Wow.

"Can I?" you ask, meeting his eyes while reaching for his wrist.

Already watching your face, Jeongguk nods. But just as you take an additional step closer, you think you hear him inhale a breath slightly stronger than before. Not like he suddenly needed more oxygen but more like… as if he was smelling the air again.

Being so close, you don't feel embarrassed. If he has a good enough sense of smell to know that someone—who was in the room more than an hour earlier—was on their period, he should for sure be able to tell that it isn't you.

But if it had been you? For a brief second, you consider what bleeding around him could lead to. Period blood is much more than just pure blood, but still… blood is blood, right? What did he say last time? When you revealed that you were still a bit nervous around him and his urges?

“I feel it. I can always smell a human this close. But… I mean, do you want to eat everything you pass at the grocery store? Or just the fresh store-grilled chicken?”

“Depends?”

“On?”

“If I’m the bruised apple or the fresh store-grilled chicken?” you answer, smiling just a tad nervously.

“Well,” he says, and you don’t miss how he very briefly looks you up and down. “You smell very nice, but you wouldn’t be the grilled chicken unless I was hungry and you were actively bleeding in front of me.”

Surely, he must come across menstruating human women all the time? But what if being alone with one happens to be the one irresistible temptation? What would've happened if Nayeon was still around when he arrived? Or… well… if it had been you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you press your fingers softly to his wrist, feeling for the radial pulse. It's slow, and while you didn't expect it to go ham from exhaustion considering Jeongguk's unaffected face and the remarkable lack of tremors, it amazes you.

With your eyes on the clock, you count the beats of his pulse while putting your other hand gently on his forearm. Doing your best not to affect his performance—not that he needs it—you softly run that other hand up his warm, naked arm.

There's no extra heat generated from what you can tell, but you definitely feel how his muscles are working. All the way from his thick forearm to his honestly huge, rock-hard bicep and then the impressive deltoid in the shoulder; they're all taut and firm under your light touch.

You feel the prominent veins spanning his arm, curious to see if there's an added palpable pressure anywhere, but there's not. Nothing that snitches on his muscles' added oxygen requirements or his blood supply straining to provide it. His skin isn't flushed red with effort, either.

"42 beats per minute," you conclude, lowering your hands and taking a small step back.

"What does that tell you?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.

"That you're insane?" you chuckle. "Your resting heart rate last time was 36 beats per minute, so—disregarding fluctuations—your muscles are working. It's just not a lot of added effort, it seems. No extra heat, no tremors, no added pressure to your veins. At least nothing noticeable."

"So you can tell that I'm strong?" He grins.

You nod. "Yeah. And it's been well over a minute, so you can put it down."

"No."

"No? How long are you gonna hold it for?"

"I don't know?"

You laugh, honestly a little speechless. Should you check the ceiling for hidden wires? Or hidden cameras?

"Okay? Do you wanna hold it while I write some notes down then?"

Jeongguk nods, and you go to retrieve your notebook and pen, but right at that moment, there's the sound of plastic ripping and then kibble meeting the floor.

"Shit," you exclaim, seeing Jeongguk already lowering the bag to prevent more of its contents from spilling out.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," you say, kneeling to assess the damage to the bag. The hole is around ten centimeters long and toward the bottom on one side.

Fortunately, only a kilo or so has made it out onto the floor, and so you stand up, locating the trashcan and its spare bags, one of which you then kneel down to scoop the spillage into. Jeongguk tries to help, collecting and dropping a handful of kibble into the bag.

"Can you see if there's duct tape somewhere in there?" You gesture toward the white-painted cupboards that line the wall to your left.

He nods, rising to his feet, and you hear cupboard after cupboard open. Then, he's crouching in front of you again, a roll of gray duct tape offered from his large hand.

"You're really gonna throw that away? Surely it's not bad just because it was on the floor for a minute; dogs eat literal shit outside all the time, right?"

You laugh quietly. "Yeah, while our floors are kept as clean as possible, unfortunately, it's a liability. Things like these happen sometimes, but Namjoon usually brings it home with him; his sister has like… I think it's five dogs at this point. So it's not wasted."

"Okay, that's good. I was feeling guilty."

You look up at him, endeared by his admittance. The feelings your poor heart is made to feel around him are giving you a metaphorical whiplash. "Wouldn't have been your fault either way."

You tape up the tear best you can, cursing quietly when you realize that, to make it truly secure, you should wrap the tape also around the bag. It's going to be difficult since the bag is still mostly full and thus super heavy to move even without a large hole.

However…

You glance at Jeongguk, your… friend, who conveniently (or not: it was the very feat the bag was used to test) comes equipped with super strength.

"Could you… lift this for me?"

He nods, and the only hesitance he shows as he picks the bag up horizontally instead of vertically is whether the tape is sticking. It is, and Jeongguk holds the bag away from his body, giving you enough space to wrap the tape around it, your hands grazing his chest now and again as you work.

When you deem it secure enough, you lean in, biting the tape from the roll with your teeth. And then you stand, pointing to a table further into the room. "Would you mind placing it there?"

Without a word, he obeys, and you don't miss how he handles the bag with care. When it's delivered to its designated spot, he turns back to you, appearing almost like he's waiting for more assignments.

"Thank you. Clearly, you're very strong," you smile, your ears heating just a tiny bit. "Makes me wonder what your muscle fibers look like. You evidently do great at endurance type strength, but how good are you at explosiveness?"

You don't miss how his eyes light up. "Want to see?" he asks, scanning the room again.

"Definitely," you answer, trying to think of ways to test it. "You know what, why don't we start with your reflexes?"

"Sure, what do you have in mind?"

Spotting a pair of heavy bandage scissors lying on a counter, you grab them. With your other hand, you gesture toward the exam table. "Sit? Relax your legs; just let them hang," you instruct, turning the scissors around so that you're holding them by the blades.

Jeongguk takes a seat, watching as you step into his space and gently prod the space just below his kneecap until you find the right spot. As soon as you tap the heavy metal handle to his patellar tendon, his leg kicks out. Almost as if he kicked it out before you even made contact.

"That tickles."

You smile, trying to stay focused. "Close your eyes?"

Looking up at his face to make sure he obeys, you feel your heart stutter the way it so often does when you watch him.

God, he's handsome, even more so up close. You want to say that his nose—so masculine yet almost elegant—is your favorite of his facial features, but that would mean pitting it against his dark eyes or… his cheekbones—currently kissed by his black, rather straight lashes—or even his brow bone and eyebrows. And that's without even mentioning his pink lips or the sculpted area around them, including that dimple that only pops out with specific expressions.

To not raise suspicion, you force yourself to focus. Your gaze—lingering on that glabella of his, partly hidden by his black hair—drops to your hands, and you repeat the motion you did only a few seconds ago.

The effect is undoubtedly the same, and he's just as quick to kick his leg out, but he's definitely also intentionally lessening the impact of it. Maybe he's worried about kicking you?

"You have good reflexes. Very quick, even when you try to resist," you conclude, taking a step back. Being close to him is very… intense, after all. "You can look."

It's like you can feel the moment he opens his eyes, his gaze heavy and warm on your face. When you peer up at him again, he smiles. "And now?"

You dig out a paperclip from your breast pocket, stepping closer once more and holding the small item in the air between you, roughly at eye-height.

"I drop this. You try to catch it."

At the challenge, you notice how he gains a certain kind of focus you haven't really seen before. He's quick to place his fingers just below your hand, intently watching the paperclip pinched between your fingers.

"This is allowed?" he asks, referring to the small space between your hands. Is his voice suddenly… deeper?

"Yes."

As you wait for the golden moment, trying to catch him off guard, it doesn't even look like he's breathing. He's entirely still, eyes frozen on the paperclip. You don't even think he blinks.

When you drop it, he simply pinches his fingers together, catching the bottom of the clip between them, meaning… he was faster than required.

Seeing that he succeeded, he breaks out into a wide grin, holding the paperclip victoriously.

"Again?" he asks, practically beaming.

Nodding with a smile of your own—he's honestly adorable—you take the paperclip from him, returning to your previous position. This time, you wait longer.

Hyper focused, Jeongguk only opens his mouth when something like a whole minute has passed.

"Are you gonna—"

Mid-sentence, you drop it.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," he chuckles, holding the paperclip up for you to see.

"Fine." You take it from him once more.

This time, you opt for another tactic.

After you've held it above his awaiting fingers for twenty or so seconds, you pinch your own fingers together, trying to see if you can trigger him to close his without you actually dropping the paperclip.

And you can because he does. You hurry, actually releasing the paperclip the moment you see him put his fingers together, hoping he won't be quick enough to reset and try again before it falls to the floor. But he's fast—a human would've already failed—and you laugh, seeing him fumble the paperclip. It bounces off his fingers as he tries to catch it.

"Got it," he declares a second later, finally having gotten a good grip on it.

"Barely," you comment, knowing full well you would not have achieved anything close to that.

You sit down on your chair, notebook in your lap.

"What are you writing?" he asks, approaching where you sit. "I still caught it, if you write that I didn't, you're lying."

You can't stop giggling as he tries to peek at the words you write down, still maintaining a respectable distance. More than you've given him, but you guess he's more worried about intimidating you than the other way around.

"Don't worry, I'm noting that you have above average reflexes."

"A—above average?" he repeats, blinking in playful offense. "Not 'incredible?'"

"Fine, 'possibly supernatural?'"

"'Possibly?'"

"Yeah, three times is not nearly enough to draw an indisputable conclusion. Besides, you almost didn't catch it that last time."

"I'm offended."

Smiling widely, you keep writing. "No, but honestly? Your reflexes are very impressive, especially your focus. But there's a surprising amount of… humanity? to you. And by that I mean that while you're very clearly superhuman, you're not a machine."

"Hmm," he says. "I guess I can accept that."

"Good," you agree, putting the pen and paper down on the table next to you. "It's not meant to be negative."

"Do you want to see what else I can do?"

"Sure?"

It's so effortless, the way he leans down, putting his hands flat to the floor while simultaneously kicking his legs into the air. He tucks one of his arms uselessly behind his back and then lowers himself.

Despite not being a gym girl, you're wholeheartedly impressed. Surprisingly often, your social media algorithms put gym content on your feeds, and so you watch women and (mostly) men perform absolutely insane stunts.

But you've never seen anyone do one arm handstand pushups.

At least not unassisted and this… effortlessly. The muscles of his arm are bulging, and while he doesn't look too strained, it's definitely a bit of a challenge, even for him. His entire body works, not only to carry all of his weight but to keep his form and balance. Because you're clearly not suffering enough, gravity causes his black t-shirt to slide down, exposing the lower half of his abdomen.

"Oh, wow," you mumble, eyes wide, before you even realize. To be fair, it's mostly a reaction to his performance and not his defined obliques and abs. You're more nerd than you're thirsty.

You hear him chuckle as he repeats the motion, doing at least five more pushups before he straightens up again, only a very, very slight flush to his face. Now, there's also an attractive fluff to his black hair.

"Can all vampires do that?"

He shakes his head. "No. Almost all vampires could do it if they only practiced a little, though. It's not only about strength but balance and body control as well."

"That's so cool. I noticed you used your right hand, is that your dominant hand and arm? Can you do them using your left?"

Happy to take on yet another challenge, he gets down again, repeating the motion using his left arm. You don't notice any kind of struggle, and he's practically beaming when he straightens up, even more so when he sees how truly amazed you are.

"Do you have a dominant arm and hand? Or are you ambidextrous?"

"Uh… " he looks at his hands. "I use mostly my right hand, but my left isn't necessarily worse? Maybe it's mostly out of habit?"

"Hmm. Interesting. Close your eyes for me?"

Without a word, he shuts his eyes. His willingness to follow instructions makes your skin heat and your heart skip yet another beat, and you're certainly not wasting the opportunity to admire his face again.

"Put your arms out to the sides. Good. Now, without opening your eyes, touch your nose. One hand at a time."

You watch, seeing him find the tip of his nose quickly and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"Good."

He opens his eyes, looking down at you with amusement brimming in his black eyes. He's clearly in a good mood today. "Are you impressed?"

You laugh. "That last one isn't all that hard if you're sober and have at least normal coordination. Watch."

To demonstrate, you close your eyes and reach your arms out. Then, you touch your nose, one index finger at a time. "I can do it too."

As you open your eyes—just about to say something about hand-eye coordination—you hear something down the hall.

Rushed footsteps. A frantic call of your name.

You turn, focus shifting to the doorway and whatever situation will appear in a few seconds. "…Momo?!"

"Where are you?! Luci can't breathe; please help!"

"Main!" you call, hands already searching for the stethoscope when you suddenly remember the conundrum you've put yourself in. You have a vampire in the clinic.

"Jeongg—"

But as you turn back to where he was just a moment ago, he's gone. Your confused eyes search the room; there's nowhere for a being his size to hide.

Only an hour and a half later—as you lean back in the rolling chair with a deep exhale—do you remember your vampire. Exhausted and emotional, Momo sits on the exam room floor with her beloved cat in front of her on a blanket, holding an oxygen mask to his face. You pull out your phone.

You: Where did you go? And HOW?

You put the phone back in your pocket. "Yoongi should be here soon. Do you want me to stay as well?"

Momo looks at you, tired yet relieved that you managed to get Luci stable. "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

In your pocket, you feel your phone buzz against your leg. Momo has returned her attention to Luci, gently petting his white fur. The phone vibrates once more as you pull it out.

Despite the heaviness in the room, the words on the screen bring a small smile your way.

Jeon Jeongguk: I ran out the room, you just didn't see me because I'm so fat

Jeon Jeongguk: *fast

The bubble pops up, indicating another incoming message.

Jeon Jeongguk: 🧛🏻

While the vampire emoji is a fun touch, you're mostly stuck on the implication that he also possesses super speed. Like, The Flash kind of speed.

You: Are you saying you're so fast you're invisible?? Can't be true??

Your logic-wired brain tries to find a scientific explanation as to how he could possibly move faster than you'd be able to see. You watched the doorway, the only doorway. He'd have to be able to move quicker than light? You might have accepted that he's a bloodsucking, fang-having vampire, but faster than light?

Jeon Jeongguk: Okay, you got me. I left through the window. I couldn't lock it from the outside though so remember to do that. I hope the cat is okay.

You roll your eyes. Still, your chest is just a little warmer, even if the warm-blooded vampire isn't physically close anymore, and a small part of you wonders whether that's a good thing. A larger part ignores it.

Also… possessing the speed and agility to leave through the window without you noticing still requires him to be something definitely superhuman.

"Okay. Well, besides the flu outbreak, it's great that your work is… great."

You take a bite of your Caesar salad; your favorite out of the town's five restaurants and their versions.

"Mhm," you agree. "I like my work."

"Yes, and that's lovely. Have you met a man yet?"

You cough. While it's not a surprising question from your mother; she always manages to catch you off guard. Hand reaching for the glass of water, you take a generous gulp.

"I'm not really dating right now."

"I know, but if it happens, it happens, right? I'm sure there are many animal owners coming through? Aren't there any nice men?"

You look at her with slightly tired eyes. And then you actually look at her. Golden heart pendant hanging from her neck and hair dyed dark even though it's been graying since her thirties, she looks like she always does. And you bet you look like you always do. And you talk like always. Not about the same things necessarily, but about the same things.

You don't like discussing your love life with her, finding her optimism often a little too much, and as she's looking off into the distance, at a new patron entering the restaurant, you can tell she doesn't expect you to actually share anything because you never do. But is it her fault that she married her high school sweetheart and it worked out?

"Actually," you say, pressing your fork into a square piece of grilled chicken. "There's this… man. He found a stray cat who had kittens."

Your mother's eyes widen, and your heart fills with a certain sense of relief but also guilt.

"I've helped him take care of them."

Does it matter if it's unreasonable and entirely out of the realm of possibilities? Your mom wanted to know if you're interested in anyone, and you definitely are.

"Oh? Is he nice? What's his name?"

"He's really nice. His name is Jeongguk, but you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Of course, your mother isn't going to spill your secret; at least not in any way that counts. She doesn't live in town anymore and is merely visiting her only child. What would it matter if she told her neighbor Patricia? It's not like Jeongguk would find out and tease you for it.

"And you like him?"

You nod, gaze falling casually to your plate. "I do, but it's kinda… complicated, so even if he likes me—which I'm not sure he does; he might just be a friendly guy—it's not… it wouldn't work out."

From the corner of your eye, you see how your mother tilts her head. "Why not? Your brain is so complex that sometimes you make things unnecessarily hard. Does it have to be so complicated?"

You roll your eyes subtly as you move some croutons around with the fork. Maybe you shouldn't have told her. "He's not staying in town."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you are not movable?"

You sigh. You know she's not suggesting you ask a guy who you just said might not even like you if you could please follow him across the world or wherever he's moving. She's… inquiring gently whether you'd compromise for love.

"Mom. What I have here… I have a great job that I love. I don't go too bed dreading Mondays. I have such good friends that I love, and I have an apartment that I feel at home in. It would be foolish to give that up for a guy. Maybe if it's someone I've dated for years and years or already married."

"I'm just saying. I know you love your job, but this is a very small town, and I don't want you to miss out on something. There are veterinary clinics in all cities."

"I know. I'm staying here though, at least for the time being."

Seeing that she's not entirely satisfied, still worried about you, you offer her a soft smile and something resembling an olive branch. "The perfect man might come find me first, though, right?"

The texts exchanged after Luci's emergency—that he luckily recovered from—remain the latest communication between you and Jeongguk, and you don't think much of it, even two days later. Of course, your thoughts still drift to him every other undisturbed moment; any other claim would be a lie. And while you're mostly busy cooking up purely scientific theories that fit both known biology and his peculiar anatomy, you have a hard time tuning out the butterflies that always accompany.

The flying critters are even present as you steer your car into the grocery store's parking lot, the conversation between you and your mother still occupying your thoughts.

You raise an eyebrow. There are surprisingly many cars already parked outside the store considering it's almost ten p.m. on a Thursday.

No, wait.

You reach for your phone, thrown onto the passenger seat. Shit, it's Friday; that's why it's packed. You guess not working a typical nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday sometimes messes with your perception of time (and days).

There aren't that many spots out of the parking lot open to choose from, and so you don't think much of the one you glide into. Not until you realize that the car in front of you, parked with its nose toward you, is too far ahead, and you'll have to leave the butt of yours sticking out just a tad more than you'd like. Whatever, you'll be in and out.

Should you have moved to another spot? You definitely would have, if you knew that the car belonged to your former classmates, but you don't learn that until you're stepping out of yours. Coincidentally, it's also then that you realize just how much of a lousy parker whoever parked their car is because not only is the vehicle too far into the spot, its back left wheel is entirely inside an adjoining one.

Either way, it's too late to move.

"Oh, hey!"

You curse to yourself. They're approaching the back of their car, fittingly standing between you and the store. Whatever, you'll just be polite.

"Hi," you answer, briefly taking in the sight of the three men loaded with supplies.

"How's it going?" Mingyu asks, looking surprisingly genuine.

"It's fine. You're having a party?" you nod toward the stacked pastry boxes in DK's hands that you recognize as the store-baked ones. There must be six of them, almost more than he can carry.

The biggest party clue, however, is probably the alcohol; all men carry multiple plastic bags that sound suspiciously much like glass bottles clinking against each other.

Joshua even carries an additional case of beer, grinning smugly at you. "Just a small one to celebrate the anniversary and DK's published paper."

Considering the amount of supplies, it's not that small. It's probably just you they haven't invited.

"What about you? Gotten anything published? Any… exciting discoveries? Like a… werewolf or something?"

The snickers that follow has you feeling like you're in elementary school. Not even your own—because even the nine year old kids there were nicer than this—but the stereotypical elementary school in movies.

But what can you do? Telling them about Jeongguk, even if you had his permission, which you don't, is out of the question. It wouldn't help; If anything, it would make it worse. So all you do is roll your eyes, wishing they'd either get inside their car so you could squeeze past, or just shut up so you're socially allowed to round the cars next to you and leave that way.

But even before their teasing laughter dies down, you hear a sound. It's very distinct; something heavy being dragged against asphalt.

"Having a hard time parking within the lines?"

It's Jeongguk's voice, and as your eyes find him behind the guys, at the back of their car, you also see that he's the source of the sound.

Or rather, their car is, as he's picked up the back of it with one hand to adjust within the parking space, the locked front tires dragging against the ground as he pulls it back and slightly to the right.

Your classmates turn to look too, but just as they've quieted down to take in the scene in front of them, it's over; the car casually dropped to bounce on its tires.

You're about just as stunned, but before anyone can say anything—and like he didn't just do… that—Jeongguk calls your name.

"You're going inside?"

You nod, squeezing past the speechless men, their gazes warm on your face and then your back as you reach Jeongguk's side.

The mere thirty or so meters to the store's entrance, you spend most of in silence. Only when the guys are truly out of earshot do you voice your thoughts.

"Thank you," you begin by saying, a small, surprised smile playing on your lips. Do you think your lovely friends would've hurt you? No, but seeing them anywhere is the opposite of a fun situation. "Are you… supposed to do that, though?"

"Not really. But who are they supposed to tell?" he answers with a smile of his own, his voice low as you enter the store. "They've made damn sure no one's believing anything of the kind, right?"

"That's true," you agree. It then hits you just what actually happened, and you let out a snicker. "I can't even imagine what they're thinking right now."

You glance at the wall that separates you from the parking lot. Are they still standing there or have they gotten into the car? Are they quiet? Pretending like nothing happened? Or are they desperately trying to explain among themselves what the hell they just saw? They're scientists just like you; they know what Jeongguk did isn't humanly possible. It surprised you too—you had no idea he was that strong—but you at least knew something superhuman existed in town.

Jeongguk chuckles too. "I'd imagine they at least think twice before harassing you again."

"I wouldn't call it harassing…" you argue quietly, following him mindlessly inside the store. "So many people go through worse things."

"I would. Three grown men taunting a lone woman in a parking lot? You don't do that."

You don't say anything to that because, yeah, he's right. At the least, they're assholes.

Despite cat food being like… the main thing Jeongguk would need from a grocery store, you're almost surprised when that's where he leads you. You're entirely in your thoughts, your eyes taking him in, top to bottom, as he stops at a specific shelf, grabbing container after container of wet food.

He's wearing that leather jacket again, paired with blue jeans on the looser side, and when he reaches for the last container, somehow stuck at the back of the shelf, his jacket and shirt ride up.

Although you've never considered vampires' underwear habits, it's still a bit of surprise to see the Calvin Klein letters on the gray waistband that peeks out.

He's just a man. The most attractive man you've ever seen, who undeniably draws you in like you've never felt before. But… he's not actually a man, at least a human man. Your eyes glide over his arms, carrying what must be ten containers of wet food for cats.

"I wish they'd make these containers bigger, so I don't have to buy them so often," he mumbles, balancing them in his arms. "Or at least so many."

"Would you… let me run some more tests on you?" you ask quietly. "Cause… I mean I knew you were strong, but… lifting a car?" Your voice turns to a whisper. "With one hand? I didn't know you were that strong?"

He looks at you, a slight smile on his face. "What kind of tests? It's hard to demonstrate unless you have something heavy. Car-heavy."

"Oh, no, I meant tests as in ultrasounds and maybe… taking your blood? If you're okay with that?"

He licks his lips, considering. "Are you going to show anyone?"

You shake your head earnestly.

"Okay. At the clinic then, I assume?"

"Yeah. You don't happen to be free tomorrow night?"

"Sure. Ten p.m.?"

You nod, already excited.

Jeongguk smiles at you again, dark eyes so warm against your face. "This is all I'm gonna get, but I'll wait in my car if they haven't left yet."

The heat spreads to your chest. "Thank you."

"No worries, I'll see you tomorrow."

You watch his back until he's out of view, and then you're just a woman in a grocery store, no cart and no memory of what you were even supposed to be buying. Just in case they haven't left, and Jeongguk is just waiting in his car for you to finish, you grab a seemingly abandoned cart, hoping it wasn't occupied, and try to remember what it was that you needed.

Ten minutes later, you're finished, carrying some groceries and the laundry detergent you were out of out into the parking lot. The spot in front of your car is empty, and as you look around, you don't see the black SUV you assume Jeongguk drove there either.

<previous | next>

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❀ EXPLORER by @1kook

(S, F, 17.8k words) Alien JK, Strangers to friends to lovers 

Summary: Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

♥︎ Cherry Flavored by @jungkookstatts

(S, ~5k words) Boyfriend and biker JK 

Summary: Your biker boyfriend takes you on a joyride.

❀ behind your touch by @caramelkoo

(S, ~3k words) husband JK, Wife Reader 

Summary: The introverted couple decides it's time to experiment and explore their intimacy.

❀ think i need someone older by @redcherrykook

(S, F ~2k words) older Boyfriend JK, inexperienced reader

Summary: You decide it’s time to lose your virginity with your older boyfriend. 

❀ No Pressure by @voitier

(S, 2k words) Boyfriend JK, inexperienced reader 

Summary: your angel of a boyfriend always respected your wishes and boundaries. but what happens when you feel your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground?

❀ Hold on to me by @kooklovee

(S, A, 11k words) Ceo Husband JK, Wife Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt- about your love, your marriage & whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered

❀ Handle with Care by @dreamersparacosm

(S, ~3k words) Blue-collar electrician JK, neighbor reader, 

Summary: in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

♥︎ roommates to lovers by @ohhowjooniewept

(S,A,F, ~13k words) roommates JK to lovers

Summary: in which your roommate is awfully yearning for you. Note: this was my first read from this author and oh my gosh they are such amazing writers. I've never enjoyed anyone's reading as much as I did with this author. PLEASE check them out.

♥︎ Ex’s to lovers by @ohhowjooniewept

(S,A,F, ~12k words) ex’s to lovers

Summary: in which your stupid hot tattoo artist ex tries to win you back

♥︎ Sacred Desires by @ggukiebar

(S, 20.6k words) priest JK, sinful reader

Summary: desperate to see if a man devoted to god will unravel, you test his faith with your sweet, deceptive innocence—seducing fr. jeon until his devotion no longer belongs to god…but to you. Note: this is one of my latest read and when I tell you the way I was fucking gagged after this read… yeah go read it. 

SERIES 

 ♥︎ Entangled by @caelesjjk

(S, 3 Chapters, on haitus) spidey JK, venom taehyung, love triangle

Summary: in which your boyfriend is Spiderman and has been a bit too busy saving the world from the latest catastrophe caused by Venom. 

 ♥︎ Open Arms by @doomgurlficss

(F, 13 chapters) Single Dad JK, Gentle Caretaker reader, Slow burn

Summary: After a devastating loss, Jungkook is left to raise his newborn daughter alone—and barely holding it together. Desperate for help, he hires a live-in caretaker: you. Your job is to care for the baby, but it doesn’t take long to see Jungkook needs just as much healing. And sometimes, love finds its way in through the cracks. Note: ugh fluff, fluff FLUFF, tension, tension TENSION! Slow BURNN!

❀ Bound by Vows by @gukcnt

(A,F,S, 14 chapters, Ongoing) Rich Ceo JK, Shy reader, arranged marriage, slow burn, strangers to lovers

Summary: your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love

DRABBLES: Short on time? Read my favs on the go! (1k or less) 

❀ 19:14pm by @yehetbitchtrash (S)

❀ Inexperienced by @1kook (S)

❀ Overstimulated by @1kook (S)

❀ Did somone say DILF JK? by @lavishedinjimin (S)

❀ Cum Play by @your-daily-biaswrecking (S)

♥ smut warnings- oral (m) receiving, sub- Dom implied, kissing, grinding, straddling, blowjobs, hand job, needy Jungkook, nipple sucking, hair pulling, edging, teasing, cursing, I think that's all.

You always knew Jungkook was a very attractive man, since before you two went to college and decided to get an apartment together. But right now, seeing him getting ready for his date with his hair down, loose but fitted black shirt, and black jeans is killing you. You've tried not to lust over your own best friend, but you're just a girl. You may or may not have had days wondering how it would be to have Jungkook as yours. It's a risk you're not against taking. I mean, he's attractive, funny, sweet, and he’s really the only man you actually trust.

Getting out of your lustful thoughts, you open the fridge and decide to cook something to eat.

"Hey, which shirt looks better?” you hear Jungkook ask you as you're looking in the fridge.

Turning, you see him wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his body perfectly.

“Fuck,” you say under your breath, trying not to stare too hard. clearing your throat, “Uh, uhm, either one looks great." You announce turning away from the delicious sight.

"Y/N… help me. " I want to actually look good for once,” he says, slightly annoyed by your answer.

Hearing him, you turn around and push your lust to the side. "Jungkook, you always look good no matter what you're doing. But if you want my advice, I'd say, both enunciate your features well, but it's hot outside, and I think you'll burn to death in the turtleneck.” Hearing what you said, Jungkook nods, disregarding your compliment, and puts on the loose shirt again.

Huffing to himself, he walks over to you, who has now finished cooking your dinner and is eating at the kitchen island.

"You promise I look good?” he asks you seriously this time, anxiety eating away at him.

  "You look beautiful,” you say sincerely, meeting his gaze.  Jungkook goes pink. "Jesus, now I'm shy,” he says, laughing and trying to hide himself. You laugh at his cuteness and presume eating.

Hours have passed since Jungkook asked you for advice. He’s since left the apartment to go on his date. Trying to convince yourself that you're not bothered. You decide to leave the apartment and head to the library to do some studying. Getting lost in your homework; you don't even realize that 3 hours have passed since you last left. Checking the time and seeing it's 12 Am, you decide it's time for you to head back to the apartment.

 Opening the door to your shared apartment, you're greeted with pitch-black and no sign of life. Being slightly confused, you take off your jacket and shoes at the door and head towards Jungkook's room. You were about to put your fist to the wood until you heard something that sounded like sniffing. Being even more confused, you knock on his door softly.

“Kookie, are you in there? Can I come in?” you ask. On the other side of the door, you hear a muffled “mmhm,” taking that as a yes and pushing his bedroom door open.

When you do, you're presented with Jungkook sitting on his bed with his head down, hair messed up, and a tear-stained face.  Walking over to sit down beside him. You question,

“What's bothering you, Kookie?”, looking at him while he looks down at himself.

“I just—I fuck up everything, Y/N…” he breathes. “I don't know what happened; she and I planned this out 2 weeks ago,” he sniffles. “We were going to go to her favorite restaurant since she is a very picky eater, and I wanted her to enjoy her food. I texted her this morning and 2 days ago, making sure the plan was still on. She was so positive and had nothing indicating that she'd ghost me.

He expresses, frustratedly, “I don't fucking understand why every time I find somebody I'm interested in; they play with me… I know I'm not the best-looking guy out there, but I am not an asshole…” He sighs, trying not to tear up.

"Am I ugly?” he says more to himself before laughing in disbelief. “Must be ugly, you can't even get a girlfriend, Jungkook. Of course you're ug-”

“Jungkook, shut the fuck up,” you raise your voice, interrupting his spiral.

“Look, I know how hard it's been for you to get into a relationship,"

remembering all the times Jungkook has been in this exact position with different women who did him dirty.

“But you are not ugly, Jungkook. If anything, those women who can't see how awesome you are. They are the ugly ones. You're smart, handsome, sweet, and funny; you're the full package, Jungkook. You're nothing less than that.’

You say to him, expecting him to look at you, but when he doesn't move an inch, you decide to cradle his face in your palm, forcing him to meet your eyes.

When he does his big doe orbs, you love so much are filled with hurt and confusion, making you weak. "You. Are. Not. The. Issue,” you say to him, leering into his eyes, making sure he sees that you're serious. Jungkook meets yours. Gazing at you like his life depends on it.

‘Do you really mean that?" Jungkook exclaims. His voice dropped a little deeper.

“Of course, Koo—“

Before you can finish what, you were saying, Jungkook cuts you off with a slow kiss. Being surprised you don't reciprocate immediately, but once you realize what is happening, you kiss him back. The kiss continues to be innocent until Jungkook's tongue slips out, trying to deepen it. Starting to get more heated when you open your mouth, allowing him entrance. Running your hands through his hair as you straddle him. Hips planted right onto his thighs.

Not breaking the kiss, Jungkook lets his hand wander and caress your waist, waiting for your approval to do more. Breaking it so he can breathe, Jungkook looks at you with so much fire in his eyes, you feel it burning inside you.

" Can I touch you?” he needily asks, biting his lip after. Nodding, you go to kiss him again. 

He hums into the kiss and runs his hand under your shirt fondling with your bra.

“Let me take this off,” he says against your lips, playing with your bra clasp.

"Do whatever you want Koo” you respond out of breath.

Jungkook grabs your shirt pulling over your head

“You're so fucking hot,” he says. Before diving into your neck, placing hot kisses.

He smiles against your skin and travels down your chest to your boobs, sucking them through your bra.  Whining feeling yourself gets wetter and wetter with each passing minute.

‘Kookie…stop teasing, please," you moan desperately. 

He gladly listens and takes his arm around you to unclasp your bra. Once he does, he doesn't hesitate to put his mouth against your right nipple, sucking and lulling around it like it's a lollipop. Dropping your head on his shoulder, you start grinding down on his obvious bulge. Jungkook's breath catches at the feeling moaning against your skin.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs. Pulling away from his neck, you regard him.

“As much as I want that,” you say, slowly climbing off him to slide in between his legs. 

“I think you need some reassurance, Koo”. 

“Fuck” Jungkook whispers under his breath watching as you Pull his pants and boxers down, his dick flings out standing hard and long precum leaking from it.

He sighs in relief, looking at you as you wrap your hand around his dick, giving it a long lick from the base to the tip. His head immediately rolls back, and his hand goes to your head, just sitting there, not pushing. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck hard, swirling your tongue around it before slipping your tongue through his slit. He moans out at the feeling.

‘Y/nnnnnnn,” he drags out.

You answer around him, humming and pushing him deeper inside your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. Gagging around him, you pull away for a split second and do it repeatedly, pushing him deeper each time.

‘’Ahh,’ he moans out, head looking towards the ceiling, trying so hard not to push your head further.

Once you Pull off his dick and go for his balls, sucking and licking them. He couldn't stop himself from moaning uncontrollably at the feeling.

Stuttering, he says, ‘B-baby, I'm going to cum if you don't stop,’ looking down at you with his needy doe eyes.

You off, jerking him off.

“I'm not stopping until you realize how perfect you are.”

He moans in response as you sink deeper onto him until your nose touches his pelvis. He gets overwhelmed with how good you feel and accidentally rocks into your mouth, making you gag and pull off.

‘Shit, I'm sorry, pretty,’ Jungkook says, looking down at you, coddling your face with his hand.

‘It's okay, handsome,’

he shyly smiles at your compliment before you go back down on him. Picking up your pace, making him hit your throat. He outright moans at the feeling, chanting,

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Feeling more and more precum seep out into your mouth, you can tell he's getting closer to his release. Still not being pleased with him, you hop off the second you hear his moans increase in pitch, indicating he's about to come. He whines submissively.

‘Why'd you stop?’ breathlessly and hungry for a release.

"Say you're handsome,’ you tell him, jerking him off and looking up at him with dominance.

He groans at your words, feeling his dick get sensitive to touch because of the edging.

“Do I have to???” he cries out. 

Shrugging, you pull your hand away altogether: “Not unless you want to come,” you tell him. 

‘Fuuuck, fine…… ‘I'm handsome,’ Jungkook says not convincingly.

You start rubbing him again, but not how you know he wants you to. He groans in annoyance. ‘I’m handsome,’ he says again with a little bit more trust, but not enough.

"Not convincing me, kookie,” you apprise.

‘I'm handsome, I'm handsome, I'm handsome,’ he chants,

making you smile as you push him into your mouth for the last time, sucking him hard until he falls back onto the bed, eyes roll back, back arched as he comes in your mouth. He comes so much and so hard that his veins in his arms pop out. You continue to suck him off through his orgasm until he physically begs you to stop because he's too overstimulated.

  Popping off him and licking your lips, you sit back with your hands behind you, looking at him. Jungkook is breathing heavily, eyes blown out, looking at you sitting there so innocent and pretty, like you didn't just make him see God himself. He huffs in disbelief.

“You're an evil lady," he jokes.

Laughing alongside you. He leans forward, pulling you onto his bed, making you rest with him. He grabs his blankets and pulls them over both of you. Holding you tight with your face buried into his chest. 

Breath evening out, date long forgotten. You and your best friend end up falling asleep in each other's arms. Legs tangled together, snoring like no other.

❣The End