^*^

You wake slowly, like you’re being pulled up from deep water by a rope that keeps slipping through your fingers. Your head feels heavy, stuffed with cotton and heat, and every time you try to focus your eyes on the ceiling above you, the world tilts faintly as if the room itself is breathing.

The blanket tangled around your legs feels too warm, yet the air against your skin sends chills racing down your arms, and it takes a moment for you to realize that your entire body aches in that dull, stubborn way that makes even turning your head feel like an effort.

You vaguely remember falling asleep in the middle of an unfinished email, the glow of your laptop fading somewhere beside you while Jungkook told you for the fifth time that you needed to rest.

You remember brushing him off because there were deadlines and meetings and responsibilities that didn’t care if you were tired. But now your throat burns when you swallow, your limbs feel like they belong to someone else, and the quiet apartment around you feels too still for the frantic pace your life has been moving at for months.

Somewhere in the kitchen, a cupboard door shuts softly. The sound floats through the apartment in that careful way that tells you someone is trying not to wake you, and you already know who it is before you hear the kettle click on.

Jungkook has always been like that when he’s worried - gentle, deliberate, moving through the space like every noise might disturb something fragile.

Even half asleep and feverish, you recognize the rhythm of his presence. The way he hums under his breath when he’s thinking, the way the floor creaks once near the fridge because he always steps on the same board.

You want to call out to him, but your voice feels stuck somewhere behind the ache in your chest, so you settle for pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders and closing your eyes again, hoping that maybe if you rest long enough your body will reset itself and you can pretend none of this happened.

But the bedroom door ends up opening few minutes later anyway.

The hinge gives its usual quiet creak, and warm light spills into the dim room before soft footsteps approach the bed. The mattress dips as Jungkook sits down beside you, and even before his hand touches your forehead, you can feel the warmth of him - solid, steady, and familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his palm presses gently against your skin, and the contrast between the coolness of his fingers and the heat in your body makes you flinch slightly. You force your eyes open, blinking up at him through the haze of the fever, and his face immediately tightens with concern.

“You’re still really hot,” he says quietly.

You try to smile. “I told you it’s just a cold.”

But Jungkook hasn’t slept properly since three in the morning. He noticed something was wrong long before you admitted it. It started with the way you rubbed your temples during dinner last night, then the way your voice sounded rough when you tried to laugh at something he said.

You kept insisting you were fine, brushing him off with tired little smiles that didn’t reach your eyes, and he tried to let it go because he knows how much you hate being fussed over. But when he woke up in the middle of the night and found you sitting in the living room with your laptop, wrapped in a blanket and shivering while sweat dampened the back of your neck, something in his chest tightened in that familiar, helpless way that always happens when you push yourself too far.

Now, sitting beside you on the bed, he studies your face with a quiet intensity that makes his chest ache.

Your cheeks are flushed with fever, your hair sticking messily to your forehead, and the dark circles under your eyes look worse than they did yesterday. You look exhausted in a way that goes deeper than just being sick, like the last few months have been draining something out of you little by little.

He knows why. He knows the pressure you’ve been under at work, the way your boss keeps dangling the possibility of a promotion while piling more responsibility onto your shoulders. He knows about the rent increase the landlord mentioned last week, the savings account that never seems to grow fast enough, the quiet late night conversations the two of you have had about whether you should move somewhere cheaper or somehow make this work.

You’re carrying too much, and Jungkook hates that he can’t take more of it from you.

He brushes your hair away from your forehead again, slower this time. “You’ve been saying that for hours,” he says softly.

Your groan is weak but stubborn. “Because it’s true.”

The truth is, you hate the way he looks at you when you’re sick. Not because it’s annoying or overbearing - Jungkook has never been the type to smother you - but because there’s something painfully gentle in his eyes that makes you feel fragile in a way you’re not used to.

You’ve spent most of your life being the reliable one, the person who keeps moving even when things get difficult, the one who doesn’t stop just because your body wants to. Being forced to lie here while someone else takes care of you feels strange and uncomfortable, like wearing clothes that don’t quite fit.

Yet Jungkook just sighs softly beside you. You feel his hand slide down from your forehead to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still real. The touch is so gentle it almost hurts.

“You should’ve told me earlier,” he murmurs.

You want to roll your eyes, but you know that’d be unreasonable. “I did tell you.”

“No,” he says quietly. “You said you were fine.”

The difference between those two things hangs in the air, and you don’t answer right away. Instead you close your eyes again, leaning slightly into his palm before you can stop yourself, because even through the fever and the exhaustion there’s something incredibly comforting about the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You have work today,” you mumble eventually.

“I called in.”

Your eyes snap open. “You what?”

Jungkook had expected that reaction. Your eyebrows knit together in immediate concern, the fever momentarily forgotten as you push yourself halfway upright in the bed. The movement clearly costs you more energy than you expected because you sway slightly, and Jungkook instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hands settling around your shoulders.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

“You can’t just call in,” you insist hoarsely, even though your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “You already took time off last month when the cafe was short staffed.”

At the moment, Jungkook is sort of in-between jobs. He mainly does freelance graphic design, but he’s not been receiving many requests lately, resulting in him having to get a job at the cafe nearby.

“That’s exactly why I can call in,” Jungkook replies calmly. “Minho owes me like five shifts.”

“But still-”

“y/n.” Your name leaves his mouth in that gentle but firm tone he rarely uses, the one that instantly makes you pause.

He studies your face for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The contact lingers longer than usual, his lips warm against your overheated skin.

“You’re sick,” he says quietly. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

The simple certainty in his voice makes your chest tighten unexpectedly, and you don’t realize how emotional you feel until your eyes start burning.

It’s embarrassing, honestly. You’re a grown woman with a mild fever, not someone who needs to cry about it. But the last few weeks have been relentless - late nights, endless expectations, the creeping fear that you’re somehow falling behind everyone else your age who seems to have their lives figured out.

Some of your friends are buying houses, some are getting married, some are already talking about kids.

Meanwhile you and Jungkook are still arguing about rent, still calculating grocery budgets, still wondering whether the future will ever stop feeling like something slightly out of reach.

So when he presses that gentle kiss to your forehead and tells you he’s staying, something inside you cracks just enough for the tears to spill over. You turn your face into the pillow quickly.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs softly, trying to hide the immediate panic as he tries to figure out if he’s said something wrong.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re crying.”

“I said I’m fine.” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears.

A moment later you feel the bed shift again as Jungkook moves closer, his arms wrapping carefully around you from behind. He pulls you against his chest, one hand resting lightly over your stomach while the other rubs slow circles along your arm.

“You don’t have to be fine all the time,” he whispers, and somehow that only makes everything worse.

___

Jungkook hates seeing you like this.

Not because your vulnerability makes him uncomfortable - if anything, it makes him want to hold you even closer - but because he knows exactly how hard it is for you to let your guard down.

You’ve always been the strong one, the planner, the person who keeps things moving when life gets messy. Even when things were difficult between the two of you last year, when money was tight and stress turned small disagreements into bigger ones, you were the one who kept saying you’d figure it out.

But lately he’s been noticing the cracks, the late nights, the headaches, the way you stare at your laptop sometimes like it’s personally betraying you. So when your shoulders start shaking softly against his chest, Jungkook tightens his arms around you without hesitation. He presses another kiss into your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo and something warm that always reminds him of home.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs.

“I’m just sick.”

“You’re both.”

You really can’t argue this time.

Outside the apartment, footsteps echo faintly in the hallway, followed by the familiar sound of laughter from the unit next door. Jungkook glances toward the wall automatically.

“Sounds like Taehyung and Jina are up,” he says quietly.

Taehyung and Jina are the couple who live in the apartment two doors down from you. The first night you two moved in, they had accidentally got the wrong door and tried to stumble in drunk, causing you and Jungkook to literally shit yourselves as you thought someone was trying to break in and fumble with the lock.

The next morning, however, a way more sobered up Jina and Taehyung came to your door with an apology and two bottles of wine, promising you it would never happen again and making them your best friends forever.

Almost as if on cue, a loud knock suddenly echoes through the apartment door, followed by Taehyung’s unmistakable voice shouting from the hallway: “Jungkook! Tell Jina you took the coffee she bought last week!”

Jungkook closes his eyes, and you let out a weak laugh against his chest. Somehow, despite the fever burning through your body and the endless list of problems waiting outside this small apartment, the moment feels just a little bit lighter.

The knock on the door echoes again, louder this time, followed by the sound of someone leaning dramatically against the hallway wall outside. You can practically picture the scene without moving - Taehyung slouched with exaggerated patience while Jina stands next to him with her arms crossed, pretending she’s not amused by his theatrics.

The two of them have been your neighbors for almost a year now, close enough that your lives have quietly woven together in ways that feel more like family than friendship.

You hear Jungkook sigh softly, the kind of long suffering sigh that says he loves his friends but also knows they have the worst possible timing in the universe. His arms loosen around you as he carefully helps you settle back against the pillows, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders like you’re made of glass.

The small domestic tenderness of the movement makes something warm spread through your chest despite the fever, and when he leans down to press another lingering kiss against your temple, his lips stay there for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s silently checking that you’re still here.

“You stay here,” he murmurs quietly, brushing your hair away from your face again. “I’ll deal with them before Taehyung breaks the door down.”

You try to protest automatically, because the idea of Jungkook playing caretaker while you lie here uselessly still doesn’t sit comfortably with you, but your voice comes out weaker than expected and dissolves into a tired cough halfway through the sentence. Jungkook’s expression shifts immediately, concern flashing across his face so quickly it almost startles you.

“Okay, that’s it,” he says gently but firmly, pulling the blanket higher around you as if that will somehow contain the illness. “You’re not moving from this bed for at least a few hours. I’m making soup, tea, probably forcing you to take medicine you’ll complain about, and if you try to work today I will physically hide your laptop.”

“That’s emotional blackmail,” you mutter.

“It’s survival strategy.”

You roll your eyes weakly, but the truth is you don’t have the energy to argue. Jungkook smiles faintly when he sees your resistance fade, brushing his thumb lightly across your cheek before standing up.

From the hallway, Taehyung knocks again.

“Hello? Jungkook? I know you’re in there. I thought it was rude to keep someone waiting outside?”

Jungkook groans under his breath, then opens the apartment door to find exactly what he expected.

Taehyung is leaning sideways against the wall with the casual elegance of someone who somehow manages to look like a model even while wearing mismatched socks and an oversized hoodie, while Jina stands beside him holding two mugs of coffee and watching him with the patient amusement of someone who has been dating him long enough to know this behavior is permanent.

The moment Jungkook opens the door, Taehyung straightens up with exaggerated excitement.

“Finally!” he exclaims. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

“You’re knocking like a police officer.” Jungkook mutters.

“I knock with passion.”

“No, you knock like you’re trying to arrest someone.”

Jina snorts quietly beside him, lifting one of the mugs in greeting. “Morning,” she says warmly. “We brought coffee because Taehyung drank the last of ours and tried to blame the empty jar on you.”

“I was framed.” Taehyung says immediately.

“You were caught holding the jar.”

“It was circumstantial evidence.”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaustion tugging at his patience. Normally he would laugh and let the moment stretch into one of those easy morning conversations that often end with the four of you sitting around the kitchen table for hours, but today the worry sitting heavy in his chest refuses to loosen.

“y/n’s sick,” he says quietly.

The mood changes instantly. Taehyung’s expression shifts from playful to concerned, and Jina’s eyebrows knit together in immediate worry.“How sick?” she asks.

“Fever.” Jungkook replies. “She’s been pushing herself too hard again.”

Taehyung exhales slowly. “That girl is going to work herself into the hospital one day.”

“Don’t say that.” he mutters.

___

You hear the murmur of voices from the hallway and instinctively strain to listen, though the fever fuzzes the edges of everything and makes the words blur together. Still, you catch enough to know what’s happening: Taehyung’s concerned tone, Jina asking questions, Jungkook explaining in that quiet voice he uses when he’s trying not to worry anyone else and reassure himself.

A small part of you feels guilty knowing they’re all out there discussing you like some fragile situation that needs to be managed. You hate being the center of concern, you hate feeling like the weak link in a life that already feels precarious. But another part of you - the tired, aching part that’s been quietly begging for rest - feels oddly comforted by it.

Your eyes drift toward the bedroom door just as footsteps approach again, and a moment later Jungkook returns with Taehyung and Jina following behind him.

Jina’s expression softens immediately when she sees you curled up in the bed. “Oh honey,” she murmurs, setting the coffee mugs down on your bedside table before sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. “You look miserable.”

“That’s a strong word,” you croak.

“You have the complexion of a tomato.”

“That’s slightly less flattering.”

Taehyung leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he studies you with theatrical seriousness. “I diagnose you with terrible decision making and chronic overworking.”

“You’re not a doctor,” you mumble.

“I have intuition.”

“You once tried to fix a toaster with a butter knife.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow. Even at 26, it’s like talking to an immature frat boy. “That toaster was disrespecting me.”

Jungkook watches the interaction with quiet relief. The room feels lighter already, Jina’s calm presence has always had that effect- she brings warmth with her in a way that settles everyone around her, while Taehyung fills the space with chaotic humor that somehow makes even stressful situations feel manageable.

They’ve been like this ever since the four of you became friends: a strange little support system built out of shared dinners, borrowed sugar, late-night conversations about life that stretch into the early morning hours.

Still, Jungkook can’t quite shake the tension in his chest. He moves to sit beside you again, his hand automatically finding yours beneath the blanket. Your fingers are warm - too warm - and he squeezes them gently while watching Jina press the back of her hand against your forehead.

“Yeah.” she says after a moment. “That’s definitely a fever.”

“See?” Jungkook mutters.

You groan quietly. “Everyone’s acting like I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Taehyung says casually. A pause. “Probably.”

“Taehyung,” Jina warns.

“I’m being supportive!”

Jungkook just sighs, you try to laugh, but the effort makes your head spin. The room tilts slightly, forcing you to close your eyes again as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Immediately, you feel Jungkook’s hand tighten around yours.“Hey.” he murmurs softly.

“I’m okay.” you whisper.

“You’re not okay.”

“Semantics.”

His thumb begins tracing slow circles across the back of your hand, a small repetitive motion that somehow steadies you more than the medicine probably would. When you open your eyes again, Jungkook is watching you with that same quiet intensity that always makes your chest ache. “You need to rest,” he says gently.

“I need to send three emails and finish a report.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can do both.”

“No you can’t.” The stubbornness in his voice makes Taehyung chuckle softly from the doorway.

“Wow,” he says. “Look at you two arguing like a married couple at nine in the morning.”

Jina elbows him. “She’s literally sick.”

“Emotionally sick from capitalism.”

“That’s not helpful, Taehyung.”

You close your eyes again, exhaustion pulling at you like gravity. Jungkook watches you slowly drift toward sleep again, your breathing evening out as the conversation around you fades into the background. The tension in your face softens slightly, and he brushes his thumb gently across your knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of your hand.

He’s scared.

Not in a dramatic way, not in the kind of panic that makes people act irrationally, but in the quiet, persistent way that lingers beneath every thought. The last year hasn’t been easy for either of you. Money problems, unstable jobs, the constant pressure of trying to build a life when it feels like the ground keeps shifting under your feet.

Some nights he lies awake wondering whether he’s doing enough, whether he’s strong enough to carry the weight of the future you both keep trying to imagine. And now you’re sick. Maybe it’s just exhaustion, maybe it’s just stress, but the sight of you curled up in bed like this makes something protective rise in his chest with fierce determination.

He leans down and presses another soft kiss against your hair. “You’re going to be okay.” he whispers quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Across the room, Taehyung and Jina exchange a small glance. Because even they can feel it - the strange, uncertain tension hovering quietly in the background of this ordinary morning. And none of them know yet that this fever is only the beginning.

___

You wake again sometime later, though the concept of time feels strange and slippery, like trying to hold water in your hands. The light in the room has shifted slightly, warmer and brighter than before, which means at least an hour or two must have passed.

Your body still feels heavy and warm, the fever sitting beneath your skin like a low burning fire, but the pounding in your head has softened enough that you can think a little more clearly.

The first thing you notice is the quiet clinking sound coming from the kitchen, followed by the soft murmur of voices drifting down the hallway. Taehyung’s voice rises occasionally in dramatic bursts while Jina shushes him, and somewhere in between you hear Jungkook’s lower tone responding patiently.

The smell of something warm and savory begins to creep into the bedroom - broth, garlic, maybe ginger - and it makes your stomach twist in a strange, uncomfortable way that you can’t quite explain. Hunger and nausea seem to exist at the same time inside you, confusing and unpleasant, and you press the back of your hand against your mouth for a moment while breathing slowly through your nose.

The bedroom door opens a few seconds later, Jungkook steps inside carrying a steaming bowl carefully balanced in both hands, and the moment he notices you’re awake his entire expression softens into something gentle and relieved. He moves toward the bed quietly, setting the bowl on the bedside table before sitting down beside you like he’s approaching a frightened animal. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you mumble back, your voice still thick with sleep and illness.

“How are you feeling?”

You think about the question for a moment, scanning your body for an honest answer. Everything aches faintly, your throat is still a little sore, and the strange nausea twisting through your stomach hasn’t fully settled. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you admit.

Jungkook nods slowly. “That tracks.” He had expected the fever, but what he hadn’t expected was the way his chest tightens every time you move even slightly, as if your discomfort is something he can physically feel inside himself.

While you were sleeping, he made soup in the kitchen with Jina hovering nearby offering practical advice while Taehyung sat at the table dramatically googling symptoms and reading them aloud like a medical thriller narrator.

Jungkook tried to ignore him, but every once in a while one of the symptoms would sound vaguely accurate and he’d feel a flicker of worry ignite again in his chest. He knows it’s probably nothing serious. People get sick, people get fevers, stress alone can knock someone down for a few days. Still, when you sit up slowly in the bed now, Jungkook instinctively slides one arm behind your back to help support you. “Careful,” he murmurs.

“I’m not made of glass,” you say weakly.

“You’re currently made of fever and stubbornness.”

“That’s just my natural state.”

He smiles faintly at that, adjusting the pillow behind you before picking up the bowl again.“Soup,” he announces.

You look at it with suspicion, and the smell of it hits you immediately. At first it’s comforting - the warm scent of broth and vegetables, something simple and familiar - but then your stomach flips sharply in protest, and suddenly the smell feels overwhelming. You swallow hard, pressing your lips together as a wave of nausea rises unexpectedly in your chest.

Jungkook notices instantly, his eyebrows knit together as he watches your expression change. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say quickly.

“You just looked like the soup personally offended you.”

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Your stomach chooses that exact moment to twist again. You close your eyes briefly.

“Okay,” Jungkook says slowly, setting the bowl back down. “That’s not normal.”

“It’s just the fever.”

“You look nauseous.”

“I’m sick, Jungkook. Nausea is part of the job description.”

From the doorway, Taehyung leans in dramatically. “Have we considered alien parasites yet?”

“Taehyung,” Jina says flatly from the hallway.

“I’m brainstorming.”

Jungkook just ignores him completely. His focus is entirely on you, watching every tiny movement in your face like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. He reaches out carefully, brushing his fingers along your jaw before tilting your chin slightly upward so he can study your eyes. “You’re pale,” he murmurs.

“I’m literally burning up.”

“You’re pale and burning up.”

“That sounds impressive.”

“y/n.” Your name comes out softer this time, threaded with quiet worry.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room settles into a strange silence where the only sound is the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall and Taehyung whisper arguing with Jina about something in the kitchen. Then Jungkook sighs. “You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard lately,” he says quietly.

“That’s not new.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

You lean back against the pillows, exhaustion tugging at your body again. “You think I don’t know that?” you whisper.

You hate this conversation. Not because Jungkook is wrong - he isn’t - but because acknowledging it out loud makes everything feel heavier somehow.

The truth is that the last few months have been exhausting in ways that go deeper than physical tiredness. Your job keeps asking for more and more while offering nothing certain in return, your savings account never seems to grow fast enough, and every conversation about the future feels like standing at the edge of a foggy road where you can’t quite see what’s coming next.

Jungkook has his own worries too, you know that. The café where he works barely covers his expenses, and though he never complains openly, you’ve seen the tension in his shoulders when bills arrive or when his manager mentions cutting hours again.

The two of you keep trying to reassure each other that things will get better eventually, but sometimes “eventually” feels very far away.

You glance up at him now, noticing the faint dark circles under his eyes. “You should’ve gone to work,” you say quietly.

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“You can’t keep missing shifts because of me.”

“Stop,” he says immediately, voice calm but firm. “First of all,” he says slowly, “I didn’t miss work because of you. I chose to stay home because my girlfriend is sick and clearly exhausted and probably would’ve tried to work herself into another fever if I wasn’t here.”

“I would not.”

“You absolutely would.”

“That’s speculation.”

“That’s experience.”

Taehyung’s voice floats in from the hallway. “He’s right, y/n, you need to listen.”

“Stay out of this,” you call weakly.

“I’m emotionally invested.”

Jina laughs quietly somewhere behind him, and Jungkook shakes his head but there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth now. Then he looks back at you, and the humor fades into something softer.

“You take care of everyone else all the time,” he says gently. “Let someone take care of you for once.”

His words settle somewhere deep in your chest. Before you can respond, another wave of nausea hits suddenly and unexpectedly, stronger than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth, leaning forward slightly as your stomach twists violently.

Jungkook reacts instantly. “Whoa - hey -” He’s beside you immediately, one arm around your shoulders while the other grabs the trash can from beside the desk and pulls it toward the bed. “Breathe,” he murmurs softly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the rhythm of his voice and the steady warmth of his hand rubbing slow circles along your back. After a few tense seconds the nausea passes, and you sag back against him weakly. “That was…unpleasant.” you mumble.

Jungkook’s hand stills. “y/n.” he says slowly.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t usually get nauseous when you’re sick.”

You blink, for a moment neither of you says anything. Then Taehyung’s voice drifts in again from the hallway. “You know what else causes nausea?”

“Taehyung,” Jina says sharply.

But the word hangs quietly in the air anyway. Pregnancy.

For a few seconds after Taehyung’s comment, the entire apartment seems to fall into a strange kind of silence, the kind where no one wants to acknowledge what was just said but everyone heard it clearly.

You remain sitting on the edge of the bed, Jungkook’s arm still wrapped firmly around your shoulders while his other hand continues rubbing slow, grounding circles along your back. Your stomach has settled slightly, but the lingering nausea leaves a sour taste in your mouth and a foggy uneasiness in your mind.

The word hangs there -pregnancy- uninvited and almost ridiculous considering everything else happening in your life right now.

You and Jungkook barely have the time or stability to manage rent and groceries some months, let alone even imagine a child. The idea feels so far outside the realm of possibility that your brain almost rejects it instantly, pushing it away like an intrusive thought that doesn’t belong here.

Still, the quiet tension in the room makes your chest tighten slightly, and when you glance up at Jungkook you notice that he’s gone unusually still, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor like he’s trying very carefully not to react too quickly.

Taehyung clears his throat from the hallway.“Okay,” he says after a moment, his tone suddenly awkward in a way that’s rare for him. “That sounded a lot less dramatic in my head.”

“You think?” Jina mutters.

“I was trying to be helpful.”

“You are physically incapable of subtlety.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, he hadn’t meant to react. But the moment the word was spoken, his brain immediately began connecting pieces in a way he didn’t want it to. The nausea. The exhaustion you’ve been dealing with for weeks. The strange smell sensitivity when he cooked eggs two mornings ago and you complained the scent was “aggressively offensive.”

At the time he assumed it was stress, or maybe the beginning of the cold you’re dealing with now, but suddenly those memories rearrange themselves in his mind into a pattern he doesn’t fully understand yet, and the thought makes his chest tighten in a strange, unfamiliar way. Still, he refuses to jump to conclusions.

You’re already overwhelmed, the last thing you need right now is unnecessary panic about something that might not even be true. So Jungkook simply shifts slightly closer to you, tightening his arm around your shoulders in a quiet protective gesture before pressing a gentle kiss against your hair.

“Taehyung,” he says calmly, “maybe don’t play medical detective right now.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You googled symptoms whilst eating our cereal.”

“That’s how modern medicine works.”

Jina sighs loudly from the hallway. “Taehyung, come help me in the kitchen before you diagnose someone with space rabies.”

“That’s a real concern.”

Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, you lean your head back against his chest, letting the steady warmth of his body anchor you while your thoughts try to settle. His arm remains wrapped securely around you, his fingers occasionally brushing lightly against your arm or your shoulder in those small unconscious touches that he always does when he’s worried. The intimacy of it feels grounding, even comforting, but the word from earlier keeps echoing faintly in your mind no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

Pregnant.

It feels impossible.

You and Jungkook have talked about the future before - late at night, lying in bed with the lights off while the city hums quietly outside the windows - but those conversations always felt distant and hypothetical. Kids were something that belonged in a version of your life where finances were stable, careers were settled, and neither of you were constantly calculating grocery budgets or worrying about rent increases.

That version of life doesn’t exist yet.

Your stomach flips again slightly, though this time the nausea is milder, more like a lingering uneasiness than a full wave.

Jungkook notices immediately. “You okay?” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah” you whisper.

“You sure?”

“Just…tired.”

He presses another soft kiss against your temple. “I know you are.” Jungkook gently guides you back down onto the bed a few minutes later, adjusting the pillows carefully until you’re lying comfortably against them while he pulls the blanket up to your chest again.

The caretaker instinct in him has fully taken over now, and every movement he makes is careful and attentive, like he’s trying to anticipate your needs before you even voice them. He grabs the bowl of soup again, stirring it lightly before holding it out toward you with patient determination.

“Try a few bites,” he says softly. “If it still makes you nauseous we’ll stop.”

You look at the bowl skeptically. “If I throw up again I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair.” He lifts the spoon toward you, waiting patiently until you reluctantly open your mouth. The soup is warm and mild, the flavor gentle enough that your stomach doesn’t immediately protest this time. You swallow slowly, surprised that it actually feels somewhat comforting.

“Okay,” you admit quietly after a moment. “That’s…not terrible.”

Jungkook smiles faintly. “I’ll add that to my resume.”

“You burned ramen last week.”

“That was a structural failure of the pot.”

You manage a weak laugh, and the sound seems to visibly relax something in his shoulders. He feeds you another spoonful.

___

In the kitchen, Taehyung whispers loudly.

“Do you think they heard us?”

“Yes.” Jina whispers back.

“Do you think I ruined everything?”

“You didn’t ruin anything, but maybe don’t shout pregnancy theories across the apartment next time.”

“I said I was brainstorming.”

“You brainstorm like a thunderstorm.”

Taehyung sighs dramatically. “I’m just worried about them.”

Jina softens slightly. “I know.”

“They’ve been stressed for months.”

“I know.”

“And if something like that actually happened-”

“Then they’d figure it out.” she says gently.

Taehyung nods slowly.

___

Back in the bedroom, the soup bowl is half empty now. You feel a little better - still feverish, still exhausted, but the warmth in your stomach helps ease some of the dizziness that was lingering earlier.

Jungkook sets the bowl aside and wipes your mouth gently with a napkin like it’s the most natural thing in the world, the tenderness of the gesture making your chest ache in a soft, complicated way.

“You’re really going all out with the nurse routine.” you murmur.

“You deserve it, babe.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Not to me.”

Your eyes meet his, for a moment neither of you says anything, then you sigh quietly. “Jungkook.” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“What if we never catch up?”

His eyebrows knit together slightly as he tries to figure out what you mean.

“With life” you clarify. “With everything we’re supposed to have figured out by now.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, then he reaches out and gently takes your hand. Jungkook squeezes your fingers softly, his thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles while he looks at you with that same steady expression he always has when conversations turn serious. “You know something?” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I don’t think anyone actually has it figured out.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“But it’s honest.”

You stare at him.

He leans forward slightly, resting his forehead gently against yours. “I know things feel messy right now,” he murmurs. “Money’s tight, work is stressful, the future feels like a giant question mark. But we’re still here, we’re still trying, and as long as we’re doing that together, I’m not really that scared.”

His words settle warmly in your chest, then he presses a soft lingering kiss against your lips. It’s gentle and slow, more comfort than passion, but it makes your entire body relax slightly. When he pulls away, his hand comes up to brush your hair behind your ear. “I’m here, I’m always here.” he whispers.

___

The quiet calm that settles over the bedroom after that kiss feels fragile in the best way, like a moment suspended gently between everything that has already gone wrong and everything that might still be uncertain ahead.

You’re still warm from the fever and heavy with exhaustion, but lying there with Jungkook so close makes the weight of it all easier to carry somehow. His hand hasn’t left yours since the conversation ended, and the small repetitive motion of his thumb tracing slow circles along your knuckles has become almost hypnotic, grounding you in a way that no amount of sleep or medicine has managed to do yet.

Your head is resting lightly against his shoulder now, the steady rise and fall of his breathing creating a quiet rhythm beneath your cheek that makes you feel strangely safe despite the dizziness that still lingers faintly at the edges of your senses. For a moment you allow yourself to exist in that softness without thinking about work emails, rent payments, or the uncomfortable word that was dropped into the room earlier like a stone into still water.

Jungkook shifts slightly beside you. “Come here,” he murmurs quietly, sliding one arm around your shoulders and gently guiding you closer until your body is tucked fully against his chest.

“I’m already here” you mumble.

“You’re halfway here.”

“That’s the best you’re getting.”

“No it isn’t.” Before you can protest further, he carefully lifts you, one arm under your knees and the other around your back in a slow, deliberate motion that makes you gasp softly in surprise.

“Jungkook!”

“You’re burning up and dizzy,” he says calmly as he stands. “The bed feels too stuffy, we’re relocating.”

___

Jungkook carries you out of the bedroom and into the living room with the same careful focus he might use when carrying something fragile and irreplaceable. You’re not particularly heavy, but he still moves slowly, mindful of the way your arms instinctively wrap around his neck for balance and the way your forehead presses weakly against his shoulder as another small wave of dizziness passes through you.

Taehyung and Jina look up from the kitchen table when he enters the room, and both of them immediately go quiet when they see the way Jungkook is holding you. “Whoa,” Taehyung says softly. “Emergency princess transport.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook mutters.

Jina stands quickly, pushing the coffee mugs aside. “Is she okay?”

“She’s just really dizzy,” Jungkook replies.

You lift your head slightly. “I’m literally right here, you know.”

“Yes,” Taehyung says solemnly. “But you look like someone who might pass out at any moment.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

Jungkook gently lowers himself onto the couch, settling you carefully against his chest again before pulling a blanket from the armrest and draping it over your legs with quiet precision.“There,” he murmurs.

You sink into the couch cushions with a quiet sigh, letting your head rest against Jungkook’s shoulder while his arm stays wrapped securely around you. The living room feels cooler than the bedroom, and the faint breeze from the slightly open window brushes softly against your overheated skin in a way that feels immediately relieving.

Jungkook’s hand moves up to your hair again, absentmindedly brushing gentle strokes through it while his other arm stays firmly around your waist as if he’s making absolutely sure you don’t slide off the couch or drift away somehow.

“You’re doing a lot,” you mumble weakly.

“I’m just doing the bare minimum.”

“The bare minimum does not include carrying someone across the apartment like a Victorian husband.”

“I would absolutely be a Victorian husband.”

“You’d get into duels.”

“For honor.”

“You’d duel the landlord.”

“Honestly that’s still an option.”

Taehyung snorts loudly from the table. “I would pay money to watch Jungkook challenge someone to a duel over rent prices.”

Jina just rolls her eyes. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he focuses on the subtle details of how you’re feeling in his arms. Your skin still feels warmer than normal, though the fever seems slightly lower now, and every few minutes he notices you shifting uncomfortably like your body still hasn’t fully decided whether it wants to sleep or stay awake.

When you suddenly wrinkle your nose and press your face deeper into his shoulder, Jungkook glances down in confusion. “What?” he asks softly.

“Does something smell weird in here?” you mumble.

Taehyung looks around the room. “It smells like soup.”

“No,” you say, frowning slightly. “Something else.”

Jina lifts her sleeve cautiously and sniffs it.“It’s not me.”

Jungkook smells the air too, confused. “It just smells normal.”

You groan quietly, pressing your forehead against his chest. “Everything smells too strong.”

Taehyung’s eyes flick briefly toward Jina, she notices, but neither of them says anything.

___

A few minutes later, the dizziness returns suddenly. You’re in the middle of responding to something Taehyung said when the room shifts sharply around you, the edges of your vision blurring for a moment as a heavy wave of lightheadedness rolls through your body.

“Oh-” Your voice cuts off abruptly.

Jungkook reacts instantly. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Your hand grips the front of his shirt weakly as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

The room moves very quickly then. Jina stands, Taehyung pushes his chair back. Jungkook tightens his arms around you, pulling you fully against his chest while lowering his voice into the calm, steady tone he uses when he’s trying not to panic. “Okay,” he murmurs gently. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your head drops against his shoulder, Jungkook presses a soft kiss against your hair once he feels your breathing stabilize. “You scared me,” he whispers quietly.

“I’m okay,” you mumble weakly.

“You almost fainted.”

“I didn’t faint.”

“You almost fainted.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.” Taehyung interjects, he leans back slightly to look at you properly, his brows furrowed in concern. “y/n…when was your last proper meal?”

You blink slowly. “…lunch…yesterday..?”

Taehyung stares. “That’s illegal.”

“I had coffee.”

“That’s not food,” Jina says gently.

Jungkook just sighs, pulling you closer again, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rests protectively across your stomach without him even realizing it. His thumb begins tracing slow soothing patterns against your side while he presses another lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “And dramatic.” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re exhausted and dramatic.”

“That’s my brand.”

His lips brush lightly across your temple again, then your cheek. “You need rest,” he whispers. “And maybe…not ignoring your health for two moments straight.”

All you can do is groan quietly.

Yet the thought of you possibly being pregnant has been quietly forming in the back of Jungkook’s mind all morning. Now, it returns again, stronger this time, and he instinctively tightens his arm around you slightly. Not in panic, just awareness, and the strange feeling that something bigger than a simple fever might be unfolding slowly inside this small apartment.

___

The afternoon slowly melts into evening without anyone really noticing when it happens. The light through the living room windows shifts gradually from bright gold to soft amber, stretching long shadows across the apartment floor while the quiet hum of the city outside begins to settle into the slower rhythm of nighttime.

You’ve barely moved from the couch since Jungkook carried you there earlier, though the position has changed several times throughout the day as your body alternates between restless discomfort and heavy exhaustion.

Right now, you’re curled almost entirely in Jungkook’s lap, one arm loosely wrapped around his waist while your head rests beneath his chin, your cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt. The blanket still covers both of you, tangled around your legs and tucked carefully around your shoulders because Jungkook keeps adjusting it every time he thinks you might be getting cold.

His hand moves slowly through your hair in the same soothing motion he’s been repeating for hours, his fingers occasionally pausing to brush your forehead or trace gentle circles along your temple whenever your breathing changes slightly.

The quiet intimacy of it feels almost surreal, like the world outside the apartment has paused for a moment to let you both exist in this fragile bubble where nothing matters except the steady warmth of his arms and the quiet reassurance of his presence.

Jungkook hasn’t stopped watching you, even when you’re asleep, even when you’re quiet.

Every time your breathing shifts or your body moves even slightly, his attention snaps back to you with that same focused concern that has been sitting quietly behind his eyes all day. From the kitchen table, Taehyung has been observing the scene for hours with the fascinated curiosity of someone watching a nature documentary.

“You know,” he whispers to Jina, “if someone walked in right now they would assume Jungkook is guarding the last surviving panda on Earth.”

Jina glances toward the couch. “That’s not entirely inaccurate.”

Taehyung leans back in his chair thoughtfully. “He hasn’t moved in like three hours.”

“He doesn’t want to wake her.”

“That’s adorable.”

___

Jungkook hears every word they say, he just doesn’t respond.

His attention stays fixed on you as you sleep quietly against him, your face softened by exhaustion in a way that makes something protective twist deep in his chest. He keeps replaying the events of the day in his mind - your dizziness, the nausea, the way certain smells suddenly seem overwhelming to you for no clear reason.

On their own, none of those things would seem particularly unusual. People get sick, bodies react strangely sometimes, but stacked together like this, the pattern has started to form something he can’t quite ignore anymore. And the truth is…the possibility scares him. Not because the idea itself is bad, but because the timing feels impossibly complicated, you’re both barely holding your lives together right now. Money is tight, work is unstable. The future already feels uncertain enough without adding something as huge and life altering as a child into the equation.

Jungkook glances down at you again. His fingers gently brush your cheek, and despite everything, the thought doesn’t fill him with dread. It fills him with fierce, quiet determination.

___

You wake slowly again sometime later, though this time the first sensation you notice is the dull churning discomfort in your stomach. Your eyes open halfway before the nausea hits fully, rising quickly from deep in your chest in a way that makes your breath hitch slightly. Instinctively, you shift upward in Jungkook’s arms, pressing a hand against your mouth while the room spins faintly around you again.

Jungkook reacts immediately. “Hey-” His arm tightens around you as he sits up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head weakly. “I feel…really sick.”

Jina is already moving toward the couch.“Bathroom?” she asks gently.

You nod quickly, Jungkook stands instantly, supporting most of your weight as he guides you carefully toward the hallway.

Taehyung scrambles to move chairs out of the way. “Emergency path!” he announces.

“Taehyung,” Jina mutters.

“I’m assisting!”

___

A few minutes later, you’re back on the couch, looking pale and exhausted but slightly less nauseous now that the worst of the wave has passed. Jungkook sits beside you again, though this time he’s positioned slightly closer, one arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders while the other holds a glass of water that he keeps gently offering every few minutes. “Small sips,” he murmurs softly.

You take one reluctantly. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I still will.”

“You’re stubborn even when you’re sick.”

“That’s just my personality.”

He smiles faintly, but the worry in his eyes hasn’t faded.

Across the room, Jina quietly gestures for Jungkook to follow her into the kitchen. He hesitates for a moment, glancing down at you. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs softly.

You nod weakly.

In the kitchen, Taehyung immediately senses the serious tone and pretends to become extremely interested in the refrigerator so he can listen without looking obvious.

Jina lowers her voice. “Jungkook,” she says gently.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions…but have you considered the possibility that Taehyung might actually be right about something for once?”

Jungkook exhales slowly. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to scare her by bringing it up if it’s just a coincidence.”

Jina nods thoughtfully. “That’s fair.”

“But if it’s not a coincidence…” Jungkook murmurs quietly, his voice trailing off.

___

Back in the living room, you’re staring quietly at the ceiling while the distant murmur of their conversation drifts faintly through the apartment. Your body still feels heavy and strange, like something inside you is slightly off-balance in a way you can’t quite explain. The nausea earlier felt too sudden. Too intense. And the strange sensitivity to smells has been getting worse for days now if you’re being honest with yourself.

Your hand drifts unconsciously toward your stomach, the thought appears again.

Pregnant.

Your chest tightens immediately, that can’t be right, your life is nowhere near stable enough for something like that yet. You and Jungkook are still trying to figure out basic things like long-term jobs and whether you’ll even stay in this apartment next year. The idea feels terrifying, but also strangely real.

___

Jungkook returns a minute later. The moment he sits down beside you again, you instinctively lean toward him without thinking, your head settling automatically against his shoulder while his arm wraps around you once more. “You okay?” he murmurs softly.

You hesitate. “…kook?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something kind of scary?”

His arm tightens slightly around you. “Anything.”

You swallow slowly. “Earlier…when Taehyung said that thing…”

Jungkook goes still.

“You don’t think that’s actually possible, right?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, but his hand finds yours slowly, and the quiet tension in the room seems to grow heavier.

___

Later, you wake slowly again, not because the fever has broken but because your body refuses to stay asleep anymore, like it’s trapped in that strange space between exhaustion and discomfort where rest never quite reaches you. The apartment is quieter now than it was earlier, the kind of quiet that settles after people have been talking for a long time and the air has grown tired along with them.

Your head feels heavy against the pillow, your thoughts moving slower than usual, like they’re wading through thick water just to reach the surface. For a moment you simply lie there and listen to the distant hum of the refrigerator, the faint creak of pipes in the walls, the soft clinking of dishes somewhere in the kitchen.

It takes a few seconds before your mind connects the sound to Jungkook, and even in your feverish haze something warm and aching spreads quietly through your chest. Because even when you insisted he didn’t need to take care of you, even when you tried to pretend this was nothing more than a stupid cold, he stayed anyway, he always does.

You shift slightly beneath the blankets and instantly regret it, your stomach twisting with a strange wave of nausea that rolls through you so suddenly it steals the air from your lungs. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing carefully through your nose as you wait for it to pass, but the feeling lingers longer than you expect, uncomfortable and unfamiliar, settling uneasily beneath your ribs like something trying to warn you that your body is not behaving the way it normally does.

In the kitchen, Jungkook is staring at a pot of soup like it personally offended him. He has already reheated it twice because he keeps getting distracted halfway through, his thoughts circling back to the same uneasy observations that have been bothering him since this morning.

At first it was easy to believe you were just sick - the fever, the exhaustion, the way your voice sounded scratchy and small when you tried to argue with him about staying home from work. But the more he watches you, the more something feels slightly wrong in a way he can’t quite explain. You’re pale, but your cheeks are flushed. You say your stomach hurts but you barely touched the soup earlier. You look tired enough to sleep for three days but your body keeps waking you up again.

Jungkook rests his hands on the kitchen counter and exhales slowly, trying to stop his thoughts from spiraling into worry that might not mean anything. People get weird symptoms when they’re sick all the time. Stress does strange things to the body, and God knows both of you have had more stress than usual lately.

Between his long hours at the studio trying to keep freelance clients happy and your job pushing you toward responsibilities you never even asked for, life has started to feel like a long list of problems you’re both trying to survive together instead of something you’re actually living. Still, when he hears the soft creak of the bedroom door opening, Jungkook turns immediately, the momentary tension in his shoulders replaced by instinctive concern as he steps into the hallway.

You barely make it halfway down the hall before he’s there. Your hand is pressed weakly against the wall, your balance wavering just enough to make his heart jump into his throat the moment he sees you. Jungkook reaches you in two quick steps, one arm wrapping around your waist automatically while his other hand steadies your shoulder, his touch firm but careful like he’s afraid you might fall apart if he holds you too tightly.

Up close, he can see the faint crease between your brows, the way your breathing is slightly uneven, and something protective flickers across his face before he even realizes it’s there. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs quietly, guiding you to lean against him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting.” His voice isn’t scolding exactly, but there’s that familiar softness underneath it - the tone he always uses when he’s trying to take care of you without making it sound like he’s taking control.

You try to answer, but the nausea hits again before the words come out, and suddenly your fingers tighten against the front of his shirt as your stomach twists violently enough to make your knees feel weak. Jungkook’s expression changes instantly. “Okay,” he says quickly, already guiding you toward the bathroom without another question. “Okay, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

The bathroom floor is cold beneath your knees when Jungkook helps you kneel beside the toilet, and you hate the embarrassment that burns across your face almost as much as the nausea itself. Being sick is one thing, but being this helpless in front of him is another.

Your hair falls forward as you lean over the porcelain, and before you can even reach to push it away Jungkook is already behind you, gathering it gently into his hand to keep it out of the way. The gesture is so instinctive it almost hurts your chest.

He doesn’t rush you or fill the silence with unnecessary words while your body fights through the nausea. He simply stays there, one hand holding your hair, the other rubbing slow circles against your back with quiet patience as if this moment - this messy, uncomfortable, humiliating moment - is just another way of loving you.

When it finally passes, leaving you shaky and exhausted, you slump slightly against him without thinking, your forehead resting weakly against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice barely more than breath.

Jungkook frowns immediately. “Why are you apologizing?” His voice is softer now, almost incredulous as he reaches for a damp towel and presses it gently against the back of your neck. “You’re sick, not committing a crime.” He crouches beside you instead of standing, making sure he’s at your level as he studies your face with quiet concern.

He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re trying not to cry even though you’re probably too tired to fully understand why. Jungkook brushes his thumb lightly across your cheek without thinking, the touch so tender it almost startles both of you. “Come on,” he murmurs after a moment. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

The walk back to the bedroom is slower this time. You lean heavily into him, one arm looped loosely around his waist while his hand stays secure at the small of your back, guiding you with the careful patience of someone who has already decided he will take care of you no matter how long it takes.

When you reach the bed he helps you settle beneath the blankets again, adjusting the pillows behind your head until you’re comfortable before sitting beside you with that same quiet attentiveness he’s had all day. For a few minutes neither of you speak, your fingers drift lazily toward the hem of his sleeve, holding onto the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored to reality. Jungkook lets you, of course. He always does.

“You’ve been throwing up a lot,” he says eventually, his voice thoughtful but gentle.

You grimace weakly. “That’s…usually what happens when people are sick.”

“I know,” he replies quietly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “It’s just…weird.”

You blink at him slowly. “Weird how?”

Jungkook hesitates, searching for words he isn’t sure he should say out loud yet. Because the truth is he doesn’t know what’s wrong. Maybe it really is just a bad virus, maybe stress has finally caught up to both of you in ways your bodies can’t ignore anymore, but the strange feeling in the back of his mind refuses to disappear, growing stronger every time he watches you struggle with symptoms that don’t quite fit together the way they should.

“…I don’t know,” he admits finally.

You study his face, noticing the faint crease between his brows, the quiet worry he’s trying very hard not to show, and suddenly your own chest tightens with something deeper than sickness. Because you know that look, it’s the look Jungkook gets when life is about to throw something complicated at both of you, and neither of you are ready for it yet.

___

You don’t remember falling asleep again, but the next time you wake it’s darker outside, the soft grey evening light slipping through the curtains and painting quiet shadows across the walls of the bedroom. Your body feels strange in a way that doesn’t quite match the kind of sickness you’re used to.

The feverish heat from earlier has faded into something else now - a heavy exhaustion that sits deep in your muscles like gravity has doubled overnight. Even lifting your arm feels like it takes effort. Your stomach still aches faintly, not sharp but unsettled, the kind of discomfort that lingers in waves instead of constant pain.

For a moment, you simply lie there and breathe, staring at the ceiling while your mind tries to gather itself. Normally when you’re sick you either sleep endlessly or feel restless and miserable, but this feels different. Your body is tired in a deeper way, like it’s been quietly working overtime on something you can’t see.

A strange sensitivity prickles at your nose suddenly, and when the faint smell of garlic drifts into the room from the kitchen your stomach flips unpleasantly. You swallow hard, pressing your palm against your mouth as a new wave of nausea threatens to rise. It’s not as violent as earlier, but it’s persistent, creeping slowly upward like it’s testing your limits. “Seriously?” you mutter weakly to the empty room, dragging the blanket over your face as if that might block the smell somehow.

In the living room, Jungkook is trying very hard not to look like he’s worrying again, Taehyung and Jina arrived about twenty minutes ago after Jungkook reluctantly admitted that he might need help if this turned into a full-night situation.

Taehyung is leaning against the kitchen counter now with his arms crossed loosely, watching Jungkook stir a bowl of plain rice with the focused seriousness of someone preparing a five-star meal instead of the simplest comfort food imaginable.

Jina is sitting at the table with her chin resting in her palm, observing the entire situation with the kind of quiet attentiveness that usually means she’s thinking harder than she’s letting on. “You know,” Taehyung says eventually, tilting his head slightly as he watches his friend move around the kitchen like a nervous parent, “most people who get the flu don’t have their boyfriend monitoring their breathing every five minutes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look up. “She wasn’t breathing weird,” he mutters defensively. “She just…sounded uncomfortable.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “You checked twice while she was asleep.” Jungkook finally glances over, his expression both tired and stubborn. “I was making sure she wasn’t getting worse.”

Jina studies him for another moment before speaking, her voice softer but thoughtful. “Did she say anything about a headache or sore throat earlier?” Jungkook pauses slightly, the spoon in his hand hovering above the bowl as he tries to remember. “Not really,” he admits slowly. “Mostly nausea. And dizziness. She said she felt hot earlier but the fever didn’t stay high.”

Taehyung shifts his weight against the counter. “That’s kind of weird for a cold.” Jungkook exhales quietly through his nose, his shoulders tightening just slightly like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the same thought that has been creeping into his mind all afternoon. “People get stomach viruses,” he replies, though his voice lacks conviction.

Jina doesn’t respond immediately. Instead she glances toward the hallway leading to your bedroom, her brows pulling together faintly in that thoughtful way she gets when she’s trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite make sense yet.

Back in the bedroom, the smell from the kitchen grows stronger when someone opens the microwave, and your stomach reacts instantly. You sit up too quickly, your hand flying to your mouth as nausea rolls through you again with uncomfortable persistence. It’s not violent this time, but it’s strong enough to make your eyes water as you push yourself out of bed, your legs wobbling slightly beneath you as you hurry toward the bathroom.

The hallway feels longer than usual, and halfway there the dizziness hits you again- a sudden rush of lightheadedness that forces you to steady yourself against the wall. Your breathing becomes shallow for a moment while the room tilts unpleasantly around you. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself weakly. “That’s new.”

You manage to reach the bathroom just as footsteps approach from the living room, and seconds later Jungkook appears in the doorway, his expression shifting instantly from mild distraction to alarm when he sees you gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Hey - hey, slow down,” he says quickly, crossing the room in two steps as he steadies you with both hands on your arms. His voice softens immediately when he sees the exhaustion in your face. “What happened? Did the nausea come back?” You nod weakly, leaning slightly into him without even thinking about it, your forehead pressing briefly against his shoulder as your stomach twists again.

Jungkook’s entire posture changes the moment you lean on him. One hand slides carefully around your back while the other moves to the base of your neck, his thumb brushing slowly against your skin in a quiet, grounding motion that he knows usually helps you calm down. “It’s okay,” he murmurs gently, the words low and reassuring near your ear. “You’re okay. Just breathe for a second.” The closeness of him, the steady warmth of his body, the calm rhythm of his breathing - it all wraps around you like something safe, something solid in the middle of the strange storm happening inside your body.

Taehyung appears in the doorway a moment later, his usual playful expression replaced with mild concern when he sees the two of you standing there. “Whoa,” he says quietly, raising his hands slightly. “Bathroom emergency?” Jungkook gives him a look that clearly says not helping.

Jina steps past Taehyung a second later, her gaze moving carefully over your face in a way that feels almost clinical despite her gentle expression. “Are you dizzy too?” she asks softly. You nod again, embarrassed by how weak your voice sounds when you answer. “A little.” Jina hums quietly to herself, crossing her arms loosely as she leans against the doorway.

For a moment, the four of you stand there in a strange silence. Then Jina glances slowly toward Jungkook, then back toward you, and something thoughtful flickers behind her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything yet, not out loud.

___

The apartment grows quieter after Taehyung and Jina leave, the kind of quiet that feels heavier than normal silence, like the walls themselves are aware that something important is shifting between the two of you even if neither of you has the words for it yet.

The front door closes softly behind them with a muted click, their voices fading down the hallway of the building until they disappear completely, and suddenly it’s just you and Jungkook again in the dim warmth of the apartment.

You’re sitting on the couch wrapped in two blankets because your body can’t seem to decide whether it’s hot or cold, your head resting weakly against the armrest while Jungkook stands in the kitchen pretending to wash dishes that were already clean fifteen minutes ago.

He keeps glancing toward you every few seconds like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there, still breathing, still okay, and there’s something about that quiet, constant attention that makes your chest ache with a strange mixture of comfort and guilt. Because he looks so worried, and you hate being the reason for that worried crease between his brows.

Your stomach churns again, a slow rolling nausea that has been coming and going all evening, and the smell of dish soap drifting from the sink suddenly feels overwhelming enough to make your throat tighten. You close your eyes for a moment, pressing your palm gently against your abdomen as you breathe carefully through your nose, hoping the wave will pass without sending you running back to the bathroom again.

Jungkook notices the change in your breathing almost immediately, he always does. The moment your shoulders tense slightly beneath the blanket his head turns toward you, his hands abandoning the sink before he even realizes he’s moving. In two quiet steps he’s beside the couch, crouching in front of you with the same soft urgency he’s carried all day, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee through the blanket. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but alert as his dark eyes search your face for signs of distress. “Is it the nausea again?” You nod slowly, your voice tired when you answer. “Yeah…it just keeps coming back.”

Jungkook exhales quietly, running one hand through his hair in a small gesture of frustration that he tries to hide from you but doesn’t quite succeed. “You haven’t eaten anything except crackers,” he says softly, more to himself than to you. “Your body probably needs actual food.” You give him a weak half-smile. “My body currently thinks crackers are the enemy too.”

The corner of his mouth twitches despite his worry, and he reaches forward to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek for a moment longer than necessary. The touch is warm, grounding, the kind that says I’m here without needing to speak the words aloud.

The nausea eventually fades again, leaving behind a deep exhaustion that sinks into your bones like heavy sand. Jungkook notices the way your eyelids droop and shifts closer on the couch, carefully pulling you into his arms so you’re leaning against his chest instead of the armrest.

The movement is slow and deliberate, giving you time to adjust, but once you settle there he wraps the blanket more securely around your shoulders and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s not a dramatic gesture. It’s quiet, familiar, the kind of affection that has grown naturally between the two of you over years of learning each other’s habits and fears and softest vulnerabilities.

“You’re really warm again,” he murmurs against your hair, his hand moving automatically to rest against the back of your neck where your skin is flushed. “But it’s not like a fever…it’s weird.” You hum faintly in response, too tired to argue with his observations anymore. Your fingers curl loosely into the fabric of his shirt as you rest there, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. For a few peaceful minutes neither of you speak, the quiet stretching comfortably between you like something shared.

But Jungkook’s mind doesn’t stay quiet for long, because the longer he sits there thinking about the day, the stranger the puzzle pieces start to feel when he tries to put them together. The nausea, the dizziness, the way you reacted to smells. The exhaustion that doesn’t quite match a normal illness. His brows slowly pull together as the thought forms in the back of his mind - unwelcome, confusing, impossible.

He doesn’t say it immediately. Instead he watches you carefully, his thumb tracing slow circles against your arm as if the gentle motion might somehow calm the sudden nervous energy building in his chest. “Can I ask you something?” he says eventually, his voice quieter than before.

You tilt your head slightly against him, blinking sleepily. “Yeah?”

Jungkook hesitates, then he asks the question that has been creeping into his thoughts for the last hour. “When was your last period?”

For a moment, the apartment feels completely still. You stare up at him, your tired brain struggling to process the words. “…what?”

His expression is cautious now, like he’s stepping carefully across thin ice. “I’m just asking,” he says softly. “Because some of your symptoms today are kind of…specific.”

Your stomach flips again - but this time the nausea has nothing to do with sickness. You start to think back, back through the last few weeks. The stress at work, the exhaustion, the way your cycle slipped quietly past without you noticing because everything else in your life has been so overwhelming lately.

Your face slowly drains of color. “…oh my god,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s heart drops into his stomach. “You missed it?” he asks carefully.

Your hands begin to tremble slightly in your lap. “i-i think so.” The words hang in the air between you like something fragile and terrifying at the same time, and neither of you speak for several long seconds.

Then Jungkook exhales slowly, running both hands over his face as his mind races through possibilities he never expected to consider tonight. “Okay,” he says quietly, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts behind it. “Okay. That doesn’t automatically mean anything. Stress can delay things, illness can too.” But even as he says the words, the pieces keep fitting together in ways that make his chest feel tight: the nausea, the smell sensitivity, the sudden exhaustion, the dizziness.

You look up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “should we…test?”

Jungkook swallows hard. “…yeah, yeah…I think we need to.” he says softly.

___

The walk to the pharmacy down the street feels surreal. The cool evening air brushes against your face while Jungkook keeps a steady hand at the small of your back, guiding you carefully like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Neither of you talk much during the walk, but the silence between you is thick with thoughts that neither of you know how to say out loud yet. You’re both thinking the same thing. We’re not ready. Not with the chaos in your careers, the bills, the tiny apartment, the plans you haven’t even started chasing yet.

Parenthood belongs to some distant future version of yourselves - not the two exhausted people standing under a flickering pharmacy light at nine o’clock at night.

Inside the apartment again, the small white pregnancy test sits on the bathroom counter like the most intimidating object you’ve ever seen. Jungkook stands beside you, his hand wrapped tightly around yours.

“You don’t have to look if you don’t want to,” he murmurs gently.

You shake your head slowly. “No…we should.”

The waiting feels endless, three minutes stretch into something that feels like half a lifetime. Jungkook keeps his arm around your shoulders the entire time, his thumb moving slowly against your arm in silent reassurance while your heart pounds hard enough to make your ears ring.

Then, finally, you both look down.

Two lines. Clear. Undeniable. Pregnant.

For a moment neither of you move, neither of you breathe, your chest tightens suddenly as reality crashes over you all at once, your eyes filling with tears before you even realize you’re crying. “kook,” you whisper shakily, your voice breaking on his name.

Jungkook stares at the test like the world just shifted beneath his feet. Then he looks at you, really looks. At your trembling hands, your tearful eyes, the fear written across your face, and suddenly none of the panic in his chest matters as much as the person standing in front of him.

He pulls you into his arms immediately, holding you tightly against his chest as his hand moves gently through your hair. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “baby, hey…it’s okay.”

Your voice shakes against his shirt. “We’re not ready for this.”

“I know.”

“We barely have our lives together.”

“I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands, his forehead resting gently against yours as he searches your eyes with a tenderness so deep it almost hurts to look at. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly.

His words aren’t confident or perfect, but they’re honest, and they’re full of love.

Outside the bathroom window the city hums quietly, completely unaware that inside a small apartment two overwhelmed people are standing at the edge of a life neither of them planned for yet. But as Jungkook presses another soft kiss to your forehead and pulls you back into his arms, one thing becomes clear even through the fear and uncertainty.

The first thing Jungkook notices when you step out of the car is that your heels are too high.

His hand closes around your waist before the driver has even shut the door. His palms feel warm through the material of your dress, his grip familiar and welcome. Possessive in that quiet way he gets when he’s worried and trying not to show it.

“You’re wearing those?” he asks, frowning. 

You glance down at the heels. “They’re two inches, Koo!”

“They’re weapons.”

You laugh softly. “Against whom?”

“I don’t know, the pavement maybe?”

The flash of cameras erupts before you can formulate a response. A wall of white light slams across the sidewalk, reporters shouting over each other as security parts a path toward the venue entrance.

“Jungkook! Jungkook −over here!” “How far along is she?” “Can we get a photo together?” “Do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

Jungkook’s arm tightens around you instantly protectively, as he dips his head close to your ear. “Stay close,” he tells you. “−On my left okay?”

“I know how red carpets work,” you say, looking up to catch that faint tensing of his jaw. 

“Just humour me, please Y/N,” he says, his tone quiet but you hear the sternness behind it. He is taking this pregnancy and your welfare extremely seriously, and your heart surges with affection for him.

His fingers slide lower, spanning carefully across the dip of your lower back, curling around your waist to rest at the gentle curve of your four-month bump, as if reassuring himself that both you and the baby are still there, still real and safe.

The crowd surges forward when you start walking. Security pushes them back, but one photographer leans too far over the barricade and suddenly there’s too much noise, and far too many bodies pressing in at once.

You instinctively flinch, and Jungkook stops immediately. His movement is so sudden that everyone else stumbles around him. His hand comes up behind your neck, shielding you close to his chest while he turns his body between you and the crowd.

“Back up,” he says firmly. The fact that he isn’t loud makes his command effective and the reporters actually quiet for a beat. 

You tilt your head up. “It’s okay, Koo.”

“No, it isn’t.”

There’s steel under the softness now −calm, controlled steel. He looks toward security. “Give us space.”

The guards move faster after that, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him while you continue toward the entrance. His fingers keep moving over your side in gentle caresses unconsciously, grounding himself through touch, reminding you he’s with you. 

“You’re glaring at the journalists again,” you whisper.

“No, baby, I’m not,” he denies absently. He’s not really listening, you can tell, his concentration solely on the mission at hand. 

“Koo−,” you call, a little more urgently. 

In a heartbeat, his attention is on you. “What is it?” he says, sounding panicked as he stops for the second time, worried eyes taking in your face, “−Is it the baby?”

“No!” you hiss, “−Let’s go. Any more stops and something really might go wrong.”

“What is it?” he persists as he resumes guiding you forward. “Did you feel something?”

“Relax,” you say, relief flooding through you as finally you pass through the entrance doors and get safely inside, the flashing lights and noise fading behind you into elegant music, low conversation and warm gold lighting spilling across polished marble floors. 

The moment the door shut, and security hurriedly assemble into position, Jungkook leads you away from sight and turns you to him questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not the baby, Koo −we’re fine,” you reply. “I just wanted to ask you to smile. You looked like you might kill someone out there.”

Jungkook exhales, and only then do you see his shoulders relax and his hand leaves your waist. “Thank goodness,” he breathes, leaning forward to kiss your brow softly. “I thought for a second that−,” he trails off. “Forget it. We’re here now.”

You let yourself take him in. He looks so handsome in his tailored black suit. Your eyes travel along the sharp line of his jaw, lingering on the glistening ring that adorns his lip, biting back a smile as you imagine how good his mouth feels on you every night. 

But then you see the crease between his brows that appears whenever he’s anxious. You pull back a step. “You okay?” you ask.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to your stomach immediately. “Are you sure you are?”

“Koo, come on −I asked first.”

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against your fingers, his eyes never leaving yours. “You got scared out there.”

“That photographer surprised me, that’s all.”

Jungkook’s face darkens. “He got too close.”

“You can’t fight every person who tries to get too close or annoys you.”

“I can try.”

You smile despite yourself. “Very mature.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I know,” you concede. 

The thing is that you do know. You know him too well. Knew what got under his skin, what hurt him and what angered him.

Jungkook was the kind of man who showed how much he loved you in those small details he so meticulously delivered. Hovering hands near sharp corners, checking if your water is cold enough, the bath isn’t too hot, or waking up countless times a night because he swears you looked uncomfortable in your sleep.

It bordered on ridiculous sometimes, but other times it makes your heart ache with so much love for him it was overwhelming. You don’t know how you had ever gotten so lucky. 

And tonight, his love looks like him scanning every entrance in the room while keeping one hand anchored at your back as if he thinks you’ll disappear if he isn’t touching you. 

“You’re looking at me like I’m made of glass,” you state softly. 

Jungkook grins, his expression softening instantly. “You’re not glass.” His palm settles over your stomach carefully, almost reverently. “You’re carrying my baby.”

The way he says ’my’ does something dangerous to your heartbeat. It feels like devotion in the most beautiful sense. 

A waiter passes with champagne and Jungkook intercepts him before he can even offer you a glass. “She can’t drink that,” he says automatically, shooting the man an offended look.

The waiter backs off, startled. “I was just, I’m sorry,” he stutters, embarrassed. “I was offering to both−”

“She wants sparkling water,” Jungkook decides.

He isn't usually so snappy, and you send the poor waiter an apologetic look secretly, to which he looks visibly relieved. You stare at Jungkook. “I do?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But you still love me,” he says with complete confidence.

He’s right of course. You take the sparkling water when it arrives, mostly because arguing with him in public is exhausting. Jungkook watches until you take a sip, visibly satisfied.

“You know,” you say slowly, “Some people might find this controlling, Koo.”

“Other people don’t get to carry my baby.”

Heat rushes to your face instantly, and his gaze darkens when he notices. You see that tiny flicker of possessiveness he rarely shows openly that usually slips out in moments like this. Intense and honest. 

He brings you closer, cupping your face gently. “Are you tired?”

“I am a little.”

“Then we’ll leave early.”

“But you’re getting an award, Koo,” you protest in disbelief. 

“And?” he counters. “I’m sure they’ll send it to me. It is mine after all, right?”

You play hit him, giggling. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

His thumb strokes along your jaw with a featherlight touch, and your skin tingles beneath his touch. “You two come first.”

Suddenly there’s another burst of camera flashes from inside the ballroom entrance, and instinctively Jungkook angles his body in front of yours again. You hear him curse under his breath. 

“Relax, remember,” you say gently. “It’s just a job to them.”

Jungkook looks down at you for a moment. “That doesn’t matter,” he tells you. “I hate that everybody feels entitled to you suddenly.”

His raw honesty catches you off guard and you slip your hand into his, threading your fingers together slowly, liking the cool metal feel of his rings against you. You desire him even in these moments. 

“Let them. You know who I belong to.”

He strokes your cheek. “Yes, baby, I know,” he says quietly. “But when they look at you, all I can think about is making sure nobody stresses you out or bumps into you. I want to make sure that nobody gets too close.” His eyes lower briefly toward your stomach. “I can’t help it.”

You don’t know how you could love this man any more than you already do, but somehow he always succeeds in making that happen. 

“You’re going to scare the baby into being overprotected,” you tell him. 

He does smile this time. “I already bought a car seat with military-grade reviews.”

“Oh my God, Koo!”

“And corner guards for tables.”

“The baby isn’t even born yet!”

“They were on sale.”

You laugh hard enough that tears prick your eyes, and relief instantly washes across his face like he’s been chasing that sound all evening. “That’s the only sound I want to hear,” he murmurs. “The only sound our little pear should hear, mommy happy.”

Your laughter fades slowly. Jungkook reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with unbearable gentleness. The ballroom lights reflect gold in his dark eyes, but you’ve never felt so filled with love and adoration for him. “Koo−,” you breathe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says huskily. 

You swallow, fighting back the emotions that threaten to engulf you. This pregnancy was playing havoc with your hormones. 

“You okay, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, noticing your expression. 

You can only nod. 

Then, because he’s been carrying the weight of everything else all night, because he’s standing there looking at you like the entire world begins and ends with the two heartbeats you carry between you, and because you want him so badly right now you might actually combust if you don’t do something, you pull him down by the lapel and kiss him.

Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. His hand slides firmly around your waist while the other cups the back of your neck, shielding the moment from wandering eyes even here. The kiss is slow and passionate, and full of a vortex of feelings. You feel him exhale softly against your mouth like he’s finally able to breathe and give the gentlest of moans that sends your pulse soaring. 

When you both part, you see him take a moment to compose himself before he looks down at you. “You can’t do that at public events,” he chides breathlessly. 

“You loved it,” you say. “Besides, you kissed my hand first.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” you ask. “The cameras were still there when you did that.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was completely different,” he insists, drawing you to him. “−Because I have self-control.”

You scoff and raise an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Jungkook looks down at you for exactly two seconds before leaning in and claiming your lips again anyway. He might be your protector, but there were some battles he was never going to win. 

thanks for reading • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 a

I cringe when I realize I might’ve thrown the perfume bottles a little too harsh. I might be doing good financially, but unfortunately my signature perfume retails for almost four freaking hundred dollars. And this specific bottle of Parfums The Marly Valaya was a birthday gift from Jungkook earlier this year. So I carefully readjust it in the mini bag, a lot more gentle this time.

“Are you seriously packing two big makeup bags? You’re a makeups artist with a huge suitcase full of makeup. Do you really need to overpack that much?” Jungkook’s voice travels through the phone. He’s talking to me on the phone while packing himself.

He sent a photo of himself earlier, sitting in the middle of a big pile of clothes on the floor of his room, telling me to learn and get my ass up to pack.

My heart skipped a beat when I opened that photo. Exclusively because he was shirtless and was wearing a loose pair of black sport shorts.

I ignored the butterflies flying around in my belly at the sight of his slightly damp long hair, his bare chest and tattoos and his beautiful bare face, and sent him a picture of myself, sitting in the middle of a messy disaster of my makeup while trying to fit them into only two makeups bags and showing him my middle finger.

I captioned it with “Way ahead of you, fucker.”

He responded with laughing emojis and decided to call me after.

“I don’t use those makeup myself, Jungkook. I’m telling you that for the thousandth time. And I don’t know what kind of look I might want to do, so I need all kinds of options.” I grunt as I push the fifth eyeshadow palette into the bag.

And that’s a lie. I will probably do the same look everyday throughout the whole trip, but I still need my options with me.

“You are insane, Viv. The first thing you’re gonna do when we land in Paris is to go to their Sephora anyway. What’s the point of packing so much?” He argues like he knows me so much.

And yes. He does.

I will most definitely do exactly what he said.

“Leave me and my dozens of makeup bags alone, Jeon. Just like I’m leaving you and your tenth black hoodie alone.” I give up and throw the rest of the makeup in a third bag.

Don’t judge me.

“You talk like you’re literally not the person who have stolen twenty of them already.” He yells from a distant, probably busy moving around his house as we talk. “You always pack girly tops and shit, but you always end up stealing my clothes. Half of these hoodies will be missing from my suitcase by the end of this trip.”

Since he’s not here to see my giddy look, I let myself smile at that.

I probably have six of his hoodies in my closet right now. And he knows he’s not getting them back from me.

“Your clothes are big and comfy. And don’t talk like you literally don’t give them to me yourself.”

He likes complaining about me stealing his clothes all the time, but he never made a move to stop me from doing that. He gave two of them to me himself.

“That’s because you always go out with little tops and strapless outfits and end up freezing. And I end up giving them to you because I’m not a heartless monster.” I can hear the cocky tone and the smile even on the phone. “My mama raised a gentleman.”

My smile only widens. I push my hair back from my face and adjust the phone between my shoulder and ear.

“Okay. Now that you are such a perfect gentleman, how about you pack me one of your long sleeve shirts, too?”

“Get away from those, Viv.” He threatens me playfully. “I’m warning you.”

I’m probably gonna take one of those, too. And he fully knows that.

I burst into chuckles as I bring all my bags and pack my suitcases.

The staff and tour managers would go into a cardiac arrest if they saw the number of suitcases I’m bringing, but they are all already familiar with me.

We spend the rest of the day time talking and packing, making sure that the other one doesn’t forget anything, until I receive a call from Dionne.

We finally say our goodbyes before I hang up on Jungkook and take Dionne’s call.

Dionne is one of the tour managers, meaning she’s very strict on organizing and planning. So she has had her suitcases and bags packed and ready in days.

She’s my closest friend, but we could never share a room in a hotel and that’s the reason why. She would probably hit me with one her heels and throw me and my dozen bags out of the room three hours into our stay.

“No way you guys just finished packing.” She tells me dramatically after we talk for a while. “How can you guys sleep at night not fearing you forgot something? Even Jimin packed faster than you guys.”

“Did he, Now?” My tone teasing.

“Yeah. I’ve been on the phone with him for the past three days, making sure he has packed everything already.”

“Yeah, but I don’t exactly think he packs that quickly because he has OCD.” I smirk, and Dionne catches into my tone quickly.

I can actually feel the roll of her eyes through the phone. “Shut your damn gate, woman. Stop relating everything to anything.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” I feign nonchalance. “But I know you’re full of shit, D. I’m pretty sure that you didn’t even help him through the phone.” She opens her mouth to say something but I cut her off. “Tell me, D. How much time did you guys actually put in for packing when you were on your breaks between fucking each other?” I ask with a devilish grin.

She breathes out to give me a hard response, but she comes empty. “Just shut up, V.” She mutters with a sigh.

I giggle as I bring my feet up on my coffee table.

This is the last day I can have peace in my own apartment before our departure. We leave Chicago and fly to Paris tonight at nine pm.

I know the privilege that comes with working, and being friends with Indigo is that we’ll be staying in the best hotels, but taking a long bubble bath in my own tub can’t be topped — that’s a lie, this is nothing compared to bubble baths in European luxury hotels.

So now, I’m resting on my couch in my silk pajama set and drinking my tea.

In order to be safe from a jet lag, we need to stay awake so we can get some sleep on the plane. So me and Dionne make it our mission to stay on the phone and talk until we’re out of breath.

D is the one hanging up on me, saying she wants to take a shower before she starts to get ready to leave for the airport.

We say our goodbyes as I lay down on my couch and cover my body with a thin blanket.

There’s still a good hour or two before we have to get ready and leave, so my guess is that she wants to get on the phone with Jimin for some time.

I hang up the phone with a smile as I play Friends on the TV. It’s my favorite sitcom, but I don’t necessarily want to watch. Just some noises in the background so I don’t accidently drift into a slumber.

I woke up pretty early this morning and I made it my mission of the day to make myself exhausted throughout the day so I can sleep on the plane. I already feel tired, but I’ve had enough flights to be able to keep myself awake when I need it.

I slip my hands under my head as I relax. My eyes drift away from the TV screen when I hear a text notification from my phone.

I stretch my hand out and pick up my phone from the coffee table. I see Jungkook’s name pop on my screen.

Jungkook: You’re not sleeping, right?

I smile as I start typing a reply.

Me: Nope. Wide awake, busy watching Rachel and Ross fighting.

Me: What are you doing?

Not thirty seconds later, I get a text from him again.

Jungkook: Ross and Rachel again? Are they ever not fighting? Which season is it this time?

Jungkook: I got bored and out of things to do, so I’m deep cleaning the kitchen.

I burst into giggles when I see him sending a sticker of a clown with an apron and plastic gloves.

Me: It’s season four this time. Ross is yelling at Rachel for making him read nineteen (!!!) pages of rambling at five am.

Me: And you need to send a pic of yourself! Right now!

I turn on my spot and lie on my back, staring at the three dots while Jungkook types on the other end of the phone.

Jungkook: Ahh. That fight. Of course. I mean, I would read ninety pages of letters if Rachel ever wrote me one. Unfortunately Ross isn’t our strongest soldier.

I giggle again. Jungkook never fails to mention his crush on Rachel and how much of a simp he is for her.

Jungkook: Sure. But I gotta warn you, since I know you want a pic of me in an apron just to torture me with it later, but I’m not wearing one.

Jungkook: In matter of fact, I haven’t put on a shirt since the last pic I sent you.

My breathing starts to get labored as I read his text again, needing to make sure I read it right.

Why do you torture me like that, Jungkook?

I write a reply, trying to sound as playful as I can but honestly, my brain is as horny and needy as between my legs.

Me: Well, now I have to see it.

I add another text to make sure it doesn’t expose my eagerness to see him shirtless again.

Me: It’s honestly a dirty fantasy come true if you have neon pink plastic gloves on, too.

Jungkook: Hm. So you really find men in neon pink gloves sexy, Viv?

No, I find a shirtless you sexy. But who’s counting.

Jungkook: Interesting.

Jungkook: Unfortunately, mine are neon green. So your fantasies are kinda ruined now.

I roll my eyes as I grunt desperately into a throw pillow.

That motherfucking tease!

He’s sexually torturing me without even knowing it.

I just end up with a simple text this time, sulking because I didn’t manage to get another random shirtless picture of him.

Sometimes, he sends me those randomly. A picture of him while doing something random, and he happens to not be wearing any shirts in it.

He walks around his apartment shirtless a lot when he’s alone, so that’s nothing out of the ordinary or weird between us. Shirtless Jungkook is not something I haven’t seen a hundred times already. He sometimes takes his shirt off on the stage.

But there’s something belly-warming and mind-fucking about the random photos he sends me sometimes.

Because those photos are taken only for me. I’m the only one seeing them. He’s walking around his big apartment, and he thinks about sharing that moment with me. And that means a lot to me. Not mentioning that I’m probably the only person seeing him naked this many times —I’d like to think.

Me: That’s a shame. I was really counting on watching that fantasy come true. A pink apron would’ve been the cherry on top.

Jungkook: What’s with you and the color pink? Do you happened to have a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs, too?

I choke on my own spit and bursts into disbelieve laughter.

Me: No, I don’t. But I wouldn’t be too surprised if you’re into those. Are you…?

I watch my phone screen with anticipation and a fast beating heart as I wait for Jungkook’s response while he types.

Jungkook: I mean, they don’t necessarily need to be pink… Although that sounds like something you would like. [evil emoji]

Okay that’s enough. I need to stop this conversation before it goes somewhere that I don’t have the self-control to stop.

My clit is already pulsing and I want to scream into a pillow from frustration.

Just like all the times where our shameless flirts start to go out of hand, I make an attempt to kill the mood and bring us both back to reality.

Me: You’re getting out of hand, Jeon. Finish your deep cleaning before we have to leave, and please, for the love of god, don’t get me a pink pair of fuzzy handcuffs for my birthday.

He responds with multiple laughing emojis. And we say our goodbyes after that.

I’ve successfully kept myself awake, and we need to be at the airport in an hour. So I get up from the warm and comfortable embrace of my soft beige couch and get dressed.

It’s at least an eight hour flight, and I’m probably sleeping though most of it anyway, so I wear something comfortable and simple. Just a pair of soft pastel pink sweatpants and sweater set. I make sure everything I might need throughout the flight is packed and organized in my travel bag as I push my luggage to my front door.

It takes a lot of effort, but I do my best to carry everything as much as I can, before I see the bus which is supposed to take the staff to airport parks at my building’s entryway.

Dionne and a man get out of the bus as they enter my building’s lobby.

“Hey, pretty.” Dionne wraps her arms around me as the man carries most of my luggage. Dionne’s eyes follow him, before she turns to me with narrowed eyes. “I thought I told you to pack lightly, girl. Why do you always have to stress me out?”

She isn’t wearing any makeup, but her dark gorgeous skin doesn’t need any makeup to look as stunning as she looks right now, even as she looks at me with dirty eyes.

She came in a similar comfortable set as mine, except her clothes are cool beige. Her hair is perfectly styles as always, and she’s already wearing the earbuds she’s so fond of.

I shrug innocently. “I’ll let you use my stuff?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs before walking for the door. She follows her staff and instructs him on how to fit my “ridiculous amount of suitcases” in to the bus. She reminds him to be extra careful about my make up luggage. Honestly, that suitcase is more expensive than half of my life.

I leave my building with my carry-on and the bag I’ll have with me through the flight, and step inside the bus.

There are still some of the staff that need to be picked up on the way to the airport, but half of the seats are already filled.

I break a sweat trying to push my heavy carry-on in the spot above the seats. Dionne gets on the bus, and she doesn’t forget to scold me one more time about the numbers of suitcases I’m brining with myself.

I tell her she should’ve known better to expect anything else from me. She has traveled with me enough times to know that.

We sit next to each other on the ride to airport.

It takes a little less than an hour, and I’ve already taken out my neck pillow as I listen to my audio book. While everyone else, like D, entertain themselves by their phones and iPads or laptops, my motion sickness refrains me from doing anything but looking out of the window. Seriously, it’s the worst curse. I always need to remember my pills for when I get on the plane.

The bus stops at the airport’s private terminal. D moves quicker that everyone, stepping out of the bus first to make sure they unload the luggage correctly.

“Honestly, I should’ve gotten one on these neck pillows, too.” I hear Airi speak next to me as she drags her carry-on with her. “My neck already feels like cramping.” She speaks as softly as she looks.

I laugh awkwardly. “I know. After flying so many times, you’ll become an expert with time.”

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “I need to get one for the next flight.” She steps out of the bus before I follow along.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be way more comfortable on the flight itself.”

Since this is where the most important part of Dionne’s job begins, I try to stay out her hair and let her do her job peacefully.

Airi stays by my side as we enter the terminal and check in and go through the security and deliver our luggage.

She hasn’t joined the staff for long. That can make her feel out of place or overwhelmed. She tries to seem confident and unaffected and talks cheerfully about the start of this tour, but I can see how nervous she looks as we sit at the airport’s cafeteria and order some drinks and sweet pastries.

I honestly feel like I’m in a dilemma. We haven’t made a strong and close friendship since she started working for Indigo. Not saying that we’re not friends or friendly, but the relationship comes nowhere near my friendship with Dionne or Jimin and Jungkook. So I feel slightly taken aback when she nervously opens up to me about her worries.

“I’m not saying I’m not excited. I really am.” She holds her cup of hot chocolate with her palms as she looks down at her steaming drink with unsure eyes. “It’s just that I feel like a baby walking alone in New York city.” She chuckles awkwardly. “You know what I mean?”

The sound of D pacing around the area and talking loudly to different people is covered by the lady in the speakers, announcing flights and asking people to do the required steps.

I smile at Airi as I stir my own cup of hot chocolate. I would prefer a cappuccino, but I need to get a few hours of sleep on the plane. I ordered one with a lid for D too, but hers is sitting here next to mine and untouched. I knew she wouldn’t have the time to drink it now anyway.

“Yeah, I do. Don’t worry. You don’t sound silly or anything.” I look at the rest of the crew and staff sitting around the lounge. This part of the airport is less crowded and more silent and private. Only Indigo’s crew for the tour, and some other people who I guess are a sports team or something. Everyone are sitting in comfortable waiting area, enjoying a snack or working with their phones and laptops. “I think it’s normal to feel that.” I speak calmly. “I remember the early days when all of these were new even to the members themselves. He would probably scold me for telling you this, but Jimin actually got sick the first time we flew abroad for a show.”

Airi’s eyes widen a little in shock, as she leans forward in curiosity. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. He was really nervous. It was a huge thing for them back then. He was worried he would sing badly or make a mistake in front of their first foreign crowd.” I smile softly at the memories of all the early days I experienced with them.

“What happened? Did he feel better until the show? How did he do?”

“Oh, he rocked the show. He performed amazingly and the crowd went crazy for them. They truly started to get discovered after that.” I can’t help the warm feeling I get in my belly at the memory as I take a sip of my hot chocolate.

Jimin and Jungkook came a long way since founding Indigo. They formed the band together, being the original members. And I feel truly blessed and lucky to have been with them as their friend through every stage.

I was one of the very few people that was with them since the start, and I can say with confidence, that they deserve every amount of successes and popularity they have now. They earned every single bit of it.

“I tried to make you feel calmer with that story, so please don’t bring it up in front of him. He hates that I know it.” I tell her playfully.

“Don’t worry.” She chuckles. “Your secret —actually his secret— is safe with me.”

I grin as I look down at my drink.

Some little moments like this make me forget why I never formed a closer friendship with Airi ever since she joined the crew. Until I remember.

Jungkook showed signs of interest in her from the start, very shortly after she became an employee.

I still remember the gut-wrenching feeling I felt when he asked me what I thought about Airi.

I didn’t catch onto his meaning at first, so I shrugged and said I think she’s really nice. And I meant it. I still think she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And unfortunately, one of the prettiest ones too.

I’ve watches Jungkook date for short periods of time or hookup —a lot— throughout the years, but the way he spoke about her that day when it was just the two of us, the way he seemed like he was already smitten and enchanted by her, it all suddenly felt like a bucket of ice-freezing cold water thrown all over my body.

I stared at him for several moments, my brain failing to come back to reality. All I could think about, or hear, was that Jungkook is interested in that girl. And not just like a hookup interest. A real interest. Like he’s already picturing them on dates and in an actual relationship.

It took me a lot of effort to make my lungs take in oxygen again. My mind still felt like it was in a haze as I tried to answer Jungkook and act normal again. And he, the oblivious man that he is, didn’t notice anything about how I looked like I was having a stroke.

Nope, he was fully focused on Airi.

I swallow the tiny lump in my throat and shake the painful memory out of my head.

It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s nothing I can do. I’m only his friend. He never had any interest in me, and he never will. If I can’t find happiness with the person I love, why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t she?

If they ever decide they want to start dating each other, there’s nothing I can do but wish them happiness. And maybe disappear from their lives.

Because as much as I want to wish happiness for the man I love, I just can’t stay and witness that happening with someone else. It may seem like it sometimes, but I’m not a freaking masochist.

We sit with each other and exchange small talks as we finish our drinks and wait until our flight.

Soon after, D runs to the entry way, telling her assistants and the other managers that the band has arrived and is going through security and passport control.

I feel Airi’s body straightening up and she starts to look more on alert. After the members enter the waiting lounge, there’s only a short waiting time before we board the plane rented for us.

I keep sipping my drink as I check my phone, my carry on and the big travel bag next to me.

I always try to activate a somewhat indifferent mode when I’m around Jungkook. I’ve figured it’s easier to cover up the little moments of yearning or even pain with nonchalance acts and acting like he’s walking on every single nerve I have.

Now, it has turn into a defense mechanism.

The members and their managers walk into the lounge as they say their hellos and greet some of the staff. D stands next to their manager and start talking as Jimin stays by their side and listens.

I don’t know what they might be talking about, and honestly is doesn’t matter a lot. They will all probably go into private room to make some calls they need to make before they join the rest of us in here.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Jimin and Dionne take a little longer to get out of that room. Those idiots fuck whenever and wherever they get a chance, and they think they’re super discreet about it.

Airi perks up and smiles softly at the figure approaching us on our table.

“Hi.” She greets sweetly.

“Hey. How are you guys?” I hear Jungkook’s gentle voice, sounding even softer than usual when he’s talking to Airi.

“We’re good.” Answers Airi.

“Did you guys save this seat for me?” I see him pointing at the empty seat on our table. His tone goes back to the way he always talks to me, to his normal voice.

“Nope. We didn’t.” I tell him as I keep my eyes down and drink my hot chocolate.

“Aw. Thank you guys.” He says in a fake sweet voice, ignoring my comment as he sits down on the chair. “You’re so sweet.”

He makes himself comfortable at our table with a goofy smile. I try to make my face seem cold and ignorant, but a tiny grin slips on my lips which I cover with my cup.

Airi softly chuckles at our exchange. “You guys are truly silly.”

“The word you’re looking for is charming.” Jungkook tells Airi with a sexy smile.

I softly roll my eyes at him, but it’s mostly to cover the pang of hurt in my chest at him looking at her with such a warm and lovely smile.

She giggles at him again, before she checks her watch and excuses herself for few minutes, saying she needs to use the restroom before we board.

Jungkook and I sit in comfortable silence until Airi, and everyone else are out of our hearing range.

Jungkook slowly turns on his chair a little and talks to me in a whispered tone.

“You’re such a liar, V.”

“Huh? I beg your pardon?” I look at him with confusion.

“Wearing a pink fuzzy set, I’m seeing.” He remarks playfully while pointing at my outfit. “Oh, you are so getting those handcuffs for your birthday.”

I roll my eyes at him when I realize what he meant, and deliver a kick to the leg of his chair. The chair scratched against the airport tiles, making a displeasing noise. Jungkook bursts into laughter as he leans back on his chair.

“I swear I don’t try to tease you. You give me the materials yourself.”

“My matching set is beautiful. Get your head out of the gutter, Jeon, and stop comparing it to a kinky sex tool.”

“You’re into neon pink plastic gloves, and handcuffs are kinky for you?” He chuckles again, enjoying taunting me a little too much.

“I am so done with you.” I sigh. “Please take a melatonin now so I don’t have to deal with sitting next to you on the plane for eight hours.”

He chuckles again before D walks to us and informs us that we need to start getting on the plane now.

I get up from my chair and gather my stuff. I start to move before I’m stopped by Jungkook’s voice.

“I think I should stay here.” He explains when I look at him with confusion. “I’ll stay by Airi’s stuff until she comes back from the bathroom.”

I look at his figure standing by the table as a little wave of nausea shoots into my stomach.

And at that moment, Airi gets back to us jogging, apologizing and thanking us for staying with her luggage.

She gives me a smile, and honestly, I start to feel a faint guilt. Jungkook offered to stay back for her, but maybe I should’ve thought about that, too.

But I was ready to leave, completely forgetting about Airi for a second.

I see Jungkook smiling sweetly at her before I start to drag my heavy suitcase and walk towards the boarding section.

Airi stays close to me as we get on the plane, and Jungkook stays close to us, helping us with our bags whenever we need help.

Most of the guys and staff already know where they’re sitting, almost as in a silent arrangement we’ve formed after traveling together for so long. But there are still a lot of new staff and employees on this tour that aren’t fully familiar with our rituals, so Dionne and her assistants stay on their feet until the last minute, helping them and making sure everyone is seated where they should be.

The workers closer to the band always stay in first class with them. The sitting arrangement is a silent agreement now.

Jungkook and I ended up sitting together on our first flight because we wanted to watch Friends together on that flight. Now, the fact that we always sit next to each other is an unspoken fact.

Airi takes her own seat on the other side of our aisle when Dionne instructs her to settle in next to Jimin’s manager.

We automatically walk to aisle four. Jungkook walks ahead of me before he turns around to take my carry on suitcase and places it for me.

He takes his own seat by the window, and I take mine next to him.

He has barely been seated for five seconds before he starts bickering and throwing Jimin’s neck pillow at his head on the row in front of us.

Jimin turns in his seat and looks at Jungkook with narrowed darkened eyes.

“Let me have peace for five minutes, man. Will you?”

“Keep your silly neck pillows on your own aisle and I’ll leave you alone.” Jungkook complains as he picks up the pillow that has fallen on his table in front of him and throws it at Jimin with a grunt. This time, the pillow doesn’t hit him in the head, but lands perfectly on his lap.

Jimin gives him the middle finger without turning his head.

“Don’t call them silly. They’re really practical and useful.” I give Jungkook a dirty look before taking out and adjusting my own neck pillow.

He sighs and leans back on his seat. “I’m surrounded by so many lame people.”

D finally takes her seat next to Jimin and in front of me before the plane takes off.

“Oh, shoot. I forgot. Have you taken your pills, Vi?” Jungkook’s voice travels between our open space seats as he looks at me like a mom tending her little baby.

Since we usually sit next to each other on planes, Jungkook is well aware of how I get sick the minute I sit down on the plane. So he never forgets to remind me to take my pills.

“No, I haven’t yet. Thanks for reminding me.” I grab my bag and start looking for the tablet in the mini bag of skincare and essentials I packed for the flight.

“Fuck.” I breathe out as I fail to find the pills.

“What?” Jungkook looks up at me with distraught eyes.

“I can’t find my pills.” I search the bag again. “I can’t believe I forgot them. I always have them with me.”

I start to panic because eight hours in a plane without those pills means an experience out of hell.

“What’s going on?” Dionne turns her head when she hears me whine and complain.

“She doesn’t have her pills with her.” Jungkook answers for me while I basically shove my head into my gigantic bag.

“I swear I put them here or something.”

“It’s okay, Vi.” Jungkook soothes me. “You can take my seat, if sitting by the window helps.” He offers.

I look at him with unsure eyes. “You sure?”

Jungkook doesn’t love long flights, so we agreed on him always staying by the window. But he doesn’t hesitate as he gets up from his seat and switches places with me.

“Try to sleep for most of the flight. You probably won’t get sick like that.” He tells me gently.

After we switch our places, it doesn’t take us long to make ourselves comfortable and lay down on the flat beds.

The first thing I do is doing a little skincare routine and a face mask, before taking out my kindle and my small travel blanket out of my bag to make myself even more comfortable.

Jungkook takes out his headphone and starts working on his laptop. Jimin and Dionne have already tuned out the world by putting their own headphones on as well.

We don’t usually close the dividers between us, mostly not even when one of us wants to sleep when the other one is still awake. So there’s a fully open space between me and Jungkook as we lay down and chill.

After half an hour so, I slowly get hooked on reading my eBook, already feeling tired and sleepy. I raise my head from my kindle to check on Jungkook before I drift off to sleep.

I see him leaning his whole body on the edge of his seat, his headphones around his neck and his laptop long forgotten, as he chuckles and talks with Airi on the other side of the aisle between them.

They’re both deep in conversation as they laugh about silly things.

Seeing him trying to suppress his strong urge to laugh while he speaks to Airi makes my heart aches with a familiar bruise of jealousy and longing.

I swear I’m not a horrible person, or a friend who gets upset when I see him happy with other people.

And I can’t make sense of this little sharp pain in my chest. The stupid little traitor just decides to hurt.

I ignore their little happy moment as I turn on the bed. I turn my back onto them as I try to distract myself with my kindle.

It doesn’t work. The thought of them in their happy little bubble doesn’t let me focus on what the characters I’m reading about are saying. The sound of them laughing and giggling doesn’t help, either.

I give up on my book and put my kindle aside. I put on my noise-canceling headphones on as I hide under my blanket, like I’m hiding from a terror under my security blanket, and try to let unconsciousness take me away for a while.

Fortunately, I fall asleep for the rest of that flight.

a/n : no particular notes, except for thanking everyone who read this. Commenting a feedback if you enjoyed it is really appreciated. Rebloging is even more helpful. 🥹💕

Definitely stay tuned in for more of this story. They have a long run. You can join the taglist for this series, or even my other works if you'd like.

The rain clung to your coat in cold, insistent beads as you stepped into the bar, the familiar creak of the heavy door announcing your arrival like an old friend. Warmth enveloped you at once, carrying the layered scents of aged wood, and also the faint, smoky trace that always seemed to linger in the rafters no matter how thoroughly the place was aired out.

You’d been coming here for months now — ever since that first night when work became.. incredibly exhausting, and you’d stumbled in seeking nothing more than a quiet corner away from the noise of your life. Back then, the bar had been busier, voices overlapping like scattered notes, but Jungkook had noticed you anyway.

A single glance across the counter, a perfectly poured drink slid your way without question, and a low, “First time? You look like you could use this,” and that had somehow eased the knot in your chest.

From that evening on, it became a quiet ritual. You returned on the worst days — when deadlines bled into one another and the weight of.. literally everything pressed too close — and he was always there. Subtle at first: a knowing tilt of his head when you sat down, a drink prepared before you even asked, the occasional remark that lingered just long enough to feel intentional. He never pushed, surprisingly, he never crossed into anything overt, but the flirtation hummed beneath every interaction like a low chord.

Jungkook looked up from the glass he was drying, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled high, revealing the intricate paths of ink along his forearms that you’d memorized in stolen glances over the weeks. “Rough one today?”

You slid onto your usual stool at the end of the counter, letting your bag drop with a dull thud. “Don’t even ask.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unhurried as he reached for the unlabeled amber bottle. “Yes, ma’am.” One perfect cube of ice cracked gently into the glass before he slid it toward you. “Here. Looks like it might salvage what’s left of the evening.”

You took a sip, the smooth burn spreading through you, and smiled to yourself — small smile that lingered behind the rim of the glass. You found him quietly magnetic like this: older than you by more than a decade, mature in a way that made everything else feel chaotic and half-formed. Attractive in that understated, steady manner — the calm confidence in how he moved behind the counter, the low timbre of his voice that always seemed to ease and smoothen the sharp edges of your day.

He helped you through things sometimes without even realizing it, just by being there with his quiet attention, turning the worst nights into something bearable.

“How about you?” you asked softly, tilting your head. “Tell me what happened on your side of the bar today. Entertain me a little.”

His dark eyes met yours, amusement flickering there. “My day?“

You nod.

He tilts his head too, “And what do I get in return for that?”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curving despite the exhaustion. “A generous tip, obviously.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping. “Was thinking of something else, honestly.”

“Oh really?” Heat stirred low in your stomach, the same subtle pull that had hummed between you for weeks. “Like what?”

His smirk was faint, almost boyish, but there was nothing boyish in the way he held your gaze. “I’d like to leave that to your imagination, Ms. ___.”

You let out a soft laugh, tracing the rim of your glass. “So mysterious.”

“Me? Mysterious?” He straightened with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Please. I’m just a bartender. Nothing mysterious about this old soul.”

“Old?” You tilted your head, studying him: the sharp line of his jaw, the way the low light caught in his hair. “Thirty-seven isn’t old.”

He gave you a look, one brow arched in a way that made your pulse skip a little. You’d danced around this territory before, but never quite this far.

“What?” you asked.

He just smiled to himself, a small curve of his lips as he wiped down the counter again. “I don’t know if you’re being polite or—”

You cut him off, voice steady. “I’m honest. I really don’t believe that thirty-seven is old.”

He shook his head, still smiling, the expression softening the edges of his face. “Good to know.”

You paused, the whiskey warming your chest as a quiet thought settled in. For all the months you’d been coming here, for all the nights you’d sat on this same stool pouring out the pain of your days, you realized how little you actually knew about him.

He listened so easily, drew things out of you without effort, yet he remained this calm, composed presence behind the counter — ink on his arms, quiet competence in his hands, a maturity that felt miles deeper than anyone your age. You’d talked for hours across these nights, and still he was mostly a silhouette you filled in with glances and half-formed impressions.

“Why don’t I know more about you?” you asked suddenly, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. “I come here all the time, talk your ear off, and… I don’t even know the basic things.”

“Well, no,” he said, tone light but honest. “You only ever talk about yourself.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you muttered, cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of narcissist or something.”

“You’re not.” His tone was gentle, still sincere. Then he leaned in again. “I just like hearing people talk about their lives. The way they carry their days.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” You smiled faintly. “You’re kinda like my non-professional therapist at this point.”

Jungkook laughed outright then, the sound rich and unguarded, rolling through the quiet bar like warm honey over stone. It caught you off guard, pulling a genuine smile from your lips as the low lights cast shifting shadows across his face. The jazz record had faded to a softer instrumental now, saxophone curling lazy and low through the space between you, mingling with the faint clink of ice in your glass and the distant patter of rain against the windows.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still chuckling as he leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossed in a way that pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders.

You traced the rim of your glass with a fingertip again, the cool condensation kissing your skin. The alcohol had loosened something in you tonight, unraveling the tight coil of exhaustion into a quieter, warmer haze.

“I am serious about what i said, Jungkook.”

He raises a brow.

“I want to know more about you. All this time, I’ve been unloading my entire mess on you — about the deadlines, my bad days, the whole chaotic spiral — and you just listen. Pour drinks. Smile like you’ve got the patience of a saint.” Your voice softened, eyes lifting to meet his. “It doesn’t feel fair. Tell me something about yourself. Literally Anything.”

He watched you for a long moment, that dark gaze steady. The small mole beneath his lower lip catching light as he pressed it between his teeth. Then he exhaled, a quiet sound that seemed to carry the weight of all the nights he’d held back. “What do you want to know?”

“I told you — anything,” you said. “Like how long have you been doing this? The bar, the late nights. What do you do when you’re not pouring whiskey for exhausted girls who don’t know when to stop talking?”

A slow smirk curved his mouth, the kind that made heat bloom low in your stomach. “Careful. You keep calling yourself exhausted like it’s a flaw. I happen to like the way you look when you walk in here.” He reached across the counter, refilling your glass without asking, his fingers brushing yours deliberately this time. The contact lingered, warm and calloused. “As for me… been behind this bar five years now. Before that, a few other places. Music gigs on the side when I can. Guitar and Violin, but guitar mostly. Nothing glamorous. Just… figuring things out, same as anyone.”

You leaned in closer. “Guitar, huh? I can see that. Those hands look like they know how to handle more than just glasses.” The words slipped out bolder than you intended, but the way his eyes darkened made you press on. “Bet you’re good with them.”

His chuckle was lower this time, rougher even. “You’re flirting with me now? After months of playing it safe on that stool?”

“I think I’m tired of playing it safe,” you murmured, holding his gaze. The air between you thickened, charged with all the almost-touches and weighted silences that had built like storm clouds. “You’ve been doing it too, you know. That little smirk when I sit down. The way you remember every little detail i tell you. The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Jungkook’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, a small tell that sent a thrill through you. He glanced around the bar, noting the sparse handful of customers who looked content with their last drinks and showed no sign of ordering more. With a quiet decisiveness, he came around the counter, wiping his hands on the towel before sliding onto the stool beside yours. His knee brushed your thigh, solid and warm through the fabric of your clothes.

Up close like this, the age difference felt less like a gap and more like gravity — the mature steadiness in his posture, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of nights weathered and survived. “You notice all that, hm?”

“Hard not to,” you admitted, turning toward him until your shoulders nearly touched. “You’re… attractive like this.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like someone who actually knows what he’s doing. Who could handle more than just.. pouring drinks.”

The flirting wove between you like smoke, light touches of conversation that grew heavier with each exchange. He told you about a song he’d been working on late at night, voice low as he described the chords, and you countered with how his laugh made the worst days feel lighter.

Then, minutes stretched, the bar was shrinking around the two of you until the outside world felt distant and irrelevant. His hand eventually found its way to the back of your stool, fingers brushing the small of your back now and then — accidental, then intentional. Each graze sent amazing sparks skittering across your skin.

Eventually, the words built to a tipping point. You took a breath, heart hammering against your ribs. “Jungkook… come with me tonight. After you close up. Don’t send me home alone like you always do.”

He stilled, eyes searching yours with a flicker of surprise. The hesitation was there, plain in the way his jaw tightened, the slow exhale he let out. “You’re asking me to come home with you?” His voice had dropped, rough. “Or are you asking for more than that?”

The polite dance you’d both maintained for months cracked open. You met his gaze head-on, exhaustion and want twisting together into something raw. “Yes,” you said simply, giving up the careful act. “I’m asking for you to touch me like you’ve been thinking about it too. I want you to stop holding back..”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, the gesture tense, conflicted. He looked away for a second toward the darkened windows, rain streaking silver paths down the glass, then back to you. His hesitation hung heavy — responsible, mature, the kind of man who thought things through even when desire clearly burned in his eyes. “I… fuck. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’ve had a long day. You’re tired. And I don’t know if I should..”

You shifted closer, your hand finding his knee, sliding up just enough to feel the muscle tense beneath your palm. Vulnerability edged your voice, but you pushed through it. “Do you not find me attractive?”

“No,” he said quickly, almost sharply, turning fully toward you. His hand covered yours on his knee, large and warm, gripping with sudden intensity. “No— I mean, Fuck, I really do. I find you attractive as hell. Every time you walk through that door; it drives me fucking crazy. I don't know if you noticed but I’ve thought about you more nights than I should admit. I've thought about what it would be like to pull you close, taste the whiskey on your lips, feel you let go under my hands. God. You’re so beautiful. So tempting. Way too much sometimes.”

The confession hung between you, raw and honest. Your eyes widen a little, you certainly did not expect him to say all of that.

You find it kind of cute honestly.

His thumb stroked over your knuckles, a soothing contrast to the heat building in his gaze. “I just.. don't want you to regret it.”

You shook your head, leaning in until your forehead nearly touched his. “I won’t. I’m not fragile, Jungkook. I know what I want. And I want you. All of you.”

He searched your face for another long beat, the internal battle playing out in the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his breath hitched. Then something shifted. The hesitation cracked, desire winning out as he cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek with tenderness.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice low and rough like aged whiskey. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. With no regrets. And I want to take my time with you, princess — I want to make sure you feel every second of it.”

You blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat pooling in your stomach. “Princess?”

He tilted his head, studying your expression with that steady, attentive gaze, thumb tracing slow circles on your cheek. “Don’t like it?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned into his touch. “No, I do. I’m just glad it’s not something silly like babygirl.”

Jungkook’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, warm and genuine, “Noted,” he said, the word laced with quiet amusement. “Princess it is, then. Suits you anyway — strong, a little untouchable, but cute when you let someone close.”

His fingers slipped higher, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with careful reverence, the gesture so tender it made your breath hitch. The bar lights had dimmed to a golden haze around you both, turning the familiar space into something intimate and new.

“Shall we go?”

⊱ ──── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──── ⊰

hope you liked the snippet!! full version will be posted months later . but ! you can get early access to the full one-shot here: [ TONIGHT I WANNA GET NASTY ] under the [ ARCHIVE ] tier where you'll also find other oneshots and additional bonus exclusive content! (one-shot is also available as a single product) <3 thank u for ur support! x

Not just quiet in the literal sense — though there is no hum of traffic or voices drifting in from somewhere you’re not — but quiet in the way your thoughts stop running so fast.

You’re lying on your back, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of the blanket beneath you, the smell of grass and cool earth wrapping around. Jungkook is beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting between you, his warm fingers entangled with yours.

Above you, the sky is a black canvas painted with dots of light. They’re different to the ones you squint to see in the city, fighting for their place among streetlamps and neon signs. These ones are whole constellations, spilling across the dark.

And you’re here. You're actually here, with the love of your life, ticking off the last thing on the bucket list you once thought would forever remain unfinished.

It was something the two of you made years ago, back when love was still new. You’d found it again by accident, tucked into the pages of an old notebook on your bookshelf, the paper creased from time and the pink ink slightly faded but every line still legible.

You’d laughed when you saw it, thinking about the two of you on that night that seems so long ago now, sprawled across your bed with snacks balanced dangerously close to falling, tossing out dreams between fits of giggles neither of you could contain.

Some of them you’d already done without even trying. Others had taken planning. And then, there were the ones that had sat there untouched, waiting patiently to be completed.

When you’d shown Jungkook the list, you hadn’t expected what came next.

“Let’s finish it,” he’d said simply, like it wasn’t years overdue and there hadn’t been a time you’d thought you’d never even speak again.

So you did. Day by day, one by one.

Sunrise hikes. Cooking something neither of you could pronounce. Getting caught in the rain on purpose. Swimming in that ridiculous, freezing river at midnight. Each checkmark felt like stitching something back together, a thread pulled through the fabric of you until the holes didn’t gape so wide.

This was the final one on the list; stargaze in the middle of nowhere.

And here you are, lying under a sky so wide it makes you feel small in the best way, next to the man you once thought you’d lost for good.

You glance over at him. He’s looking up, jawline cut sharp by the pale wash of starlight, his lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks. You run your thumb over the soft skin of his hand, and he turns his head to meet your gaze.

"What?" he says, the sound more of a laugh than an actual question.

“Nothing.” You shrug, but your lips curl anyway. “Just making sure you’re real.”

A grin stretches across his features. “You think you hallucinated me driving us out to the middle of nowhere with a blanket and a thermos?”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest dream I’ve had.” You squeeze his hand lightly. “Although in my dreams, you’re usually shirtless.”

He laughs and the warm sound rolls through the quiet night. “We can make that happen.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re fighting a smile. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“This is the moment.” He tugs your joined hands to his chest and leaves them there, over the steady thump of his heart. “Besides, you’re looking at me like you’re trying to figure out how to paint me.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic,” he counters, eyes glinting. “You always have been.”

You huff, but your thumb is still moving over the back of his hand, tracing idle circles. “I was just thinking… we actually finished it.”

His gaze softens instantly, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just looks at you like he’s storing you away the same way you’re storing him.

“Yeah. We did," he whispers.

You turn back to the sky before you melt into a puddle. “Remember the sunrise hike? When you swore the view would ‘change our lives’ and it was just fog?”

“That fog was majestic,” he protests.

“That fog almost made me push you off the mountain. So much walking for nothing."

He laughs again, and the sound is so easy, so familiar, that you can feel it slotting into the spaces where hurt used to live. “At least I made it up to you with pancakes.”

“Burnt pancakes.”

“Shhh, it's the thought that counts.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

Jungkook shifts, rolling onto his side to face you more fully. The stars are behind him now, but their light still seems to catch in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs, “I think this one might be my favourite.”

You raise a brow. “Even more than swimming in that freezing river?”

"God," he groans, shuddering. "That was torture. This is by far a million times better."

You can’t argue with that. Lying here with him — his fingers tangled with yours, the sky endless above — does feel perfect.

A breeze sweeps over the clearing, carrying the scent of something faintly sweet — wildflowers, maybe — and Jungkook’s hair shifts against his forehead. You resist the urge to reach out and fix it because you don't want to let go of his hand.

He’s watching you, the weight of his attention soft but obvious.

“What?” you ask, turning to meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, and there’s a hint of your earlier smile in his voice. “Just making sure you’re real.”

You snort. “You’re such a copycat.”

“I’m serious.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “There were nights I didn’t think we’d get here.” His eyes flick up toward the stars, then back to you. “And now we are.”

Your chest tightens, and you push lightly at his shoulder because that’s easier than falling apart. “Stop getting sappy, Jeon. You’re ruining your tough guy image.”

He laughs. “You think I have a tough guy image?”

“You try to have one.” You grin. “But then you make heart-shaped pancakes and sing along to cheesy 90s ballads in the car, so…”

“That’s just called range,” he says, mock-offended.

“Mhm. Sure.”

He squeezes your hand once more before settling back onto his back, eyes drifting skyward again. You follow his gaze.

From here, the constellations look close enough to touch, and with his palm pressed to yours, you can almost believe you could reach them.

“We should make another list," he says.

You glance at him. “Already trying to one-up this one?”

“No,” he says, smiling faintly. “Just something new. More things we can look back on and say, yeah, we did that, or something.”

The word lingers in your mind.

We.

Not just a passing plural or a convenience for conversation.

It feels like forever, and it’s strange how that doesn’t scare you anymore.

You used to think forever was a dangerous word. Heavy. Claustrophobic. A promise made too early could only ever crack under the weight of real life. It's part of the reason you used to rave on about not staying in this country, because you couldn't understand how someone could stay in one place forever.

But now, forever doesn't feel like a trap. Maybe you're just lucky, but now, it feels like home.

“Another list, huh?” you murmur.

He glances over, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Yeah. Why not? Gives us more excuses to go on ridiculous adventures.”

“You’re just looking for reasons to make me suffer again. Next thing you know, we’ll be swimming in another frozen river.”

“That was your idea, actually. And I'm never doing that again." A pause. "Unless you really want to," he adds in a murmur.

You shake your head, but your smile gives you away. “I’m serious, though. I like the idea of another list.”

“Then we’ll start tomorrow.”

“You’re eager," you say, laughing softly.

“There’s a lot I still want to do with you,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in it.

Your chest tightens again, but not in the way it used to — not with hurt. Sure it’s a bit silly, but you don’t just want to make a new list with him. You want every list, every plan, every unexpected detour life throws at you to have him in it.

You want forever.

You bite your lip, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks, but you don’t look away. “Good,” you say. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Something flickers in his eyes and his hand tightens around yours. He swallows, looking like he’s about to speak, then stops himself, gaze flicking toward the blanket, the sky, anywhere but your face for a moment.

You know that look. You’ve seen it before, in other moments when he’s had something to say but wanted to line up every word just right.

When he looks back at you, his smile is softer, but there’s something pulling at the edges of it. “Close your eyes for a second.”

Your brows knit. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” he says, his voice low. It makes your heart do something it shouldn’t be able to do while you’re lying still.

You hesitate, searching his face for a clue, but all you find is that quiet determination that’s so entirely him. So you do as he asks, letting the dark behind your eyelids take over, the night air cool against your skin.

Somewhere to your right, you hear the faint rustle of fabric, the shift of weight on the blanket.

“Don’t peek,” he says, and there’s a nervous edge under the warmth of his tone.

“If this is a bug, I swear—”

“It’s not a bug.” His laugh is shaky. “Though that would’ve been funny.”

You hear him move again, the sound of something small shifting, and your pulse kicks up.

“Okay,” he says, voice closer now. “Open.”

You blink your eyes open, the blur of stars coming into focus, but not before you see him first.

He’s sitting up, knees bent toward you, holding a small, open box. Inside, the ring catches the starlight in a way that feels almost unfair — too perfect, too much like the kind of scene you thought only happened in other people’s lives.

You stare at it for a moment, then at him. “You’re— are you serious right now?”

His mouth lifts at one corner, but his eyes stay steady on yours. “Completely.”

His hands are shaking ever so slightly and you sit up onto your knees.

“Kook…” You trail off, unable to find words as your eyes flickers from him to the box, then back up again.

“We made a list when we didn’t know what the future would look like. And we still did it. Every single thing. So I figured maybe it’s time to start the next list.” He glances down at the ring briefly, then back at you. “Only this one’s just one thing.”

You swallow, your throat tight. “What’s that?”

He exhales, and the faintest smile curves his mouth. “Spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your chest squeezes so tightly you almost forget how to breathe. Your eyes sting before you can stop them.

Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You’ve been my best friend, my safe place, my favourite part of every day. Even when things were hard— when I was scared we’d never find our way back— you were still the only person I wanted to tell everything to. You’re the one I think about when I hear a dumb song, or see something funny, or when I just… need to feel okay again.”

Your vision blurs, and you blink rapidly, a watery laugh escaping. “Stop, you’re gonna make me—”

He shakes his head, smiling through his own nerves. “No, I’m not stopping. Cause I need you to know this. I need you to know that there’s no version of my life I want without you in it. I want the quiet mornings when you’re still half-asleep and grumpy. I want the road trips where we get lost and argue over dumb things. I want every messy, beautiful, ordinary day with you.”

You bite your lip, but it’s no use — tears slip hot down your cheeks anyway.

“I know forever used to sound scary,” he says softly, “but it doesn’t scare me if it’s with you. You make the idea of growing old actually sound good. Like something to look forward to. Because if I get to watch you laugh for the rest of my life, I’ll have everything I could ever need.”

Your laugh comes out as more of a sob, and you press a hand over your mouth. He reaches for it, gently pulling it away so you can’t hide.

“So,” he says, his own eyes glassy now, “will you let me love you for all the days we’ve got left?" He blinks a few times, letting out a shaky breath. "Y/n, will you marry me?”

The ring glints between you, but it’s his face — hopeful, and so stupidly in love — that has you nodding before you can even find your voice.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s the easiest answer you’ve ever given.

Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds like relief and disbelief all at once, his smile breaking wide and unrestrained.

“You said yes,” he says, almost like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

You laugh, still sniffling, brushing at your cheeks with the back of your free hand. “Of course I said yes. What did you think I was gonna say?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “but hearing you actually say it…” He shakes his head, the grin not going anywhere. “It feels like my heart’s too big for my chest.”

You roll your watery eyes at the cheesiness, but it only makes you cry harder. “God, you’re so corny.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he murmurs. “You love me.”

Your laugh comes out as a hiccup. “Unfortunately for me, yeah.”

He chuckles softly, sliding the ring from its box. His fingers are gentle as he slips it onto yours, like he’s afraid it might shatter if he moves too fast.

You stare down at your hand, the ring catching the starlight just enough to look like it was made for this exact moment. For a second, you can’t even bring yourself to speak. You just turn your palm slightly, watching the way it glimmers, the weight of it settling over you in a way that’s more comforting than overwhelming.

When you finally look back at him, his eyes are still on you, carefully memorising every inch of your face.

Your hand instinctively wrap around the sides of his neck and you pull him in, pressing your lips to his.

Your thumbs brush at his jaw and Jungkook exhales softly against your mouth, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment he asked. You can taste the salty tang of your tears, but you don't care — not when his hands are on your waist and his tender lips are against yours.

Eventually, when you pull back, both of you can't help but smile like idiots.

“I love you,” you whisper, still close enough to feel his breath.

“I love you more.”

You shake your head, grinning through the lingering tears. “Not possible.”

He laughs quietly, pressing the quickest, sweetest kiss to the tip of your nose. “Guess we’ll have forever to argue about it.”

“both my parents are coming for the semifinal game on wednesday,” jungkook complains and you know why. every time his mom and dad are in the same vicinity, some sort of verbal argument breaks out.

you can relate. it’s also hard for you to get your parents in the same space without some sort of problem.

“god, i swear i’ll never marry someone and put my kid through a divorce like that,” you grumble, kicking a rock in your path. you nearly tumble in your drunken state, but jungkook steadies you with hands on either side of your shoulders with a laugh.

that was ages ago. you still agree with what your younger self said, though. all you ever wanted for your future child, should you have one, was stability. you wanted a roof over their head where both of their parents lived in harmony. that was before you decided that you didn’t even want to get married, though.

when jungkook proposes to you, these ideas of stability suddenly seem ridiculous. but, he has the same thing on his mind when he asks.

a day later, after he gives you space to mull about his sudden proposal, jungkook comes over to your apartment for dinner. you make his favourite stew and answer the door with a certain nervousness that you’ve never felt before when hanging out with jungkook. he smiles when you let him in and for the first few minutes, you make small talk as if nothing is different.

he sits at your tiny dining table for two, across from you as you plate dinner for the both of you.

when you join him, you finally get to the point.

“i don’t think we should get married, koo,” you say, sighing heavily.

jungkook doesn’t flinch. he shovels a spoonful of beef into his mouth, as if you’re discussing the weather.

“have you thought about it?”

“yes, and doesn’t it feel a little silly?” you laugh awkwardly, picking at the rice in your bowl.

until that night in june, you never even saw jungkook in that way. you couldn’t imagine yourself in anything but this friendship with him. the two of you got along and he wasn’t bad looking, but that didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. after a decade of friendship, it just never blossomed into a real, tangible idea.

plus, you’re kinda the rebound. at least, that’s the way you see it. that’s perfectly fine when it was supposed to be a one off arrangement to fuck and get all of your respective frustrations out, but getting married is different.

jungkook licks his lips, pondering deeply. “i think it makes sense.”

you give him a pointed look. jungkook has a tendency of acting first, thinking later. everything was always picture perfect in his mind and you think it’s just another case of that. sometimes, you swear the man lives in a fairytale.

“in what world does us getting married make sense?”

he almost appears offended, eyebrows furrowed. “well, for one, this is my child, too. and i want to take care of the both of you!”

bless his heart, jungkook never fails to have the best intentions. you, however, are still frazzled by the idea alone. you lean over and put a hand over his, just as you did yesterday at the highway lookout.

“we don’t need to get married for you to be present,” you counter softly.

“it’s practical,” jungkook argues, squeezing your hand back. “i have amazing health insurance and it makes sense for both of you to be under it. i want to provide for you. and, listen, what about our kid getting to have both parents around?”

your eyes soften. “we can’t just get married because it’s convenient. i am sure that you will still be around,” you say. “look, marriage is no joke -”

“- neither is having a kid together,” jungkook cuts you off and your heart flutters slightly at the word together. that is what this is, though. you have decided that you’ll be having this baby and jungkook has declared that he will be here throughout it all. “you’re my best friend, i love you, and you’re having my kid. why wouldn’t we get married?”

at that, you do frown slightly. you never envisioned yourself getting married and especially not in a situation where you didn’t love someone. well, in a way, this isn’t that. you and jungkook do love each other, but you’re sure that it’s not the kind of love you had in mind.

“jungkook, what if you finally meet someone that you actually want to marry?” you reply and you can’t help but laugh because the argument is growing.

jungkook’s face darkens and you realize that you’ve hit a nerve.

you recall the rambling jungkook made the night where the two of you got drunk and slept together. he made all these wild declarations of never getting married and that he’ll never trust another woman ever again after mariana. they were fair statements to make after all the shit he’s gone through, but you didn’t actually take them seriously back then. he just seemed heartbroken and you were sure he would bounce back after meeting the right woman.

he shakes his head. “it’s not happening. i’ve given up on that stuff,” jungkook asserts and his tone leaves no room for argument. “and, if you meet someone, then fine.”

“i never wanted to get married in the first place,” you remind him, looking at the ceiling.

“exactly. so, why not get married to me?”

you expect a back and forth when you invited jungkook over to dinner tonight. he still kept the whole idea of getting engaged on the drive back yesterday and you put a lid on it for the meantime, citing that you can talk about it over food. you just didn’t realize how serious jungkook was about the whole thing, until now.

sighing, you say, “this is an absolutely insane idea, koo. we can’t just get engaged because it’s convenient.”

“it isn’t a crazy idea,” jungkook continues to argue. “what about all those people that make pacts with their best friends? the ones that promise to get married at, like, thirty five if neither of them find anyone else?”

“those people are just lonely,” you huff. “and crazy.”

you try and imagine a world where you and jungkook are married. when you do, it’s a scary thing to see that it honestly is not much different than the world where you are in right now. the only difference would be a kid together and living under the same roof. a part of you slowly starts to see where jungkook is coming from, but you’re too stubborn to actually admit it. you think of waking up to jungkook packing your kid’s backpack for school and vacationing to disney world and growing old together. the same inside jokes fill silences and so does the safety you feel around your best friend, who has never failed to show up for you when you need him the most.

well, except for the being in love part and the intimacy.

technically, you do love jungkook. and the intimacy has already long occurred.

so, you relent. not all the way, but you sigh and lower your guard.

“how about. . .maybe. for now, it’s a maybe.”

jungkook nearly leaps out of his seat, even if your answer isn’t complete. it’s more than enough for now. he launches himself towards you when he does so, leaning down to pull you into a tight embrace. all of your sarcastic deflections die when you feel his warmth and for the first time since seeing those two lines on the tests, you relax. you relax in your best friend’s arms and you let him hold you.

he whispers into your hair. “you’re not alone. i’ll never let you be alone.”

it’s not like you ever doubted jungkook’s earnest pledges. you know that he’ll always be there and that he’ll provide in every way that he can. but, when you hear it as he holds you tight, you melt. you melt and succumb to the point where you’re sobbing into his chest. you don’t even know when the tears come, but it’s like your heart has finally softened from his words alone. the tears stain his shirt, but he doesn’t falter even a little bit.

you finally let yourself feel everything and it comes out in babbled tears. jungkook continues to just embrace you and he also cries. it’s silent and you can only really tell by the way his shoulders shake, but he also lets his heart soften - so long as you’re in his arms. he doesn’t cry in front of anyone but you and in a way, you’re also holding him tight.

“i’m scared, too,” he finally admits through your shared tears and you nod in understanding.

neither of you have ever been confident in love. someone always leaves. it’s a gamble to go through with this as friends.

you make one last promise, in spite of the guilt you feel for the rest that you’ve broken. “you know, i got you, too,” you murmur. “we’ll do this. together.”

the situation you’re in is strange and unknown, but jungkook isn’t. he’s familiar and safe. you think of the life ahead of you, where you’ll be having a baby with your best friend. even through your shared tears and shaking shoulders, the two of you have each other - not unlike how it’s been since high school. you push away all the complications and whatever untouched feelings hiding at the bottom of your heart for now.

you’re unsure of how life is supposed to go on after this conversation with him. the end of summer is fast approaching and that means jungkook is supposed to go back to work once the nba season starts up again when the leaves change. you also go back to work, while grappling with all the logistics of the next eight months or so to come. you don’t want to put your career on hold until you’re physically unable to do your job, so you do your research on how long you have. you also have to look up policies on maternity leave and at the same time, get familiar with all these other things like nutrition and figuring out more doctors’ appointments.

i’m ordering these parenting books lmk if theres one u think sounds interesting and i’ll let u read it first, reads one of jungkook’s texts the very next day.

he’s more prepared than you, even. he immediately makes a shared calendar for the two of you, where he’s already scheduled a parenting course for himself and links you the family centre in case you want to join him. you barely have time to think about anything else, but jungkook is one step ahead of you, especially when he calls you on your way to work. it’s like his mind is racing with everything related to the baby.

“i’ll talk with you soon, i have to get to the clinic,” you say into your phone the next morning, when jungkook calls to see how you’re doing.

you have a feeling that this is going to happen often. jungkook has always been quite protective over you and now knowing that you’re carrying his child, you can only hope he isn’t too overbearing. still, he cares. he genuinely cares so deeply for you and for this baby and despite the circumstances, you can’t imagine a better father.

jungkook stops what he's doing and you can tell because the random rustling on the other line just pauses. “wait, what?”

“what? i’m going to work?”

you can already feel what jungkook is about to say next. to be frank, he should know better. he knows how much you care about your job and how ambition practically runs in your veins like blood. you’re happy to see that, after a few moments, jungkook doesn’t end up protesting. instead, he collects himself and approaches the topic respectfully.

he clears his throat after the five seconds of silence. “is there any chance you can meet me in the middle about this?” he asks.

you pause, too. “what do you mean?” your answer is slow, not sure where this is going. jungkook must know that you’re not going to give up your job.

jungkook sighs. “i’m not asking you to quit your job.” there it is, out there first and made clear. “but, would you consider working closer to me?”

“i’m still confused here, jungkook.”

“the team has in-house chiropractors. would you consider coming to work for the titans?”

since jungkook has shot to fame and success, you’ve vowed to never use it to your own advantage. everything that you’ve built for yourself has come from solely yourself - from your shitty tiny apartment to the job that you finally secured after what felt like hundreds of interviews after graduation. you still make a fuss when he buys expensive gifts for you, even to this day. accepting a position with the new york titans, no matter how good that looked for your resume, is out of the question.

you let out a strangled laugh. “come on. you can’t be serious.”

jungkook responds and it sounds like he’s been working on this argument for a while now. “you still get to work and do what you do. you’re my pregnant fiancée -”

“- didn’t agree to that last part yet -”

“- and i would just feel better knowing that you’re nearby. you can come with us to road games and i’ll never have to be too far from you. there are times where we’ll be in different time zones and what if something happens to you? you have no other family in the city!”

you huff loudly, pressing your lips into a thin line. going through your first pregnancy with no one else around you at times does sound pretty rough. you also don’t want to quit your job and although it isn’t said aloud, you won’t have to worry about money if you’re working for the titans - as if you were ever going to when jeon jungkook is the father of your child. but, the offer is sudden and takes you off guard.

you’re locking the door to your apartment with your phone at your ear, as you silently mull over jungkook’s persuasive arguments.

“i don’t know,” you say, rubbing your temples. “are you sure that’s even a good idea? mixing your personal life with your work life?”

“you know how many of the players are fucking cheerleaders? what about queer athletes that date their teammates!” jungkook tries to object. “seriously, i do not mind. in fact, i prefer it.”

honestly, fair point. at least in jungkook’s defense. you, however, still remain unsure. you’ve never dated a coworker - or would jungkook be a client? nonetheless, you guys aren’t dating. that was another issue that had yet to be smoothed out and it was what the two of you were supposed to tell people. jungkook could pass you off as his pregnant partner, but your families will know otherwise. you groan thinking about all of these things, while also considering the idea of working for jungkook’s team.

you make your way to the elevator, checking the time to make sure you aren’t going to be late. “give me a few days to think about it. i have to consider myself and everyone else at the clinic, too.”

soon, you’re signing the contract for your new job with the new york titans and saying goodbye to your coworkers at the clinic. you come to the decision that you would rather have jungkook around. the deal is made in just a few days and you try to not throw up at your new salary written on the contract.

you don’t have to start work for another few weeks because it’s still the basketball off season. in the meantime, you and jungkook decide that it’s time to tie up loose ends with your apartment and make the trip to tell your respective families the news about the baby.

plus, figure out whatever the hell you’re going to tell them.

originally, you didn’t want to move in with jungkook. you thought that changing jobs would be enough. but, then, you found yourself at jungkook’s place several days in a row.

it’s almost like how things were before jungkook got engaged, when he would be in between girlfriends and you didn’t feel like you were overstepping boundaries. you know that having being in such close proximity to jungkook never felt comfortable for his girlfriends and you often respectfully took a step back when he was in relationships. it wasn’t like you would ever drift away as friends because of it - you’re practically family after over a decade of being in each other’s lives. it was just. . .comfortable distance. but, when things were normal and he was single? you guys spent so much time together, from binging television together to gym trips to going out for food.

“i really don’t wanna be pushy,” jungkook suddenly says one morning, interrupting your game of scrabble. “but, don’t you think it would be easier if you lived here, too?”

currently, you’re dressed in one of jungkook’s hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants because this is the third night in a row you’ve spent in his guest bedroom. the two of you sit cross-legged around his coffee table with takeout noodles scattered around the board. it’s akin to your summer nights in high school, before either of you had jobs or responsibilities. back then, the two of you would stay up all night playing games or talking on his roof because there was nothing else to do the next day.

you pause in the middle of pulling some new letter tiles. “like, live here?” you repeat, eyebrows raised.

when you came to hang out with jungkook, you didn’t even really have the pregnancy in mind. you just wanted to spend time with him, especially after all the drama that’s happened. the two of you tried your absolute best to carry on with life as normal and it almost felt like jungkook really meant it when he said everything goes back to normal, back in june. except for the child growing in your belly, of course.

“yeah. you could move in.”

with impeccable timing, there is a sudden weakness in your limbs. it’s slow and subtle, until it reaches your stomach. it’s all too familiar and jungkook’s words nearly go through one ear and out the other because of the overwhelming wave of nausea that washes over you. sounds begin to blur together, the lights are sharp, and the noodles in front of you suddenly smell disgusting. you already know what’s happening and, so in tune with your body and mannerisms, he also knows what it is.

you heave yourself to your feet and make a beeline for the nearest toilet. jungkook trails after you and before your head is hovering over the bowl, he’s already right behind you with his large hands holding your hair back.

some seriously undignified sounds spill out of you as your stomach empties and convulses as you retch. your body curls inward without thinking. at this point, you’re so used to the morning sickness that you just sit there, going along with it and hoping that it ceases as soon as possible. it helps when jungkook soothingly rubs your back, muttering whispers of how well you’re doing.

it’s been nice having him around for these parts of the pregnancy. you know he’ll help you throughout it all, as everything progresses and you’ll need more and more help. the room is tilted on his axis, but he’s clear as day.

“sorry -”

“- don’t be sorry,” he interjects softly, letting you catch your breath.

jungkook has been throwing himself into studying and research about pregnancy and childbirth. hell, he’s probably more prepared than you are. he’s not even fazed by your morning sickness and you don’t think he ever has been.

after a few moments, your stomach settles. jungkook has removed your zip up sweater when he notices your sudden chills while sweating. then, it’s just the earlier conversation hangs in the air.

he sits there patiently, probably not even thinking about his offer and is waiting for you to be okay.

you blink slowly, finally bringing it up again. “are you sure me moving in is a good idea? seeing me at home and then seeing me at work?”

jungkook smiles and sits beside you on the bathroom floor. the two of you are crossed legged on the tiles, facing each other.

“well, uh, i was assuming that we’d be spending most of our time together outside of work anyways,” jungkook replies sheepishly, scratching his neck. “that’s what we usually do, right? so, will it really make a difference?”

considering your current state and the way you’ve been here for several days without trying, an argument dies in your throat. again, it seems like there’s more benefits rather than drawbacks if you stay near jungkook. he doesn’t treat it like an obligation, but like it just. . .makes sense.

he pushes some hair out of your face as you think. it’s hard to concentrate when he does that, though, as jungkook has been growing increasingly more comfortable with touching you in subtle ways. he’ll place his hand on your waist or tug you by the hand - things that he would sometimes do before, but now happen everyday. you think he’s just being overprotective of you physically because of the pregnancy and brush it off.

the move is finalized not long after and jungkook arranges for some movers to bring your belongings over to his condo. even with your protests, he insists to pay the rent for your studio apartment so you can keep it and go back whenever you want. it’s a nice gesture and it shows that he still cares about you having your own space.

meanwhile, the weekend of the move is the only time that you can jungkook can make the visit back to your hometown.

jungkook flies you out in first class - no surprise there. it’s luxurious despite the short domestic trip and you’re familiar with the surroundings because he’s bought you first class tickets for important playoff games, which you couldn’t decline for such important events. now, being pregnant with his child, it’s like jungkook takes every opportunity to spoil you.

still, you think that the mercedes benz sprinter that comes to pick up you and jungkook from the airport is overkill.

“a taxi would have been fine,” you mutter to him, sliding into the backseat. you see the wicked grin on his face and you immediately know what’s coming next, so you put a hand up. “don’t start with the whole ‘my pregnant fiancée’ thing -”

jungkook just laughs and reaches over your lap to put your seatbelt on for you.

“whatever,” he says, poking your nose.

the drive from the airport to his mom’s house is only an hour, but rush hour traffic extends the journey by another thirty minutes. you’re not sure if it’s a blessing or curse to have this extra time - to have more time to set a game plan with jungkook about how you’re going to approach this, but it’s also extra time to drown in your nerves.

your childhood home is just down the street from where jungkook’s mom lives and you both ask your mothers to have dinner together under the pretense of celebrating his birthday early. the two women are close friends themselves, so it’s not difficult to arrange. then, you’re supposed to go see your dad tomorrow for lunch and jungkook’s father in the evening. it’s a weekend with a very tight schedule, especially when jungkook has to be back in new york on monday to film a commercial. and then. . .you’ll be living with him come your respective returns to the city.

at six in the evening, the sun is still out bright for tonight’s summer evening and you feel the warmth on your cheeks as you and jungkook talk in the car. you’re both about twenty minutes away now.

you fidget slightly with your hands in your lap. “my mom is gonna kill us,” you groan.

the last thing you’re looking forward to is drilling into your mother’s head that you had the unfortunate luck of being the one percent that birth control fails.

jungkook shrugs, completely unbothered. “your mom loves me.”

“enough to excuse having a child out of wedlock?”

“yes.”

“well, she doesn’t love me enough to excuse having a child out of wedlock,” you retort back and lean your head back on the leather seats.

the whole situation is so bizarre that you have no idea how anyone is going to react. it’s especially messy considering jungkook just broke off his engagement to mariana a few months ago. it all just made you look bad. or maybe you’re just used to seeing the woman get crucified in these situations.

it’s as if jungkook reads your mind because he suddenly puts his hand over yours.

“hey, look at me,” he murmurs. “don’t worry about what they say. seriously, remember what i said? i got you.”

jungkook has defended you and stepped up for you for the better part of your life. that isn’t going to change anytime soon.

SEPTEMBER

to you, it’s like jungkook’s birthday has seemingly lasted for weeks on end. there were the celebrations with his family and now, you’re standing in the middle of a private yacht in the middle of the east river with his friends. it’s more than a little awkward to be in the thick of it all while being stone cold sober, but jungkook has kept an arm around you the entire time and despite it being a party for him, has ensured that you have everything you need the entire night.

the sun is just about to set over new york city, shades of clementine and pink painted clouds floating in the sky like cotton candy. it’s warm in a way that isn’t overwhelming, but the last touches of summer fading in the air. soft waves ripples beneath the boat and your surroundings smell like salt and liquor. in the distance, the vast skyline of the city feels somehow calm.

“you two are just adorable.”

it’s yeonjun, a forward for the titans and one of the teammates of jungkook’s that you’re more familiar with. you’ve met him on countless of occasions before and he’s always been nice to you. he’s eying the way that jungkook a tight grip around your waist with a smirk.

by chance, you and jungkook end up picking out matching outfits. he’s wearing a linen button down and white shorts. you have on a white two piece maxi set with a deep v-line. you nearly convinced jungkook to change, but he kept remarking that the two of you look cute. safe to say, he isn’t the only one who thinks so.

“yeonjun!” jungkook exclaims happily and lets go of you momentarily to hug his teammate, but returns to you right afterwards.

jungkook insisted that you come tonight because it’s supposed to be a good opportunity to meet all of his teammates. you have met some of them in the past, but these are going to be the men that you’ll be working with at the end of the month when training camp starts.

“happy birthday man,” yeonjun congratulates, clapping his older friend on the back. then, he smiles at you and says your name in greeting. “you look beautiful.”

you swear you catch jungkook side eying yeonjun when you reply back. “thank you,” you say, returning the smile and a side hug.

“so, uh, what’s the deal with you guys?” when yeonjun pulls back, he’s still staring at the two of you like a puzzle he can’t solve.

this is it. this is the first person who gets to hear the news and at the very least, you’re glad it’s yeonjun, who knows the long history between you and jungkook. you’ve been worried that some of his teammates would assume that you’re some random girl that has baby trapped jungkook.

it was scary enough telling your families and the reactions were mixed, to say the least. you and jungkook had to repeatedly emphasize that you aren’t dating (which his mother seemed very disappointed about) and then he had to go and tell your parents that he wants to marry you. he literally asked your dad for your “hand in marriage” - even though you still haven’t given jungkook an answer and that you preferred to not mention a wedding anytime soon. otherwise, your families are rightfully confused, but are excited about the baby and are at least at peace knowing that you two have each other’s backs, as you always have.

jungkook pulled your dad aside during that weekend and talked to him privately. when you confronted him afterwards, he did admit that he asked for your dad’s permission to marry you. after you hit him upside on the head for such a medieval inquiry, you expected your dad to go and blab to your mom - despite the fact that they barely talk in the first place, it seems like they’ve been trying to play nice in the family group chat with the impending arrival of their first grandchild. your dad has still kept his mouth shut, to your delight, because you still aren’t sure about this whole marriage thing.

moving in is one thing. working for jungkook’s basketball team is another. but, this is marriage. never anything you wanted to take lightly.

jungkook answers yeonjun after you squeeze his waist in encouragement.

“we’re together,” he starts slowly. “and, uh, we’re expecting.”

well, not totally false. not totally true either, but you don’t wanna be all over tmz tomorrow when the news spreads that jungkook has suddenly found a new fiancée, at least not yet. saying that you're together is. . .fine and having a baby is easier to keep under wraps than a wedding.

yeonjun’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “what?” he says, breathlessly chuckling. “you guys are finally together? no way - holy shit, congratulations!”

a tight smile spreads on your lips, which you definitely need to work on if you’re going to be meeting the rest of his teammates and announcing the pregnancy. then, you take a moment. finally together? you don’t have any more time to think it over because yeonjun pulls the both of you into a tight hug.

jungkook grins proudly. “thank you, thank you,” he responds. “you’re the first to know tonight.”

“i’m honoured,” yeonjun muses, taking a sip of his beer.

“we also may or may not have a new chiropractor for the team,” jungkook says, nudging towards you.

you’re not a fan of the obvious nepotism, but it explains itself when the person knows that you’re carrying jungkook’s child.

you nod, trying to not sound so nervous. “i’ll be working with you guys once training camp starts.”

yeonjun is absolutely ecstatic and starts talking about how you’re going to love working with the titans organization and how nice the team’s private plane is.

“so, how did this even happen?” he suddenly asks, gesturing to the two of you. he doesn’t even question the validity of jungkook’s announcement and seems content by just the look of you and jungkook attached to the hip. “i mean i saw it coming, but wow, you guys wasted no time -”

“- okay, okay, that’s enough.” jungkook cuts yeonjun off with an anxious laugh. you figure that talking about moving on from mariana so soon is awkward for him.

wait, yeonjun saw what coming?

the man still continues, smiling from ear to ear. “i mean, come on, you guys look so good together. i always swore that you would end up together -”

something similar left your mother’s lips the weekend that you and jungkook came to visit. when you informed her that you’re pregnant, she immediately assumed that the two of you are now together. you were able to gently let her down and explain the situation to her, but not before she exclaimed that it’s ‘about time’ or whatever that means. you figure that your families have always assumed that there’s something secretly going on between the two of you just because you’re a man and a woman - so, you ignore it, the same way you’ve ignored it all your life.

you do the same for the rest of the night, when similar statements pop up from jungkook’s colleagues. some of them that haven’t gotten to know you before give you the side eye for seemingly appearing as the rebound, until jungkook steps in and mentions that you’ve both known each other all your lives. apart from that, his teammates and other friends congratulate the two of you.

the worst of it is over by the end of the night. you and jungkook sit in an uber back to his condo - technically, yours now, too.

"the cat’s out of the bag,” you mutter, leaning your head back in exhaustion.

everyone who needed to know now is aware of the pregnancy. you’ve met his teammates and exchanged pleasantries before your first day of work. meanwhile, your families are still unsure of what to think - mostly when you and jungkook explained that you aren’t together. it looked like they were confused at most, especially when jungkook began hinting at a wedding.

hell, even you’re confused now.

jungkook tugs you over so you can shift your head from the leather seats to his shoulders. you’ve noticed a steady increase of physical touch from him in the past few weeks since everything went down, but have yet to comment on it. it seems protective, the way he’s always got a hand on the small of your back or the way he offers his shoulder to save you from neck pain. so, you lean on him and let out a sigh, just thinking about all that’s happened tonight.

“the guys were all nice to you?” jungkook asks, tone wary. you know he’ll set anyone in their place, should they do anything to offend or upset you, but it’s different now that you’re in such close proximity to his teammates.

you chuckle. “they were fine, koo,” you respond. “don’t you think they’re probably a bit judgy because it looks like you’ve moved on so fast from mariana?”

“trust me,” he snorts. “the guys have done dirtier things to women. me having a baby with my best friend after i call off my engagement is practically disney channel worthy compared to that.”

“touché.”

the two of you arrive home - it’s still a bit strange calling jungkook’s place home. you’ve been against roommates for years to the point where you’ve settled for contributing nearly eighty percent of your income towards the atrocious new york city rate for a studio rental. jungkook’s condo is so spacious that it’s not as bad as you think.

you’ve been staying in one of his extra bedrooms, once a guest room, and have pretty much moved all of your belongings in. there hasn’t really been a real discussion on whether or not this living arrangement is going to be permanent once the baby is born and you figure that jungkook is still waiting on your answer to his proposal for that to happen.

still. it’s comfortable and the two of you fall into an easy rhythm after you move in.

“you hungry?” jungkook asks, hanging his keys by the door when the two of you arrive. it’s nearly one in the morning, but you haven’t had much to eat tonight except for little hors d'oeuvres at the party.

“starving,” you chuckle. “i’ll come out in a second - i’m just gonna wash up,” you say.

the whole scene is very domestic and you’re taken aback at how smooth the adjustment is in. jungkook heads towards the kitchen to heat up the dinner that his personal chef prepared him and you go into your bathroom to take off your makeup.

a knock interrupts you and he’s by the doorway, leaning casually against the frame - until his eyes fall on you.

you jump, especially since you just stripped down to your underwear. you’re just in your flesh-coloured bra and panties set, clothes strewn across the bathroom floor.

“jesus!” you exclaim, hand over your heart. “your footsteps are like a mouse, you know?”

jungkook clears his throat and has turned away, obviously having not expected you to be nearly naked. “sorry -” he says, cheeks slightly pink. “- i, uh, was pouring myself a drink and just came to ask if you wanted me to make you a shirley temple or something.”

even though it was a celebration for his birthday, you noticed that he didn’t go too crazy with liquor at the party and you suspected that it was because he wanted to watch over you.

“you can look, you know. it’s not anything you haven’t seen before.”

he lets out a strangled laugh and finally faces you. you can tell that he’s straining to keep his eyes above your shoulders and your body stiffens a bit. you’re not sure why.

jungkook scratches the back of his neck. “right, sorry,” he apologizes again. “just don’t wanna make it seem like i’m invading your space.”

you did leave your bedroom door open just now and you have your own habit of bursting into jungkook’s room unannounced, so you don’t even flinch. it’s only fair. you don’t even really care that you’re practically naked in front of him when you’re carrying his damn demon spawn.

“it’s fine, stupid.” you turn back to the sink, bending over slightly to wash the last of your cleanser from your face. “but, yes, a shirley temple would be nice.”

it feels like jungkook’s stare is burning into your back.

that’s the first obvious moment of many after moving in with jungkook. everything is subtle leading up to this point, but something shifts following the night of jungkook’s party with his teammates. you think he’s maybe just tired, but then, the bed incident happens.

you’ve been sleeping in your own bed every night, but there are some occasions when you join jungkook in his room. the television in the master bedroom is huge and jungkook only bought leather couches for his living room because they looked nice, not because they’re comfortable, so he prefers watching movies in bed.

okay, maybe more than some occasions - it’s definitely an ‘every other night’ type of thing.

granted, neither you or jungkook are working until training camp starts at the end of the month. you both have nothing to do, apart from jungkook’s random brand deal shoots.

“i can’t believe you get paid so much money to sit around for weeks,” you joke one night, as the two of you sit underneath the covers of his king size bed.

the television is playing the final season of breaking bad and you’re ashamed to admit that it’s only taken you both less than a week to get to this part of the series.

jungkook throws some popcorn at you and you stick your tongue out at him when it gets stuck in your hair. “excuse you, i just went to france and won a gold medal,” he snorts. “during what’s usually my time off, on top of that.”

“yeah, yeah, it’s still ridiculous.”

“i know it’s hard to imagine having time to yourself, miss workaholic,” jungkook chides. “isn’t it nice, though? when’s the last time that you got this much time off?”

probably not since you were in high school. jungkook has insisted that you take these weeks of freedom to relax, especially with navigating the first parts of your pregnancy.

although you’re itching to get back to work, doing absolutely fuck all with jungkook is nice. you don’t think that you’ve gotten this much time with him since high school either. it reminds you a lot of your earlier days of friendship and you realize how much you took it for granted back then.

one night, during jungkook’s suggested marathon of the entire marvel cinematic universe, it’s nearly four in the morning. you’re both sleepy, but have agreed to at least finish the phase two movies before going to bed.

in your deliriousness, you feel like you’re sleep talking. “i missed this,” you murmur to the sounds of ant-man getting arrested.

jungkook looks over at you and chuckles at the sight of your heavy lids. “miss what?” he asks.

he nudges you, pulling you over by the arm. you don’t have much fight in you to resist and you scoot over closer to where he sits against his headboard, laying your head on his shoulder. something about his scent of fresh laundry and cologne relaxes you instantly. jungkook mirrors your movements and leans his head on yours.

“dunno,” you answer, still trying to keep your eyes peeled open. “this. us. before life got busy.”

jungkook stifles a yawn, also visibly exhausted as he tries to get through the movie with you. “yeah?” he whispers. “before basketball?”

“before we had to grow up,” you laugh softly, pulling the covers higher up to your chin.

in a way, before basketball, but before everything else. there was the before work and the before school, but more that you didn’t want to admit aloud.

before jungkook went looking for love.

you only ever wanted jungkook to be happy, but him exploring his love life meant that you had to take a backseat. it was only natural as the “girl best friend” that didn’t want to be the villain in anyone’s relationship. you tried your best to not get in the way and to not take it personally, especially when you had your own life and career to worry about.

but, sitting here with jungkook, reminds you of how important he is in your life. well, now more than ever.

jungkook seems to realize this as well in this moment, letting your words sink in. “you know,” he murmurs. “you’ll be forever attached to me for the rest of your life.”

an obvious truth that had probably existed since the beginning of your friendship, but it’s set in stone now.

you laugh a little at that. “i used to think it was impossible to not have you in my life., the way we always ended up in the same place.”

“really?”

“when scouts started looking at you in high school, i was sure that you would never talk to me again once we parted ways for college,” you admit, pulling back a little to smirk up at him. “but, then we ended up at duke together. even then, i thought you would find new friends in college.”

back then, he still clung to your side and never let you go. sure, he made friends through the basketball team and classes - it’s hard to not become popular as the best player at the school - but, he made sure you never felt left out or left behind. even if it meant dragging you to parties as a plus one or introducing you to dozens of people that you could never remember, jungkook always made sure that nothing could break your bond.

jungkook smiles lazily. “scared of sharing me?”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t affirm his accusation aloud. “you think if you didn’t get drafted by new york that we’d still be friends?”

“obviously.”

his answer is like a rapid cannon, like he doesn’t even have to think about it. jungkook has always been such an optimist and you think it’s just that, but he side eyes you.

you query, a bit unconvinced, “what?”

“i’m serious,” jungkook responds, brushing some hair out of your hair. his touch is so gentle and it makes your tired body melt a little more.

you laugh it off, as your eyes begin to grow heavy again. the movie is still playing in front of you and you’re trying your best to stay alert.

“well, now it’s a guarantee,” you muse. he doesn’t see it at first, but underneath the covers, your fingers ghost over your abdomen. “you’re stuck with me for life.”

jungkook looks down and observes the shift of your hand. he pauses for a moment, tilting his head in thought. when you see it, he smiles sheepishly at you.

he clears his throat and mumbles your name. “do you think it would be okay if. . .i talked to them?”

them. the life growing inside of you - the life that is made up of you and jungkook.

your teeth pull at the bottom of your lip, feeling your chest warm at his request. you feel like jungkook has been wanting to touch your stomach since you told him the news - you’ve noticed the way he peers vacantly at it every once in a while - and you realize he’s been holding back. of course, he would want to touch your belly.

“of course.”

jungkook looks at you like you just promised him the stars. he carefully peels away the blanket from your body and it’s intimate, the way he shuffles even closer to you. his body heat engulfs you, as he presses his body against yours, facing you, when he leans down to put his ear on your stomach. there’s a wonder in his eye that sparkles brightly and fighting the sleepy smile on your face is unwinnable.

“. . . hi baby,” jungkook begins to whisper and you can feel your heart leap. “it’s, uh, me. your dad. did ya know i think about you every second of my life now?”

without thinking twice, you gently thread your fingers through jungkook’s hair as he speaks. he looks nervous almost, talking to a baby in your stomach that’s still the size of a barbie shoe. you watch the way his shoulder relax when you touch him and he looks at you with a soft smile, a smile that sends goosebumps your arm. he continues.

“your mom and i can’t wait to meet you. you’re gonna be absolutely perfect.”

this is the last thing you remember when you wake up the next day. it seems like deja vu, the way you know where you are before you open your eyes.

mornings here have always been loud. you don’t mind because you don’t hear the noise until you leave your bedroom, but with jungkook usually home, there’s always something happening as soon as you step out. his music booms from his home gym during his workouts, often heavy guitars and drums. you may hear him yelling from his “office” - which is really just a gaming room that he sometimes uses for online work meetings. today, there is no peaceful quiet when you figure out quickly that you’re in jungkook’s bed - all from the balcony door that he seems to constantly forget to close.

new york city traffic hums below, slowly dragging you awake. you stir, but don’t get very far because strong arms are tightly wrapped around you. jungkook’s heavy leg is draped over your body and his face is buried in your neck.

he gains consciousness when you try to move, his eyes opening lazily. “morning,” jungkook grunts, peering down at your figure in his arms. his breath slightly tickles your skin, but you don’t move.

when compared to the last time you woke up in jungkook’s bed, you’re definitely freaking out less. you don’t remember at all falling asleep, especially since you usually stay awake long enough to at least make it back to your room. you’ve been doing it every time that you and jungkook sit in his bed to watch a movie or show, but you’re honestly surprised that it’s taken this long for you to accidentally doze off.

a part of you isn’t even fazed at your cuddling position, tangled limbs and all. maybe it’s because it has happened before, but you couldn’t care less now. you even like it a little - jungkook’s body is warm and admittedly, it’s nice to be held.

“good morning,” you mutter and see if you can shake his leg off, nearly crushing you. “are you gonna bother to release me?”

“no. you’re comfortable.”

“you’re so annoying.”

really, you aren’t that irritated, but you want to at least check what time it is. you try and crane your neck, when jungkook, all of a sudden, shifts slightly away from you. it’s sharp and so sudden. his arms are still slung over your torso, but he moves his leg and you can read some sort of panic in his eyes, which he immediately closes again.

your eyebrows furrow. “hey, are you okay?” you ask, now panicked yourself.

is he now realizing that this cuddling is weird? that you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in his bed?

jungkook clears his throat and you notice his ears turning pink. “yeah,” he answers curtly.

“what is it?” you question again, trying to scoot closer to him.

at this, he moves further away and even puts a pillow in between the two of you.

“it’s nothing, i just, uh, need a second,” he winces, trying to not look at you and still has his eyes screwed shut.

you think that you’ve done something to greatly offend jungkook when you notice where he’s moved the pillow.

oh.

he’s now placed it right where his crotch is.

“koo?” you say, your voice meek and unsure of what to do.

jungkook opens a single eye and sighs when he sees your face, the blush spreading across his face. “fuck, i’m so sorry,” he apologies, rubbing a hand on his jaw. “it’s just a morning thing, i swear -”

“- no, it’s okay!” you try to assure, now blushing yourself.

you don’t know what to think. jungkook looks away, sheepishly, and you’re not sure if you should comfort him or just leave.

in the end, you choose the latter when you're saved by the sound of your phone buzzing on jungkook’s bedside table. it's your mom, just calling to check up on you - as she's been doing nearly everyday since you broke the news to her - so, it's an easy escape when you leap out of bed to answer.

then, there's the night in the kitchen. you convince jungkook to let you cook for him every once in a while, since he's letting you live at his place for free and you feel the need to do something for him.

“you’re literally carrying my child, you don’t need to do anything for me,” he chuckled when you said something to him about it, but you have ignored it.

private chef be damned - he's always enjoyed your cooking for years and you just want to feel helpful one way or another.

“honey, i’m home!”

your eyes widen at the sound of jungkook’s teasing voice traveling from the front door to the kitchen, echoing in his huge condo. he went out for a workout with some of his friends an hour or so ago, which gave you enough time to surprise him with dinner.

whipping around, you’re met with jungkook dressed in a tight, black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. his hair is tousled and his gym bag is slung over one of his shoulders, as he trails closer and observes the scene in front of him. when he does, you notice how his muscles bulge out of his shirt and how the waistband of his sweatpants hang low on his hips.

it’s hard not to. objectively.

“you’re back early. steak and veggies?” you coax, hoping to not draw too much attention, gesturing to the bowl of marinating meat in front of you.

you’re fresh out of the shower and you’re just wearing cotton shorts, along with a tank top with no bra. it was common for you to prance around your old apartment in the same comfort, but not since moving in here. you had plans to throw on a hoodie before jungkook returned, but stopped in the middle of your haircare routine to throw the t-bone in the marinade.

he doesn’t seem to notice at first, too giddy about the prospects of eating your food.

jungkook grins. “you didn’t have to, but it’s perfect,” he says, barely looking at you and is already distracted with locating his blender seconds after.

the two of you dance around each other in the kitchen for the new few minutes, as you continue to work on dinner and he rummages around for his post-workout recovery shake ingredients. jungkook does just one scoop of protein powder, since you’re making steak, and finds his coconut water and other supplements in one of the cupboards.

he’s reaching for his creatine when he notices you beside him, struggling to grab a pan.

“here -”

you don’t expect jungkook to side step, coming behind you to help. you’re on your tippy toes when you suddenly feel his chest against your back, hand on your hip as he reaches over you to collect what you’re trying to get.

jungkook doesn’t realize how close he’s gotten and it makes your ears burn because at this proximity, he can see the way your nipples peak from underneath the fabric of your tank top. you can’t read his face from where he stands behind you, but there’s a half second where he just stills and your chest hammers.

he slowly lowers his arm, pan in hand, and doesn’t move until you spin around. if he was just half a step closer, you would be caged in against the counter. you look up through your eyelashes and there’s an unknown look in jungkook’s eye as he towers over you.

something about it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time, consuming the image of you fully.

up close, a scent of tobacco and a fresh shower linger softly. he has peppermint gum in his mouth, but his jaw has stopped moving - in both words and chewing. you also can’t help but stop what you’re doing, a strange force devouring you by way of jungkook’s strong presence. you’re not sure what sorts of revelations billow into your consciousness in this moment, but it’s like you’re also seeing him with fresh eyes - beyond how you’ve seen him before in your friendship. you freeze like a school girl underneath his gaze and he doesn’t move either, as if he’s seeing something new, as well.

it’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stand there, breathing deep and just staring at each other.

the break in the moment again comes from a call, jungkook’s abandoned phone buzzing on the island counter. he goes to answer it swiftly, not acknowledging what just happened. you turn back to the stove, placing the pan on a burner and busying yourself with dinner once again.

“what are your thoughts on a maternity photoshoot?” jungkook asks once you’ve returned from your bedroom, a thick sweatshirt now on your body.

you tilt your head in thought. “i think it would be nice.”

the moment goes away like the others, shrouded by a false sense of familiar comfort that masks what lies in the cracks. it’s so easy to fall right back into rhythm when the same melody has played for over a decade. the meal that follows is painstakingly normal, as you open up conversation with small talk about the childbirth education classes that you signed up for, as per jungkook’s extensive search. the two of you share dinner, talking about mundane topics, and life should carry on.

you’re jungkook’s best friend, but even he can admit that things haven’t been the way it used to be for a while now. the last year that you truly shared at each other’s side was freshman year of college, before he got drafted. your friendship has taken a backseat to the craze of your early twenties and there is a common understanding between the two of you that this is perfectly okay. jungkook always knew his life would change once he made it to the league and he also knew that you’d be in school for several years after him.

there’s that and there’s the other stuff. the rest of it that lies beneath the surface.

jungkook has always been in the pursuit of love and wanting to feel like he could be somebody’s somebody. the majority of it has failed all of his life and he’s always wondered if he even deserves that kind of love, but not has often as he’s wondered what that love even looks like. he’s never had his parents to look up to and has self-medicated the wounds of his dad leaving for years with his endless search for a perfect relationship.

the past summer has woken him up to how much it has actually changed his friendship with you.

you’ve always been around. that’s a given. but, jungkook knows you’ve kept your distance since he met mariana, especially. the dynamic shifted and somewhere in between, you also changed.

not necessarily in a bad way, but jungkook has always seen you a certain light. you just. . .grew up. at this stage of life, you’ve shown how independent and strong you could be. you’ve always been smart and driven, but jungkook is in awe of the kind of handle you’ve always had on your life. he’s always put you on this imaginary pedestal - too far away and too good for anything or anyone else. including him. for jungkook, that is precisely why anything beyond friendship has never been an option.

“you look beautiful.”

the charity gala is being held just a few blocks away from jungkook’s condo in manhattan, so his agent reminds him that he doesn’t have an excuse to skip out. several of his teammates are also invited and have been urged to bring their significant others because of the ‘family-friendly’ image that the league wants to push, so jungkook has convinced you to attend as his plus one.

he leans against a pillar that runs between his living room and kitchen, eyebrows raised when you emerge from your bedroom.

he doesn't deserve someone as great as you in his life. the past summer has highlighted just how special you are and how easily you fit with jungkook. from the shared nights laughing and playing games to the easy transition towards living together because you're just one and the same. he's been missing you longer than he even realized.

though you initially objected to attending due to a lack of wardrobe, jungkook slid you his credit card and said to go crazy. you still said no, refusing to take his money, but he waved you off and insisted it’s the least he can do, since he’s dragging you to this boring event.

so, you stand in a champagne coloured gown with a strapless neckline, ruched bust and sheer front panel. it creates an elegant silhouette of refined movement and grace, the godet and train flaring in a complimenting way. a matching shawl is around your arms, glimmering under the light.

you clear your throat, looking down at your skirt. “thank you. feels like prom night.” you joke, a bit bashful, since you haven’t worn something like this since then. back then, you chose a pastel two-piece dress with an embellished top - very much of its time.

you struggle to fix your necklace in the reflection near the doorway, so jungkook comes up behind you.

“let me,” he says simply.

you stop what you’re doing and jungkook’s fingers brush over yours as he takes the clasp of the necklace. in the mirror, his eyes are fixated on getting it around your neck, but you just stare at him. his hands brush over the skin of your sensitive neck and you hope he doesn’t notice your shudder. when he finishes, jungkook kisses your cheek.

jungkook also wore an all black suit on prom night, as he does tonight. the comparisons stop there, looking so different otherwise. his hair is now grown out just below his ears. when you were in high school, he had shaggy waves and wore the same pair of tiny silver hoops everyday. he still has some in now, along with studs in his ear, but now has a bar through his eyebrow and a ring on his lip.

his gaze remains on you for a moment and he’s also visualizing that night. you both had been so young back then.

“we’ve grown up,” jungkook muses, teasing voice responsive to yours.

he wants to say you’ve grown up. you’ve always been a striking woman, but at this strange point in jungkook’s life, it’s a puzzle that he knows no answers to. the situation that has arisen has shifted his perspective on you, as has that night that the two of you shared. he looks at you in ways he hasn’t before, wrestling with the understanding of your kindness, your strength - and frankly, your beauty. it's your beauty that he struggles to grapple. you've grown into a certain confidence that is attractive and mature, something he failed to notice until it was right in front of him

jungkook has never allowed himself to ever want you, until that night.

since then, something has clicked. and he’s not sure how to battle it.

it’s not fair to you, he thinks. you’ve always been a catch in every sense of the word and suddenly, jungkook finds himself luring you to his bed? now that he’s given up on love? you deserve better than that. he feels like trash for even giving into these thoughts.

instead, jungkook offers himself as a best friend in every way he can. looking after you and providing, whether it’s in material possessions, a physical nurture, or emotional support. that’s who he is. your best friend.

still, the proposal to get married lives in the air - constant and thick. jungkook still thinks it’s the best way he can be there for you and doesn’t even entertain any thoughts that benefit him. this is all about you and the baby.

in these past few weeks, since telling jungkook the news and all that’s followed, the truth is that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the proposal. none of it, in theory, should make sense. yet, nothing that has happened so far should either.

you aren’t able to give jungkook an answer for weeks - until tonight.

gotham hall is one of those iconic places in new york that you don’t even dream of stepping foot in, but you stand mistaken now. the ballroom is nearly ten thousand square feet of elegance, designed in a honeycomb shape and features a stunning stain-glassed skylight that drowns the room in an apricot glow. candlelight speckles the grand room, illuminating each table with an inviting warmth. you arrive to the gala with jungkook at your arm, as your eyes trace the granite walls and limestone columns, wondering if you’ve been in museums as nice as this venue.

“ew, koo, that’s your third one of those. your breath is gonna smell like fish.” you decide to tease jungkook when you notice him continuously reach for some sort of anchovy-based hor d'oeuvres.

jungkook cuts you a look. “shut up - oh, look who's here!”

the night is as boring as jungkook described, but you have fun passing time with him. the two of you share sarcastic remarks under your breath about the snobbishness of the fellow attendants. many other new york sports stars from other leagues attend and he shares gossip about a baseball star’s marriage, as well as rumours about a quarterback’s demands for better teammates. you learn a lot about the inside circles of new york sporting elite.

“hey, just a head’s up. . .big red is coming your way.”

heeseung, one of the younger members of the new york titans, is also present tonight. he mingles with you and jungkook, introducing you to his fiancée. he’s a bit quiet and keeps to himself, so when he warns jungkook with wide eyes about someone named ‘big red', you grow concerned.

at that, jungkook hisses a curse under his breath. you look over and see a woman with ginger hair eying your group from the corner of the ballroom. you think you’ve seen her on espn before and when you look at jungkook curiously, he confirms your beliefs.

“‘big red’ is what we call that journalist,” he explains, jaw clenched. “her name is nora and she’s known for being a pain.”

“a pain? how?”

heeseung answers for jungkook with a smirk. “she flirts with athletes. she especially loves your boyfriend.”

you don’t bother to correct heeseung and neither does jungkook - though, you suspect he’s too busy bracing himself for big red’s greeting.

it comes just a few minutes later, as predicted by heeseung, when nora saunters over with a vexatious smile and glass of bubbly at hand.

“my titans,” she drawls slowly in greeting to the players, despite her eyes only on jungkook.

“nora,” heeseung greets. he sends you an apologetic look. “it’s nice to see you.”

nora completely ignores him, so heeseung clears his throat and takes this as his cue to leave. he gives you and jungkook a small wave, stepping away soon after.

the ballroom feels so much smaller with the irritation bubbling inside you. she completely ignores you, too, despite jungkook’s arm draped across your waist. servers speed past you with plates of beverages and other attendees fill the room with their laughter, as dinner service begins. yet, you just stand there, a thin smile on your face and feeling the rest of gotham hall go deaf on your ears. you hate the way she looks at jungkook as if she’s undressing him in her head. you especially hate the way she blantantly ignores you.

“jungkook, you’ve really been hitting the weight room since paris,” nora gushes, placing a hand on his bicep.

jungkook moves ever so slightly away from her. “thank you,” he says, a polite tone in his voice that is laced with a certain sharpness. “are you enjoying the gala tonight?”

“i am,” she replies, grinning wildly. “especially now that i’ve spotted you.”

wow. she’s shameless and you can’t help but chuckle, covering your mouth when you do so. still, it catches nora’s attention and it’s like she finally notices you for the first time. jungkook also catches your laugh and the corners of his lips twitch into a real smile.

jungkook gestures to you and tells nora your name. “she’s with me tonight,” he says.

“and who are you?” nora raises an eyebrow at you, eyes up and down as if trying to calculate if you belong here.

he catches it and opens his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. you don’t know what comes over you. speaking is probably the least controversial thing you can do in this moment, anyways. you could easily just tug jungkook away from the conversation. you could throw your drink in her face if you let the worst of the pregnancy hormones get to you. but, instead, you speak and you don’t think before you do so.

“i’m jungkook’s fiancée. we’re actually expecting in march.”

the words are clear and firm - a far cry from the word vomit you expected in your head with the kind of anger coursing through your veins, especially with how little consideration you gave to your reply before blurting it out.

you realize that you weren’t ever really concerned with unwanted media attention now, once you deliver such a bomb to someone who worked for espn. it’s not like jungkook was either, with the way he immediately dropped on a knee for you. it was the other fears that sunk into your mind and just like that, it’s all gone with the wind.

accepting jungkook’s proposal is a slow revelation that only takes shape after every small thing. wanting your kid to have both parents around, which you and jungkook never had. being okay with how jungkook lovingly takes care of you. accepting that neither of you really want to get married with anyone else, anyways. it’s the moments in between that ease your heart into the sudden choice - watching jungkook hunched over his computer for hours, taking online paternity classes, to the comfortable silence in his condo when he ties your hair back as you succumb to morning sickness. your reply is rooted in the pure love in your heart when jungkook defends you from your judgemental family and protects you from the curious looks from the outside world.

your response is blurted out in half a second, but the decision has always been there before you knew it.

what you don’t expect is jungkook to buy you a ring the very next day.

the two of you walk along the high line in the late afternoon, arms brushing against each other in your sweatshirts. september brings forth a peppermint breeze and the changing of leaves. the surroundings of the rail trail are alive with sounds of buskers and passing cars. you catch a falling leaf, twirling it in between your thumb and index finger. it’s a busy day in the park and you and jungkook find a quiet pocket of greenery, a block away from noisy tourists. the junction is secluded and leaves you both privacy, while still in the heart of the city.

you settle on a bench, busied with scrolling through your phone for restaurants nearby when jungkook asks you where you want to eat for dinner.

“give me your hand.”

“no. your fingers are dry and peeling - can you please use that hand cream i got you?” you retort, still focused on your screen.

jungkook chuckles and repeats himself.

“seriously, give me your hand.”

you think he’s messing around with you and expect some silly trick or prank, so you sigh and do as he says.

then, you feel it. it’s warm, like jungkook has been clutching the object in his pocket this entire time. your palms engulf the smooth metal and abrasive lining of the band. at that, you go rigid and put your phone down slowly, as you meet jungkook’s eyes.

when you open your hand, an engagement ring reflects the autumn sun in a brilliant gleam. the marquise cut diamond ring is one of the most beautiful things you have ever laid your eyes on. glistening cuts of your birthstone line vines of diamond accented metal that wind towards the center gem in a timeless fashion. it isn’t flashy and obnoxious like the forgotten ring jungkook dropped on the counter of frank’s bar months ago, the one he proposed to mariana with.

this ring is so incredibly you, like he dove into the crevices of your mind to craft the perfect one.

you don’t realize you’re shaking until jungkook steadies your hand, taking the ring from your palm and flipping it around so he can slide it onto your finger. there’s a quiet that doesn’t exist in the heart of manhattan, a quiet that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in the hurry of new york city and it envelopes you and jungkook for seconds that seem to suspend in time. it floats and stays there, just between the two of you.

he’s shaking, too.

his hand trembles when he finally puts in the ring on you and his eyes fall to what he’s doing, not once able to look up to meet yours.

“this is for you,” jungkook finally breathes, his movements careful. “i, uh, bought this the day after we went to storm king.”

he admits this like he’s a bit embarrassed and there’s a lingering pause. you recognize the nerves in between each word uttered and the vulnerability in his hesitance. it’s the same vulnerability as the last time the two of you sat down and discussed marriage, when you cried in each other’s arms. jungkook’s arguments for getting engaged have been so resolute, constantly putting you and the baby first in his ideas.

you see that he, also, has his own fears.

you don’t see jeon jungkook, the all star and league assists leader. you don’t see the face on nike commercials and cereal boxes. he’s the jungkook that climbed to your bedroom window at seventeen to cry about his first heartbreak, the jungkook who watched his dad walk away before he was five. this is the jungkook that has experienced so much pain and is scared of people leaving.

this time, you melt into his embrace once more. you don’t object nor make any remarks. instead, you fling your arms around jungkook, wishing to take all of his fears away. his frame softens when you do so and his arms snake around your torso.

“are you sure?” you whisper into his ear. “i. . .i never asked you if you’re okay with this.”

jungkook has been trying to convince you that getting married feels right. but, you feel your own heart break a little because you feel as though he truly has given up on love. you don’t want him to feel like he’s settling for you.

he hears the concern in your voice and he quells those thoughts immediately.

“i wouldn’t be mad if i spent the rest of my life with you.” jungkook’s hand comes to your head, cradling it through the embrace. you’ve never felt so safe.

your voice sounds so small. “no?”

but, his is firm and unyielding. you imagine the same determination for the rest of your years.

“not at all.”

when jungkook pulls away, he places a hand on your stomach. you place yours right over his, the engagement ring catching the light. it’s a symbol of a real promise, one that has consequences if broken. yet, the visions of a happy future outweigh those in this moment. it’s not conventional and although convenience plays the bigger role of what’s been declared, you don’t think it’s a bad thing.

the convenience comes because you and jungkook want to be great parents. the convenience exists because you and jungkook already love each other. the convenience isn’t just convenient, but an amplification of what is grounded in truth.

you expected new and strange things happening to your body, but nothing could prepare you for your pregnancy hormones. jungkook has been handling it all like a champ. you’re not really volatile to him, but you get frustrated easily over small things - being out of ketchup, forgetting your wallet at home, oversleeping. he calms you down when you get emotional, crying over literal spilled milk. most of it he can help with.

keyword: most.

the way your hormones have jumped in the first two months of your pregnancy have mostly been at the ache in between your legs. your vibrator can only do so much when you find yourself dissatisfied more than half the time. it’s a nagging feeling that you can’t shake off and you have no avenues to turn to when it comes to taking care of it.

it doesn’t help when the tension between you and jungkook heightens. the shared restlessness grows from little moments to unbearable rigidity that can no longer be brushed off.

sometimes, it’s quick. one night, you awake in the middle of the night and decide that you want a bowl of cereal. you roll out of bed, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covers your ass, and tip toe your way into the kitchen.

of course, you stop in your tracks when you see jungkook sitting on the kitchen counter.

“hi,” you greet in a breathless whisper, feeling naked.

he’s shirtless and dons only loose basketball shorts. in his lap is a leftover slice of pizza, having obviously the same idea as you and came for a midnight snack.

jungkook’s head snaps up, momentarily spooked at the sudden noise. he eases when he realizes that it’s just you, but his eyes are dark when they fall on your appearance. the t-shirt hides nothing, just plain white and practically transparent.

he clears his throat, jaw tight. “hey,” jungkook says simply.

you shuffle around the kitchen for what you came here for. the silence is expected - it’s nearly three in the morning and almost all the lights are off, save for a low glow emitting from above the stove. starting a loud conversation isn't on either of your minds. but, it feels like both of you are on the edge. you both avoid eye contact hopelessly, like something will snap if you look too long. when you’re to the back of jungkook at the fridge, you allow yourself to take a peek.

the memories that float in your head are unwanted, but unrelenting. his strong shoulders, where you once gripped and held onto tightly. his thick arms, once wrapped around your waist as he guided you down onto his cock. you swear it’s the hormones that bring back the feeling of his body pressing down on yours, driving you deeper into the mattress. your eyes trace every ridge, every vein, and all the shadows of his muscles.

gulping, you tear your gaze away. you make sure to bring your bowl of cereal into your room that night, rather than eat it out there.

it’s present for jungkook, too. it’s hard for him to ignore it and unlike you, he doesn’t have any damn excuse for it.

when he comes home early one day, jungkook finds the place quiet. he figures that you might still be out with friends, as he kicks off his shoes by the door. he makes his way to his bedroom for a change of clothes, when he passes by your room and completely freezes.

you’re moaning. the door leading inside is left open and there’s not a trace of you in your bedroom. jungkook quickly realizes that you’re in the bath, the scent of orange blossom enduring faintly in the air.

“fuck, i’m sick,” he hisses to himself, feeling the way that his pants tighten near instantly.

jungkook doesn’t get any closer than past the doorway, but leans against the wall flat. his heartbeat quickens, as he listens. a hand covers his face, as he just stands there. your moans continue to drift in from your bathroom and jungkook can’t help but imagine what you look like to be making those noises.

he envisions the way your bath water barely rises up past your cleavage and how your hardened nipples meet the cold air. your head thrown back in bliss and your legs parted, propped up in the tub. jungkook bites his lip when he imagines your hand trailing down to that perfect pussy, rubbing slow circles around your clit.

he wants to be there. he wants to sit right behind you, chest pressed against your back, while his fingers pump into your soaked walls. he wishes he was there to massage those aching tits and suck on your neck until you cum on his hand, begging for his cock next.

jungkook doesn’t just change clothes when he enters his own room, but goes straight for the shower and strokes his length to the replay of your moans in his head. he doesn’t stifle his moans either, half hoping that you’ll hear him, as he fists his cock until he releases with your name on the ghost of his lips.

from here on, the tension just worsens. jungkook becomes more busy with the start of training camp and you’re unable to do the same routine of lazying around the house together, so the fleeting moments are intensified.

you begin reporting to the msg training facility in greenburgh at the end of september, where the new york titans have begun training camp. even though you and jungkook technically work in the same place, you don’t get a lot of time together in the preseason. the players are too busy getting back into game shape and running practices with the year’s new squad. you’re still getting adjusted to your new job, learning the ins and outs of the organization. it’s a busy time, which is fine by you, as this kind of pace is what you’re previously used to.

not long after, you officially meet the roster and the rest of personnel, when it’s time for players to get their usual assessments.

“your neck is awful. this is why i told you to stop accidentally falling asleep on your bed upright.”

jungkook is the last of the titans to come to you for an assessment, at least from the batch that was assigned to you and the other team chiropractor. he’s easily one of the busiest players and is arguably the face of the franchise. he’s everywhere for endorsements and interviews and all of the other media shit he has to do.

he sits down on the adjustment table, playfully rolling his eyes at your nagging. “i know, i know,” he sighs, as your hands find the expanse of his upper back now.

you’ve never treated jungkook before, as the titans organization prefers internal practitioners to take care of their players’ medical needs. he’s more than a little stiff when you touch him, so you try to crack a few jokes here and there, but it’s hard when you’re distracted yourself.

pregnancy hormones, you remind yourself. easily ignored - or at least, they should be. you send jungkook away to the massage therapists and pretend that the knot in your stomach doesn’t exist.

it’s hard to keep going on when the touches increase tenfold. you know you didn’t have to run your hands along jungkook’s abs before doing an adjustment on his hips, but it happens anyways. he’s now constantly touching your belly, but also your waist and back, and plays it off as casual.

casual until the tension turns reckless and completely cracks.

your second week of work is boring. for the first few days, you don’t need to see any of the players and no appointments are made. you’re used to a busy clinic and lots of coworkers to talk to. here, with the titans, you have your own office in an enclosed space and you’re still getting to know your colleagues.

the players have practice and you carpooled with jungkook, as usual, which is why you’re currently in pure agony. the hormones have reached a high where even just being in the same vicinity as jungkook has been excruciating. you usually hide yourself in your room at home when this happens, too embarrassed and scared to run into him, in case you accidentally blurt anything out. this morning, though, you couldn’t refuse a ride to work and hopped into jungkook’s bmw. the problem is that you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked - from the stupid leather jacket that hugged his biceps to the new haircut that exposed the silver piercings on his ears.

safe to say, it’s getting bad. you’re sure it will pass as the pregnancy progresses and you get used to being around him with your hormones like this, so you can only bury it away.

today, with no patients to see, you use your time to do some clinical work. it’s a good idea to review everyone’s past files as you familiarize yourself with the team. you review imaging for the players and update their treatment plans, typing away on your computer.

for now, the thoughts vanish as you lose yourself in your work - until there’s a knock on your door.

“hey, it’s me.”

jungkook says your name through the wood and you freeze. only for a moment, though, as you force yourself to collect your thoughts and respond.

“come in,” you reply, pausing your work.

he opens the door and walks in, an easy smile on his face. he’s freshly showered, dressed in grey sweat shorts and a blue and white quarter zip - the colours of the new york titans. jungkook comes through and shut the door behind him, walking over to where you sit at your desk.

you raise an eyebrow, not expecting his presence. it looks like practice has wrapped up early for the day.

“what’s up?” you ask, trying to keep a casual tone.

jungkook smiles, an easy one. “got time to check out my shoulders?”

“oh,” you say lamely, unsure of what you thought he would even be here for. “right now?”

he nods, already making his way over to the adjustment table and sits down. you watch the way his quad muscles protrude when he does so. jungkook clears his throat and you realize that he’s caught you staring. you swear you see the hint of a smirk.

fuck.

in fairness, you’re sure this is the first time he’s noticed it - unless, you’re a lot less sly than you think you are. you don’t acknowledge it, but you stand up and make your way over to the table. you’re glad you’re hair is down because you think your ears are burning. jungkook’s gaze is unwavering and he tries to hide it with that boyish smile.

“any pain?” you murmur, gently placing a hand on jungkook’s right shoulder.

he shrugs. “just a little when i lift.”

you’re unsure of jungkook’s understanding of his pain because the last time he was on your adjustment table, his shoulders were perfectly fine. you ask him to move it around, as you prop yourself on the table with one knee, and you check for stiffness.

it’s strange because everything seems perfectly normal. you furrow your eyebrows, coming around to check height and symmetry.

“not busy, huh?” jungkook tries to make small talk, eying your desk. “the other players are mostly seeing the team dentists today.”

you hum, listening. that figures. the season is about to start and the team needs to get evaluated from practically head to toe. “i was wondering why i had no appointments,” you say wryly.

“that, and i told everybody to not book you today.”

that’s when you freeze. you think you misheard jungkook, but the silence that follows speaks for itself. your hands are still on his body, on either of his shoulders, and you notice the way his breathing changes. like he’s holding his breath. it’s impossible to see his face from where you stand behind him, but you’re scared to even see.

you play it off as a joke. “you’re hilarious,” you reply, forcing a chuckle.

then, jungkook turns around.

you’re still halfway on the table, one leg standing and the other propped up to get a closer angle on jungkook’s shoulders. when he pivots, you’re nearly chest to chest with him - technically, chest to face because of the way you’re on the table. his eyes are right where your collarbone is and your heartbeat quickens.

since you weren’t expecting patients today, you’re just wearing a fitted t-shirt and yoga pants. you noticed quickly that the medical staff for the team didn’t wear scrubs, but more casual attire and you attributed it to the athletic setting. you usually don an athletic zip-up branded with the team logo and loose pants when you see the players, but not now and you’re suddenly regretting it. every article of clothing hugs your body and it isn’t a problem to walk into work like this, but it certainly is one when jungook is inches away from your fucking tits.

“i’m not kidding,” jungkook speaks slowly, eyes meeting yours in a heated gaze.

you see the calculations in his regard, seemingly a million things coursing through his mind. he’s thinking, hard. his hands suddenly find your waist and his hold is secure, like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere.

like he’s finally giving in.

when you look down, you see how tightly he’s holding you. your body moves for itself when you bring your other leg to the table, now fully kneeling a breath away from jungkook. he turns even more, looking up at you and you see how dark his eyes have become. your chest is beating out of your body and you think that you’ve completely lost control of yourself.

“yeah, right.” you whisper breathlessly and at some point, you’ve scooted closer to jungkook. you still try to keep the lightness in the air through your words, unconvinced that the energy in the room is as electric as it feels right now, stinging your skin like a punishment. but, jungkook isn’t budging.

he stands. he towers over you now in front of the table, where you look so pretty sitting like that. jungkook’s hands leave your waist and instead, tilt your chin up ever so slightly, now that you’re the one looking up at him.

“i’ll be honest,” jungkook says, voice low, as he holds your jaw. “i wanted you all to myself today.”

“today?”

he smiles and it’s a dangerous one. “for the past while,” jungkook admits.

you narrow your eyes at him. “what are you talking about?” you question slowly, your muscles tense.

“i think you know.” jungkook’s response is blunt and there isn’t a hint of humour in them, not with the carnal way he’s looking at you right now.

it’s a dazed look that you mirror in one another, a cloud of something intoxicating surrounding the two of you. intoxicating, but not unknown. a muddle of pure desire that was never fully extinguished - if not fed and unfurled over the past few weeks. it lives in the flicker of darkness in jungkook’s eyes and in the desperate grip of your hand on his shirt.

“jungkook . . .” you trail off and it nearly sounds like a whimper, your lips parted in the shock of your need.

“you been feeling needy lately?” jungkook leans in, tantalizingly slow, until his breath is a ragged whisper over your lips.

there’s nothing you can do but nod with big eyes, practically melting at how damn close he is to you now. you can’t fight it anymore. he still doesn’t close the distance, brushing some hair away from your face, and it’s driving you absolutely mad.

then, jungkook’s lips brush over yours. the pause where your lips are barely touching and the two of you share air is charged, dizzying your head space like a drug.

his voice is husky when he utters, “i’ll take care of it for you.”

that’s all you need to hear.

the frenzied kiss is messy and hot - all teeth clicking and tongues swirling around the other. you yank jungkook closer to you, if that’s even possible, and your hands find purchase in the threads of his hair. when you pull gently, he groans into your mouth and responds with sucking on your bottom lip.

the kiss feels like you’ve been drowning underwater for weeks and you’ve finally come up for air.

you shift so that you’re sitting on the table with your legs dangling off, jungkook standing right in between them. he kisses you deeper, his hands trailing down from your jaw to one lightly gripping your throat - not enough to choke, but to hold you and keep you where he wants you. the other free hand goes to your hip, his touch bruising.

when jungkook pulls away to nip at your neck, you stifle a moan by biting your lip. “this is bad -”

“- fuck, you’re right -” jungkook’s voice rumbles, needy and he doesn’t stop, in spite of his words.

in fact, he touches you even more urgently. your eyes roll to the back of your head when his talented hands slip underneath your shirt, just to feel the hot skin there. you drive him to go further by palming his hardened cock through his shorts, eliciting a grunt out of him. the both of you know that crossing this line opens nothing but complications, but in this moment, all you care about is the needy way jungkook rocks his cock against your hand. your heart races, feeling how he wants you.

he’s long gone past those thoughts, too, as he pushes your shirt up to release your sensitive breasts from the compression of your top. jungkook attaches his mouth to the valley of your tits and you gasp deeply, head hung backward when he sucks on a nipple through the fabric of your thin bra.

“you been aching, i know.” jungkook coos, watching the way your face forms complete bliss and just loses it, undoing the front clasp of your bra. he’s not wrong - the bastard has done his research. you groan when your tits bounce free and just the feeling of his hands cupping them have you squirming in place.

outside, footsteps patter on tiled floors and murmured conversation line the walls. the two of you freeze momentarily and jungkook places his index finger over his lips.

“we shouldn’t,” you whisper and it’s unclear if you’re only cautious because there’s people outside or because going further is a broader problem itself.

not like you’re actually thinking about the consequences. you’re too concerned with the way your back arches into jungkook when he brushes a thumb across your sensitive nipple.

he smirks and presses a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling you closer, mouth hovering above the peak.

“team dentists are down the hall,” he reminds you huskily. “just tell me to stop if you need it.”

you slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue finally meets your bud. there’s nothing soft about the sinful way he licks and sucks on your aching tits, the room fills with sounds of wet noises. several moans are stifled by your hand, but nothing that comes out of your mouth is remotely close to telling jungkook to stop.

he grabs the waistband of your leggings and you don’t hesitate to lift your hips up for him to peel them off your body, leaving you in a little seamless black thong. jungkook looks at you with so much raw desire and you can’t help but tug him back into you for another messy, gasping kiss, your mouth parting for his tongue.

both of you have your hands everywhere - squeezing flesh, grabbing hair, digging nails. he massages your breasts, thumb circling over your nipple each time. you pull at the drawstring of his shorts so you can shove your hand inside to stroke his cock. jungkook makes a strangled noise into the kiss, taking a sharp inhale and freezing for a moment to savour your touch.

when you separate from the kiss, your breath is ragged and warm into the crook of jungkook’s neck, causing him to shiver. “i need you,” you admit roughly.

without thinking twice, jungkook drags you off the edge. you yelp, finding your footing in spite of whatever daze his hands and lips have trapped you in. your knees buckle, but he steadies you by the hips and spins you around.

you're bent over the adjustment table, as jungkook presses his painful erection into the curve of your ass. you gasp and are immediately met with his hand slapping over your mouth, muffling the whines that you make as you grind back into him.

"the other players are still around," he hisses, head slightly thrown back. he doesn't care anymore and knows damn well that you don't either.

still, you try and protest. "jungkook, we shouldn't -"

"- that's not what your pussy is saying," he chuckles lowly into your ear. he parts your legs with his knee and when his hand creeps down, he finds a patch of wetness.

this was only going to last for so long. your heated gazes from across the kitchen at night, the possessive way he gripped your hip at his birthday party in front of his teammates, the unspoken words. the air has been thick with tension for weeks now and it needs to be dispelled.

you bite down on your lip so hard you think it will bleed. "we're just fucking, okay?" you whimper when jungkook begins to suck on the sweet spot below your earlobes.

"just fucking."

he knows that you’re needy and that’s all this is. that’s what you tell yourself, until the thoughts vanish with the wind when he smacks your ass - just how he figured out you like it, from last time. he hisses as he watches the skin recoil and the way your back arches further up in pleasure, wiggling your hips in the air.

jungkook pulls your sopping, useless panties to the side to ease a two digits past your folds. you whine against the palm of his hand, so desperate that it’s embarrassing. he only removes it from your mouth so he can snake around your waist, finding your clit to rub as he entered a third finger into your needy cunt.

he fucks you with his fingers just like that, as you bite your lip to muffle your pleasured sobs. you’re clenching around his mean digits, rutting against his hand like you’ve never needed anything more.

“feels so good -” you babble, grabbing the side of the adjustment table to keep your balance.

jungkook grits his teeth and leans over, his dark whisper into your ear. “you gonna cum just like this for me?” he rasps, so close to you.

you nod frantically, listening to the sweet sounds of his fingers sinking into your cunt - over and over again, until the knot in your stomach dissolves into pure pleasure. he lightly grabs a fistful of your hair when he feels your thighs tremble, just enough to pull you back and watch your face as your pussy spasms. you have to cover your mouth with your hand again as you reach your climax, walls fluttering around jungkook’s fingers as the shock waves pass through your aching body and leaves you weak.

he allows you to ride out your high, whispering sweet nothings as encouragement. “so pretty like this.” jungkook dips his tongue to your earlobe, sending shivers up your spine,

when you finally catch your breath and come back to reality, you look back at jungkook with swollen lips and he can’t help but kiss you again, as you rock your ass against his still clothed cock.

the voices outside of the hallway increase, laughter coming from his teammates stream in past the walls. jungkook pulls away and you hold back a whine at the loss of contact. he takes a few steps back and ensures the door is locked. he looks back at you and your eyes meet, a shared gaze of intoxication.

“come here,” you demand and as soon as he’s in front of you again, you yank his shorts down. his cock strains against his boxers and you reach for him, the length springing free. jungkook grabs you and bends you over the adjustment table again, getting rid of your panties.

he chuckles darkly. “been needing you,” he says hungrily. “god, you’re so pretty like this.”

the head of his cock teases you, rubbing just along the outside of your folds and gathering the slick of the mess you’ve made. you roll your hips against his crotch, ass on display for him, as you desperately chase any sort of friction. when his tip makes contact with your clit, smearing your wetness all over, it leaves you both holding back reckless moans.

he finally pushes in carefully, inch by inch, and your cunt swallows him until you’re stuffed full. his thumbs draw lazy circles on your thighs, trying to ease your initial discomfort at his size. you’re skin to skin, as the obscene and tortuous stretch leaves your brain short-circuiting. jungkook is no better, dizzy with heat and panting your name like a lifeline because of how perfect you feel around him.

your jaw hangs open when he begins to move, hips snapping and fucking you stupid the way he’s wanted to for weeks. he starts off slow and deep, but can’t resist losing control.

“finally,” you mewl, bouncing your ass on his cock and hold onto the adjustment table for dear life.

jungkook’s hands fly to your hips, fingers pressing deep into the flesh and drives into your cunt. you try and meet his rhythm, as he adjusts your legs and tries to find the perfect angle. jungkook slightly lifts one of your thighs, so precise and trying to map out your body until he finds your sweet spot.

you’re shaking and glistening in between your legs, taking him all the way. he angles your ass higher and tilts your pelvis until -

“oh my fucking god - !”

without a hand on your mouth, your muffled voice would surely be a scream when a sudden pressure explodes in your stomach. you gush - uncontrollable, wet, animalistic - all over. you fucking squirt, the slick soaking both of your legs and jungkook is drunk on the sight. he can’t stop slamming into you, right in that spot, his cock hitting so deep that you see stars as you gush again and again.

jungkook growls, holding your body weight up when your legs nearly give out. “fucking squirting all over my dick,” he groans, still chasing your g-spot with every thrust.

it’s almost all too much for you. your thigh twitch and shudder as he completely splits you open. the sound of skin slapping on skin, the blood roaring in your ears, and the stretch of his thick cock in your wet heat - it completely consumes you.

he finds your clit once more and you feel yourself unraveling, another orgasm building inside you.

“c-close -” you writhe and your cunt sucks his length in, squeezing him so tightly with each rough thrust.

his voice is gravel and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you as he lets out a string of curses. “so perfect,” he grunts, not letting up until you let go.

then, you finally break.

your release rips through your body and your throbbing pussy sends him over the edge at the same time, coming undone together. you try your best to meet the unhinged, frantic pace of his hips, but jungkook has completely taken over - filthily fucking you into the table until your body has collapsed and he has to hold you up again.

his warmth spills inside of you and leaks down your thigh with every last thrust, filling you up whole. your vision is spotty as you milk every last drop.

your bodies slow, as does your breathing. the two of you remain connected for a second, but not for too long because of the mess made all over.

jungkook whispers in your ear. “you okay?” he’s so soft when he does, a stark contrast to moments earlier.

the only thing you can do is nod, afraid your voice will crack from exhaustion if you speak. he chuckles lightly and after ensuring that you’re fine, slowly pulls out of you. you whine at the loss, but now you can finally stand up and straighten your back. your legs shake when you do, but jungkook has his hands on your waist to steady you.

you turn around to face him, reddened lips and flushed cheeks. jungkook doesn’t look too dissimilar and his hair is disheveled from the way you grabbed onto it earlier. he has your clothes in his hand - not like you can wear your leggings and panties again after he ruined them - and probably knows that when he offers them to you with a sheepish smile.

“thanks,” you say dryly, taking them from him.

jungkook lets himself have a quiet chuckle, the thick air broken with a bit of humour. “you’re welcome,” he quips.

you lick your lips, eyes at your feet. “was. . .” you trail off, not wanting to make things weird. “was that okay?” you decide on this and look at him with hopeful eyes.

“more than okay,” he admits with a half grin, pulling his boxers back on. “i mean, if that was okay with you.”

it doesn’t take long for you to make a decision and you hope that it’s not because of the post sex bliss. things are already out of the ordinary as it is. it’s not even the first time that you and jungkook have had sex now.

you nod. “yeah. it’s okay with me,” you say and you intentionally leave your words open, as opposed to implying it’s in the past. you're confirming that this. . .can continue.

the two of you get dressed and fix your appearance. you grab an extra pair of pants that you keep in your office and mutter to jungkook about it being his responsibility to clean your floor.

he reaches into your cabinet and finds some paper towel, as well as some cleaning supplies. you catch him smirking to himself and you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?”

“made you squirt.” jungkook snickers happily to himself and you can’t help the way you laugh, too, in spite of the eye roll you send when you throw hand sanitizer his way.

you send him the middle finger. "don't be so smug."

weeks of tension have finally been broken and oddly enough, you’re glad. for one thing, it was getting hard to walk on eggshells around jungkook. neither of you speak too long about what’s happened and you rather it be this way anyways. this isn’t something you want to linger too long on, even if you don’t exactly have a guide to navigate through this situation. you figure taking things day by day is less of a headache than a full blown discussion.

“we’re getting married, this shouldn’t be a problem right?” you ask, as you button your new pants.

jungkook doesn’t hesitate.

“nope.”

you don’t even try to wonder if you should have hesitated instead.

OCTOBER

over the next while, you fuck jungkook more often than you’d like to admit. your initial concerns about spending too much time together once you moved in and began working for the titans make you laugh now - it’s become an opportunity every time for him to bury his cock deep inside you. there are days when you catch him after practice at the training facility and you ride him on the bench of the empty locker room. at home, there are more nights where you end up in his bed than not. your movie nights seem to always end up with you folded in half as he fucks you into the mattress, driving deep inside you until you see stars. you’ll spend the mornings waking up to jungkook’s hard cock pressed against your back and you’ll part your legs, just enough for him to lazily fuck into you in a spooning position.

he treats it like he’s taking care of his little pregnant fiancée - when you walk into his gym at home, clenching around nothing when you see him deadlifting twice your weight, veins popping out of his arms and sweat dripping down his temples. he’ll look back at you, panting and red, and sees your flushed cheeks at the doorway. jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull you inside, cooing about how pretty you are when you’re needy, and bends you over the weight rack.

your office is constantly a mess with the way he corners you and books useless appointments so he can use the time to bury his face into your pussy at your desk, as eats you out to the point where you forget your own name. he’ll shove two fingers into your mouth to muffle your moans when he fucks you on top of your paperwork. you make him beg and cry out your name nearly every night, taking his length all the way to your throat. he whispers praises into your ear, breathy and uneven with need, each time he fills you up whole.

it’s so normal and casual, the way jungkook has fucked you on every surface of his huge apartment - from the couch to the kitchen counters and finally getting to feel your pussy grinding down on his cock in your bathtub. he remembers the first time it happened, when you sunk down on his length in the warm water amidst the air of citrus and pure lust. he thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful, until you rode him like that, tits bouncing in his face.

the sex continues like this for weeks, shameless and unhindered.

“god - you’re so fucking good at this -”

the day of jungkook’s season opener at madison square garden, his team came off with a win and did so with a thirty point effort from him. neither of you could wait until you got home to celebrate, as you immediately pulled his cock out of his pants when the two of you got inside his bmw in the staff parking lot.

you’re bent over the console, ass in the air, as you hollow your cheeks around his thick length. you use your hand to stroke what your mouth can’t handle, moans vibrating into his flesh. jungkook grunts your name when you dip your tongue into the slit and swirl your tongue around his tip. he can’t help but slip his hand underneath your dress, finding your soaked panties, and begins rubbing your clit.

“stick that tongue out for me - yeah, just like that, let me see,” he groans, watching the way you slap the tip against your tongue lewdly.

you sloppily bob your head along his cock until he makes a guttural noise, his seed shooting out into your mouth. the sensation is warm and with jungkook’s fingers on your clit, you cum just like that. groans and whimpers fill up the car - neither of you concerned with getting caught in the middle of the parking garage.

when your spotty vision returns to you and your thighs stop trembling from your own climax, you release his length with a pop and a smirk on your face when you see the blissed out expression of jungkook’s face.

his eyes are screwed shut. “give me a minute,” jungkook urges and you can’t help but laugh.

and just like that, it only takesa a few moments for you and jungkook to readjust to reality. he’s driving with one hand on the wheel through new york city traffic, the other comfortably resting on your thigh. your playlist is on in the background of the car, as you’re occupied with looking at your calendar for the week.

“prenatal yoga? really, you signed me up for this?”

jungkook chuckles. “what? you liked yoga in college!” he defends, even though this is now the third thing he’s put in your calendar randomly since the start of the month. the first was puppy therapy and he claimed it’s good for your stress - which it definitely was, you had a blast. then, there was the parenting class that he attended with you and this also turned out to be extremely helpful.

“i’m guessing it’s going to be life changing and is super essential,” you tease.

he grins. “obviously.”

you do like the fact that jungkook has been preparing for this baby like he’s preparing for doomsday - seeking out every resource the two of you could possibly need as you approach parenthood. he makes sure that you never have to lift a finger either, while you’re more organized than him and have laid out all of your appointments, what to buy, and how everything fits into your schedules.

safe to say, the two of you make a great team. you never had doubts that jungkook would be an amazing dad from the beginning, based on the nature of his character alone, but it’s clear to you that his efforts and excitement are priceless. you’re nothing but appreciative.

“god, if i had to get knocked up, at least it was by you,” you joke.

jungkook laughs softly, but doesn’t say more. his eyes drift off, focused on the road now, and you don’t notice his loss of engagement because you begin to read the website for the prenatal yoga classes.

there are a lot of moments like this, when something unknown hangs in the air. it dangles and mocks jungkook, driving him mad because he doesn’t know what it fucking is. he senses it at night, after you drift off to sleep, when it’s just him staring up into the ceiling. your body will be draped over his, exhausted after taking him over and over again, cuddling into the ridges of his warm body that has engulfed you whole. sometimes, it’s over dinner, when he watches the way you eat your ridiculous cravings - jungkook has figured out that you prefer savoury cravings and if you want something sweet, it’s only ever chesecake. he has the fridge stocked with red meat and pickles, while he requests deliveries from your favourite bakery in brooklyn weekly.

you, on the other hand, don’t seem to notice it or you’ve gotten good at running away from it. this becomes glaringly obvious to you when you visit your families for the first time since the engagement was made official with a ring.

jungkook pencils in time to throw a small party in your hometown, just for your families and close friends. it’s on the weekend of an away game in a nearby city, so some of his teammates are able to attend, as well.

the cape cod house that jungkook bought his dad isn’t too far away from the neighbourhood where the two of you grew up and is more spacious than the childhood home that his mom still resides in, so it’s where the party is held. the decorations are simple - you felt that it would be weird if it was too lovey-dovey, since you and jungkook aren’t a couple. glossy, white balloons fill the living room, along with twinkling string lights and pink florals. so far, the party has gone swimmingly well. neither your or jungkook's parents have fought with their ex spouse and you both are able to not delve in too deep into the details of your relationship with guests outside of your family. no drama yet.

you eye jungkook from across the room, where he and his teammates charm your aunts with their boyish smiles. he’s so naturally friendly and kind, getting along with anyone. you recall that it’s one of the first things that you noticed about him when you met in high school.

“have you found out the gender yet?”

layla slides in the chair next you to, across from where you and your mother are eating the japchae that jungkook’s mother prepared for the party.

your mom replies for you. “it’s too early. she’ll need a bit more time.”

“yeah, the appointment is supposed to be in a week,” you say.

this is the first time that layla is able to survey your engagement up close and she takes your hand, observing it under the light. she whistles.

“he got you the perfect ring,” she states simply, a smile on her face. “he really knows you that well, huh?”

you smile to yourself, the words too true. “he does. i’m really lucky to have him.”

layla exchanges a look with your mom at your dreamy voice. you and jungkook have had to continuously repeat to your immediate families that you aren’t a couple, as you couldn’t really hide it from them like you can from your social circles. both of your parents and siblings are rightfully confused, if not skeptical. no one has openly criticized or questioned the two of you, but you can feel it.

when your mom stands up to help your uncle with something, it leaves you alone with your sister and naturally, the questions finally come.

“what?” you ask carefully, noticing the puzzled expression on layla’s face.

she sighs. “can i just come out with it? sister to sister?”

“fine.”

layla says your name, breathing it deeply. “this isn’t normal.”

“well, i know that,” you retort. “i didn’t mean to have a baby with my best friend.”

“i know you wanted this baby from the beginning, but this is getting really complicated,” layla utters slowly, watching your face for any negative reaction. “getting married? are you sure about all this?”

she gestures around the room and the sights. there’s the expensive catering in the kitchen, jungkook’s famous athlete friends, and decorations that are here to celebrate something. engagements are supposed to be celebrations of love and union and you’re sure that this doesn’t lack any of that.

you’ve heard these concerns before, especially since they’ve come out of your own mouth. “i don’t expect you to understand,” you mumble, playing with your manicured nails. “it’s just. . .i don’t know. it works for us and our friendship.”

“friendship.” layla repeats and you glare at her for the obvious doubt in her tone. she holds her hands up in defence. “come on. you can’t blame me here.”

“i know, but just trust me,” you sigh, looking away.

“okay. . .” she trails off, trying to find the right words without pissing you off. “so, you guys are just friends?”

you think about the way you were just making out heatedly in jungkook’s car, parked in the driveway before the party began. there’s the forehead kisses and the cuddling, the sweet words and compliments he constantly sends your way, and, of course, the sex. you don’t have time to answer because layla reads the way all of these thoughts sprint across your mind. she folds her arms across her chest.

“layla -” you start, but she interjects immediately.

she says your name. “be so for real,” layla tilts her head at you. “are you. . .two fucking?”

“layla.” you repeat in a hiss, frantically scanning your surroundings to make sure that there aren’t any attendees in ear shot. “keep your damn voice down -”

“- oh my god, i knew it!”

“it’s not like that!” you snap again, trying to defend yourself and maintain a low volume without completely exploding on your older sister.

layla just rubs her temples, leaning back into her chair in shock. when you told her that it was jungkook who fathered your child after a drunken hookup, she tried to not show any judgment. she sighed and remarked ‘well, at least he’s a good kid’ during that conversation. she knew that he would take care of you and the baby, no questions asked. but, this? this leaves her stunned.

“you know you’re being stupid, right?” she scolds bluntly.

“i am not being stupid, layla.”

“you’re sleeping with your baby daddy and now you’re getting married to him,” layla says, slow and careful. “and you say this is friendship? are you delusional, my dear little sister?”

she’s the first person that you’ve revealed this detail to and you think it’s for good reason. maybe you expected this kind of reaction, which is why you’ve been keeping it to yourself.

you pout, picking at your japchae. “i don’t need any advice,” you claim.

“i think you’re in love with him.”

there’s not an opportunity to even entertain your sister with a retort because your grandparents have arrived to the party and you shoot up from your seat, scurrying over to greet them at the front door. your heart races as you get away as far as you can from the conversation.

the rest of the night goes on without incident or further discussion with layla. the rest of the guests trickle in, more food is served, and some short speeches begin. you and jungkook thank everyone for making the time to attend, while your parents give a toast.

layla is the last to do so and your heart lurches when she stands up, slightly afraid of what she has to say. instead, her speech moves you and leaves you taken aback.

“hi everyone. i’m the bride’s older and wiser sister, layla, and i’m so blessed that she has chosen me to be her maid of honour.” she smiles warmly, waving to everyone with a glass of bubbly at hand. “i don’t have much to say, but a congratulations to my sister and jungkook. the two of you have been by each other’s sides for so long and it brings a smile to my face knowing that you’ll be embarking on a new life together. i know that there is so much love between you both -”

your cheeks burn red at such intimate wording. jungkook is sitting next to you, listening intently, and squeezes your hand at layla’s words.

NOVEMBER

the sentiment follows you into the next week, after you and jungkook have returned home to new york city. he’s giddy as he drives back into manhattan after your doctor’s appointment today, where the two of you finally receive the news that you’ve been waiting on. when you walk through the front door, there’s a big grin still on his face.

“we’re having a little girl, god, i’m so fucking excited,” jungkook muses, flopping onto the couch once his shoes are off.

you chuckle at the pure wonder in his eyes and you sit next to him, reaching over to gently push some hair out of his face. “i know.” you beam with pride.

with a happy sigh, you lay across the couch and over jungkook’s lap. he adjusts you so that you’re comfortable and then, all of a sudden, cages you underneath him.

“koo!” you let out a laugh at the change of position, lightly smacking his shoulder. “i almost fell off the couch, idiot.”

jungkook ignores you with a smile and lowers himself so that’s just above your stomach. you’re still barely showing - your mom mentioned it’s just in your genetics - but, jungkook has been talking to it every single day now. he kisses your belly through your shirt and you feel your chest flutter. he’s always so sweet and gentle.

“hi baby girl,” jungkook utters for the first time, his smile only growing wider at how the words taste. “we know you’re a girl now. your mom cried at the appointment -”

“- don’t snitch on me to our daughter!” you chide, poking his head.

he grins up at you at the use of the word 'our' and moves higher to kiss your cheek. jungkook’s chest brushes against yours and the slightest contact practically flips a switch in you.

jungkook notices the subtle change in your eyes and raises a single eyebrow, as if asking you silently. you flush and it’s the encouragement he needs to lean in, capturing your lips in a slow kiss.

the kiss turns heavy and deep fast, as you pull jungkook closer to you. he pins your wrist above your head when you run your tongue over his lip ring, drowning in a haze of pleasure.

when he pulls away, you gasp out, “want you, please -”

and that’s all it takes. soon enough, your skirt is hiked all the way up and he’s thrown your panties across the living room floor - too preoccupied with lapping at your dripping pussy to care where. he flicks his tongue around your clit and you grind your cunt into his face, as he slides his fingers inside your pussy.

you’re screaming jungkook’s name with every swirl and suck of his lips, trembling at the way his fingers spread you open, scissoring and curling just right inside you. it’s not long before you’re squeezing his head between your thighs, as he licks every drop of your slick when the coil snaps and you reach a blinding white orgasm. he doesn’t stop at all, fingers still pressing deep into you and tongue relentless until you tap his arm twice - the code for when you’re completely spent.

jungkook’s pupils are blown out and his lips are swollen, glistening with your juices, when he pulls away. he gives you a moment to breath, coming up to press kisses to your neck and whisper praises into your ear.

“so perfect,” he rasps and even in your daze, you moan at the words.

you fumble with his belt, as he yanks his shirt off - discarding it by throwing it across the room, probably wherever your panties are. once you’re both fully bare, you hook a leg around jungkook’s waist, the tip of his leaking cock at your entrance.

“come here,” you demand, taking jungkook by the chin for a kiss.

something is different today. the kiss is unhurried, tender, and almost sweet, in the way the two of you explore each other’s mouths with patience, like it’s the very first time. you whimper into the kiss when his cock begins to drag past your walls, sinking into your heat. jungkook rolls his hips slowly, stuffing you whole and savouring every inch.

the kiss is barely broken. you only pull away ever so slightly when he finally bottoms out, buried deep inside your pussy. you both gasp out at the same time, breaths mingling, with your lips just ghosting over each other.

“mine,” jungkook exhales deeply, eyes locked on yours. his face twists with pleasure when he feels the way you clench at his words. “you like that, huh?” he grunts, your walls fluttering tight around his thick cock.

you nod violently, a throbbing burn in your belly when jungkook calls you that. “y-yeah -” you blurt out, lips parted.

something about the way he says mine lights a fire in you.

your foreheads are pressed against each other, so close, as he torturously comes out almost all the way - only to slam right back in one swift thrust - and you cry out.

“mine. this is all mine -” jungkook repeats tautly, grinding his teeth together at how good that sentence feels on his tongue. “- fuck, you belong to me -”

he picks up his pace, snapping his hips forward with each languid, wet slap against your skin. you move together with familiarity and something else, something unknown, that drives pure adrenaline through your blood. a daze spreads across your body with jungkook’s declarations, as if you’re wafting in air.

“yours, i’m y-yours -” you plead, the words falling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“my fucking girl,” jungkook growls, his promise still inches away from your lips.

you dig your nails into his back and earn an aroused hiss from him. you don’t realize it until now, but you’re already so close to cumming. something about it has left you reeling, pushed to the edge embarrassingly fast. you don’t think anything of your words or jungkook’s - too breathless and lost in the passion to question the nature of this dirty talk. jungkook likes calling you names sometimes in bed and always praises you, but it’s never been anything so possessive and needy. it spurs you on, as ecstasy courses through your veins.

the hunger burning in his eyes is something that you’ve never seen before. he sees your own searing expression and knows your body so well. jungkook adjusts the angle, hooking your leg over his shoulder so that your clit grinds against his pelvis with each slam of his hips. the friction urges the pool of fire in your belly to let go, as he murmurs the same dangerous words of affection into your ears.

“you belong to me - fuck - you’re so good for me, you’re mine, all mine -”

between each sinful squelching sound filling the air, you don’t hide your needy moans. you completely dissolve in pleasure, your climax hitting you harder than anything else ever had, and you shatter in jungkook’s arms.

“yours -” you pant out through the rippling static of your orgasm. “- always yours, god, i love you -”

“- i love you, too -”

you don’t mean for the words to come out, but they do, and jungkook purrs it back instantly.

like he didn’t have to think about it.

he tips over the edge and with a grunt of your name, pounds his hips once last time to spill his seed inside of you. the earth stops spinning for a moment amidst the crackling passion, as you’re both left lightheaded.

jungkook’s movements stop, still inside of you, as he tucks his face into your neck. he steadies his heartbeat and as do you, closing your eyes in bliss. you thread your fingers through his hair, lazily and with familiarity. you rub circles into his scalp, eliciting sweet groans out of him.

the two of you stay like that for a while and you’re not sure how long. he pulls out at some point, but neither of you move. you’re both comfortable, tangled up in each other’s limbs. jungkook presses lazy kisses to your collarbone as you massage his scalp and tightens his arms around your body.

soon, your movements falter and you’ve drifted off with your eyes closed.

when you wake up, you’re in jungkook’s bed - he hadn’t even thought about you bringing you back into your own room. you don’t even really sleep there anymore, spending every night with him.

the city outside is dark and when you peel your eyes open, you figure that you’ve been asleep for a few hours now. you groan when you try and sit up, muscles aching from what happened earlier on the couch.

then, it all comes back to you. the possessive endearment, the three words exchanged. you still. this isn’t the first time that you and jungkook have told each other ‘i love you,’ but you know deep in your heart that it wasn’t the same back there. he repeatedly claimed you and you returned it, while he buried himself deep inside of you. there was no frantic heat in that moment, but it almost felt like he was. . .making love to you. you can still feel the passionate movements, ghosting over your limbs, and how you let it consume you fully.

you’re still frozen. you peer out into the hallway from where you sit against jungkook’s headboard and by the way the door is left open, you figure that he isn’t home. you flick his bedside lamp on, illuminating the pitch black room, and as usual, there’s a sticky note on the table. he often does this and prefers it over text so he can leave his silly little doodles - sometimes things like ‘going for a run’ or ‘grabbing breakfast for us, brb.'

this one reads: ‘bakery couldn’t deliver today, so i’m going to brooklyn for your cake brb:)’

there’s a little drawing of what you think it supposed to be cheesecake, but kind of just looks like a frisbee. you catch yourself smiling and when you do, you bury your face in your hands. the firm metal of your engagement ring mocks you when you do, the gems poking at your skin. you pull away and stare at the ring, brushing your thumb over your birthstones that line the diamond and imagine jungkook’s face when he saw it for the first time, how he must have instantly thought of you.

months ago, he was your jungkook from high school, the boy who’s never left your side and has remained your best friend for over a decade. you never looked at him in any sort of way because it was never allowed, never a choice or an option.

Almost a senior, one and half more year to go, and you already felt like your soul had been chewed, spit out and stepped on. The first two years had been a cocktail of partying, “studying” (if you called half-assed cram sessions studying), sleeping in weird positions in lecture halls, and living on energy drinks… Now? You had one class at morning. One. For one hour. And you were already dead inside.

Your laptop sat on your small desk, glowing like a tiny beacon of hope in your dimly lit room. Next to it, a cold can of energy drink, half‑finished. Your two best friends weren’t answering your texts, probably off doing… whatever they were doing that didn’t let them answer you. Fuck them. You rolled your eyes, swung your legs over the side of the bed, and dragged yourself toward the chair.

You could ignore your assignments for a couple hours more.

Just one round…

Gaming had been your sanctuary since forever. Since you were a kid, really. The world could be burning outside your window and you’d only care if your Wi-Fi cut out mid‑match. A little slice of chaos where you could be yourself, loud, annoying, stupid, and do the most trash talk ever. And also… well, humiliating men online never got old.

You remembered the first time you’d logged into a competitive match years ago. Misogyny hit like train wreck. Men shouting into headsets, spewing some combination of threats, nonsense, and self‑aggrandizing horseshit. At first, you’d been quiet. It was honestly shocking the way the talked, almost scary. But with time… well, it actually didn’t get better. But since you couldn’t go against them, at least you could be better than them. So you let them underestimate you. Let them yell and talk shit. Let them think you’d choke. And then… you learned.

Oh, how you learned.

You learned the sweet, intoxicating art of humiliation by keyboard and a cheap headset microphone. A perfectly timed grenade, a calculated headshot, a casual insult delivered between laughs. You had gotten better at games and over time you were just playing for the love of it. You loved, not only getting lost in time, but also winning. You loved hearing the players throw a tantrum. And you loved— more than anything— hearing when guys half cried, half rage‑quit, half made the mistake of thinking they had a chance.

You opened the game you had been playing last week, Call of Duty. Your fingers hovered over your controller as you watched the lobby fill with more players. Voices pinged through your headset. It was usually men who talked, you barely heard any girls but no because they didn’t play but because you knew most of them hated interacting with loud guys. And they had all the reasons, men were annoying. In video games men usually were misogynistic and confident, some nasally and irritating, some sounded like they’d just discovered puberty.

You didn’t like playing when there was a space for them to talk. But when there was, you didn’t run away either.

You tilted your head, calm as ever, impatiently waiting to start. The game downloaded in the background, progress bar crawling lazily across the screen. You watched it, noting how every other player was already jittering, adjusting settings, talking over their headsets, trying to establish dominance before the match even began.

You yawned a little tired. Damn, you should be sleeping.

“Yo… what’s that username?” a nasally voice asked.

“Mommyeatsyouup,” another guy called, sounded almost horrified. “What the fuck is that?.”

“Huh?” you hummed, paying attention after they called your username “Yours?”

“Uh… letjungcook,” the same guy who called you responded with a deep, confident voice. Laughing at his own ingenious username you didn’t understand yet.

“Like yours is any better?” You replied confused.

There was a five seconds silence in the room chat.

“Oh… a girl,” came the chorus, surprise and disgust dripping from every word.

You rolled your eyes, already knowing by the sound of it what was about to come.

“Yeah, don’t cream your pants.”

A deeper voice cut in, clearly trying to dominate. “You’re actually gonna play?”

“No, I just like to enter game lobbies to listen to men talk,” you said sarcastically.

“Yo’, chill.”

“Are we sure this is a girl?” you recognize the voice of ‘letjungcook’.

“Are we sure you’re a man?” you clapped back, voice getting a little louder.

“See, I can’t tell if you’re a girl or a twelve year old little boy” He chuckled, clearly trying to bother you.

“Why? ‘cuz you don’t talk to girls or you normally talk to twelve year old little boys?”

Laughter erupted in the lobby after your comment. Two voices, probably his friends, started to make fun of him. You couldn’t hear his answer properly and you honestly didn’t really care either. A couple of groups formed, players scrambling to pick classes, assign loadouts, and talk strategy. Your leaned slightly forward, checked your ammo, mapped out your route in your mind. This was your domain, you knew every map like the palm of your hand.

One irritating voice distracted you.

“Great. We’re with the girl.” He groaned. “I’m not carrying you, just so we’re clear.”

“Bet you can’t even carry a 2kg, lazy-ass.”

“Go make me a sandwich.”

The match started.

You slid silently into cover. The map was wide, with multiple paths, buildings, and open areas, perfect for a calculated, fluid approach. You checked corners, vaulted low walls, and moved in patterns that kept you largely unseen. Your first engagement came quickly when you spotted an opponent flanking, calculated the timing, and executed a clean takedown.

Grenades popped, gunfire echoed from multiple directions. You stayed calm, tracking movement across the map, listening for footsteps, reloads, and voice cues. Every step was fast, you used crouches, jumps, and angles to minimize exposure while maximizing your lethality. By the time the first few opponents had noticed you, you had already moved to a more advantageous position, picking off another enemy before they could respond.

“Well, who’s carrying the group now? Everyone say ‘thank you, Mommy’. Come one, guys. You can say it.” You chanted, killing two more.

One of the other guys muttered. “She’s mentally ill.”

“You’re fucking insane” The guy groaned, flailing.

“It’s easy, ‘thank you, mommy’” You repeated mockingly as another player tried to trap you in a corner.

Letjungcook killed him before he could shot you once more.

The match ended. The first round ended. You had five kills, Letjungcook had two, his friends had one each.

For the second round the groups reshuffled. You continue with that guy again though. You noted the same aggressive tendencies, predictable behaviors, and communication patterns. Men were really so predictable when they talked trash. This time you didn’t care to hide but to make more kills than anyone. You decided to attack everyone on the way. Within moments of the match starting, you had located multiple opponents and killed most of them.

And the second round ended half an hour later too. You had dominated. Your score dwarfed all others. You leaned back briefly, sipping from your cold energy drink, eyes scanning the next lobby as players scrambled to ready themselves again.

“You’re welcome,” you heard him saying.

“You all got one kill each and I got five.” You scoffed. “You should be kneeling, boy.”

You knew he wouldn’t admit he got only two. It would be an opening for you to talk more shit about him.

“And you should be in the kitchen.” He clapped back. “Let’s go another round. Can someone put the fatty in another team?”

“Damn, why are you talking about your boy like that?” You leaned back in your chair.

You could hear a couple of giggles in the back and another conversation going too.

“I like her.”

“Guk, she’s killing you.”

Guk.

“Oh, so your name is Guk?” You snorted, like it was funny. “What a sweet name for a good boy.”

You heard another big and scandalous laugh. “He is a good boy.”

“Good boy,” the other guys started chanting.

The lobby split into different group. You were now against Guk.

“Oh, we have the bitch in our team,” someone complained.

“Girl I have twelve more kills than you. Keep that mouth shout.” There was two seconds of silence you took in your favour. “Yeah, like that. Be a good boy and shut up.”

“We’re gonna lose because of this bitch. She should be in the kitchen,” other guy said.

“Kitchen jokes, wow. And I thought men supposed to be funny.” You fake yawned.

“Go make me a sandwich, fatty.”

“Why? Can’t reach the counter, shorty?”

Laughter explode as the match started.

“He can’t!,” his friends laughed at him.

You decided to shut up and focus on the game since the team you were, at least most of them, barely had any kills the round before.

You were not going to lose.

“Okay, okay. Let’s lock in.”

A firefight erupted in the central building. You entered fast, low to the ground, taking positions behind cover, waiting for an opening. You timed your shots perfectly, taking advantage of the chaos as your opponents argued, flailed, or misstepped. Each kill was really fast and easy, silent to those outside your headset but devastating in scoreboard results.

“Are you seriously all dying?”

Oh, they were so bad.

“Miss me, baby?”

Guk— or whatever his actual name was — made his presence known quickly. You jumped to the other side of the building, trying to make the blood of your screen dissipate by healing. He had been quick to caught you out of guard while you were killing his team mate.

“Is this my good boy Guk?” You muttered, loading your gun while trying to find him now. “Of course I miss you. I think you’re the only one left from your little boys team.”

“Tae?” You heard him call, you knew now that the other guy who was laughing at him early was in fact his friend.

“I’m dying. Come here fast, dude.”

“Aw, it’s okay.” You looked out the window in the tower, trying to localize them. “I’ll give you time to go and heal your friend. I know you need backup, baby.”

“Shut up, tubby.” Tae tried to defend his friend.

“Why? Are you mad I’m disrespecting your boyfriend?”

There was some seconds of silence. You knew that made them a little mad. You tried not to laugh.

His teammates tried to coordinate, but you were already getting bored. You barely needed to glance at the mini-map, instinct and experience guided you to know exactly what they were thinking on doing. And also because they were talking their strategies, really loud.

The match ended two minutes later.

Victory.

You had killed them all— the ones outside your group of course.

You exhaled slowly, smiling faintly and a little bored of how easy that was. The other players had disconnected or were mumbling their frustrations in the background with insults ands loud noises. You didn’t need to speak to feel the satisfaction.

Guk barked again. “That was a charity round!”

“The only charity here is me still talking to you,” You said, as you started looking at the scores, your kills racking up, their cries of frustration and bad insults echoing in your headset.

“Fuck you. Let’s go again.”

“Oh, hell nah. This isn’t real competition. Even an armless guy plays better than you and your team.” You heard him cracked his neck.

“Let’s go again. Are you afraid now?” He tried again, trying to annoy you into playing another round.

You snorted, loud enough to make him angrier. “Ever since you opened your mouth, you haven’t won a round if it wasn’t with me.”

“You know—”

“I’m leaving now. Go play with your twelve years old little boys.” You cut him off. “Now I know why you liked them so much. I bet they rank better than you anyway.”

“You fucking—”

“Bye, baby boy. Be good for mommy.”

Before he could answer you logged off and queued in another game.

You laugh slightly. It was always funny the banter with angry man. They were always so sensitive.

Your friends weren’t answering, the world outside didn’t exist. All that existed was you winning those games back to back. You moved your screen, adjusted your headset, and prepared to enter into another match with other people. The thrill about playing video games had become in finding someone who could outplay you now. Which was almost rare.

You leaned back slightly, a little bored, fingers resting lightly on your controller. Another round was about to begin.

————————

You had barely managed to get your laptop into your bag before the next class started. You dragged yourself into the lecture hall, hair slightly mussed, hoodie hanging loosely over your frame. You felt so exhausted it was almost taking all your strength to be awake.

You had meant to play for just a few rounds, but as the sun had crept through the blinds, you realized you had lost track of time entirely. Now you were paying for it with heavy eyelids, dragging feet, and a mind that barely wanted to exist outside the warmth of your bed— or, more accurately, the remnants of your mattress from the previous night that you hadn’t touched.

The lecture hall was rows of seats rising like stairs, the polished wood of the desks cold under your palms, there was a lot of students taking places in the front rows and most of them had coffee cups. You slid into a seat in the back row, far enough from the front that the professor would assume you were paying attention since he clearly wouldn’t be able to see you from so far.

The board read “Advanced Technical Animation” in neat, almost smug lettering. You had never been terrible at school, but you didn’t particularly care for this class. Two semesters left before you could practically coast to your degree, and this was a required class you had chosen almost arbitrarily because of a friend’s recommendation and the fact that the professor had a decent rating online.

The professor’s voice, monotone and boring, started filling the room. He spoke about corrective blend shapes and pose-space deformation and more stuff you were losing track of. Your eyes began to droop. You rested your chin lightly against your hand, letting your head sag forward just a little, pretending to take notes, though the pen barely touched the paper.

Sleep came quickly, not heavy but enough to blur whatever was happening around. You drifted in and out, absorbing fragments of words: “advanced character rigs,” “facial rigging,” “deformation techniques,” “blah blah blah…” Your mind remained mostly elsewhere, mostly regretting staying too late playing some stupid game.

You could feel yourself smiling faintly even as your eyelids fluttered. You couldn’t wait to get some sleep.

“Group sixteen,” the professor’s voice cut through your nice nap when you heard your name be called. “That will be Y/n… and Jeon Jungkook.”

Your head snapped up so fast you almost knocked your things over. Your mind scrambled. Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook? The name resonated faintly somewhere in the back of your memory.

You scanned the room, pretending to be looking for the right slide or some imaginary note, but your eyes locked on a guy sitting somewhere closer to the center, leaning casually against his desk. He hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t reacted, but the recognition hit you like a sharp gust of wind.

Your heart skipped a beat

Oh, no. Ohhh no. No, no, no…

You froze, a little too stiff, remembering the end of sophomore year, late one Friday night. A hookup you had never really followed up on. The kind of one-off that was messy, fun, and slightly regrettable. You had never talked after that, not that you remembered anyway.

And now here he was, almost two years later, the same classroom, the same professor, and apparently now your partner for a project your didn’t want to think about just yet.

Jeon Jungkook

He finally looked up, scanning the room until your eyes met. You felt a shiver, mostly from surprise, mostly from nerves, but mostly from sheer disbelief. Did he remember? Would he even care? You had no idea. The last you remembered, you had left his room the next morning before he woke up, apologizing quietly in your head as your slipped out.

You never talked to him again.

The professor continued, oblivious. “You have ten minutes to discuss schedules, roles, and plan your initial meeting. Please keep in mind this is a big note for the class.”

You exhaled softly, pretending to stretch, then turned toward Jungkook. He was standing now, moving toward you with that familiar, easy gait you remembered, carrying the kind of self-assurance that only came with good grades, a strong confidence, and probably too many compliments over the years. You mentally prepared yourself as he walked to you.

“Uh… hey,” he said lightly, a little awkward, a little like he wasn’t sure how to start.

“Hey,” you replied very calm and smooth. Internally, you were repeating to yourself to not make it obvious you remember him.

“I guess we’re partners for the project,” he said, glancing down at the handout the professor had left on each desk.

“Looks like it,” you said, scanning the paper. “Animation… yay, fun stuffs.”

He nodded, frowning slightly to your confusing words. “Yeah. So… uh… when are you free to meet? I can do afternoons.”

You tilted your head slightly, pretending to consider it. “Afternoons are okay. I have some classes before six, though, so maybe right after. Anywhere you want to meet?”

“Library? Or maybe the cafe?”

“Library works,” you said immediately. You had been spending enough time with caffeine lately to know it would probably be bad to be so close to a coffee machine.

You two settled a time, quickly coordinating your schedules, discussing tentative roles for the project. You felt your nerves settle slightly as you realized he wasn’t making any move to comment on your shared past.

That was good. That was very good.

Class ended sooner than expected, maybe because the professor’s lecture had been boring enough to make you almost happy to leave. You gathered your things, slid on your hoodie again, and headed toward the door.

As you walked past, you heard a voice behind you, closer to Jungkook. A guy you didn’t recognize was showing him something on his phone.

“I found her, man!,” the guy said.

You don’t care enough to eavesdrop so you simply walked away down the hall, past students who were chatting idly and toward the cafe machine tucked into the corner.

A third free cheap coffee wouldn’t kill you anyway.

You grabbed a cup, steaming and bitter, and made your way toward your next class, keeping your thoughts focused on your next assignments.

The hallways smelled faintly of disinfectant and leftover cafeteria food. You took a sip of your coffee as you reached your next classroom. It didn’t start until next hour so it was practically empty. Perfect, that way you could have time for you. You dropped your bag in a seat, leaned back, and stretched out, ready to sneak in a nap while waiting for the professor and students to arrive.

Your phone buzzed. One quick vibration that immediately made you know from what app was it. You frowned slightly, sitting up just enough to see the screen.

letjungcook sent you a friend request.

You stared at the screen, your mind flickering back to the previous lobbies you had entered the night before, trying to find a moment you gave someone your username— which, honesty, was a little dumb of you to have the same username in discord as you did in steam— but you never shared it with anyone who you didn’t like or thought was bad so…

Who the fuck was this guy?

so yeah… new fic!! yayyy. i had this for more than 8 months in my drafts and lowkey i thought it was funny enough to edit and post it so lmk what u think so far >_< this was heavily inspired by those tiktok videos of gamer girls winning match with obnoxious men

btw guys if this is not ur thing u can tell me to remove you from my perm taglist lol i won’t be offended (yes i will)

　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 INDEX

one ✧➳

when you sleep with your best friend and wind up pregnant, the last thing you expect after avoiding him for weeks is a marriage proposal.

two ✧➳

as the months blur and your proximity to jungkook tightens, so does the tension between the two of you, turning sharp and reckless. between now living together and working for the new york titans, it's unavoidable - evidently, so is winding up in his bed time more often that not. with the already bizarre situation, you agree that it's just sex and that the engagement is still just for the baby. . .until you can no longer fight the lies.

three ✧➳

you finally confront the feelings you’ve buried deep for jungkook, just as your last trimester and all-star weekend collide - bringing unexpected drama in their wake. the time to face the music arrives and it's a song that you've known all along.

bonus chapter ✧➳

before the wedding begins and long after it ends, you and jungkook find peace in the quiet moments together.

Temptation, they said, was the devil's favorite weapon…subtle, patient, and often disguised as something beautiful.

Your beauty was the kind that invited sin. Like a priceless painting in a museum, admired by many but forbidden to touch, existing only to test the restraint of those who stood before it.

Yet despite the effect you seemed to have on everyone else, Fr. Jeon remained frustratingly untouched by it all. Men had always looked twice, their attention lingering long enough to make their interest known. But his eyes never lingered on you. They would meet yours for a fleeting moment before moving on, calm and unwavering, carrying the same gentle warmth they offered every soul that walked through the church doors.

Pathetic.

Wearing a long white virginal skirt, a matching conservative blouse, and your hair falling neatly down your waist, you grabbed your purse before heading downstairs to meet Sana.

“Glad you finally wore something decent,” Sana commented with a sheepish smile when she saw you stepping out of your house.

You pouted, looking down at the modest skirt fluttering around your ankles. “My cute dresses are decent too, you know.”

You weren’t a very religious person, but when your friend Sana told you she wanted to join the church choir, you were more than happy to come with her. 

Between the two of you, she was the religious one—always carrying a small pocket bible in her purse, always reminding you to watch your words and actions because God was watching.

A lot of your friends were confused about how the two of you became so close. You were playful, rebellious, and bratty—more of a bad influence beside someone so polite and devout. But despite your mischievous nature, you were very sweet, friendly and charming. At university, you were one of the popular students, with plenty of friends and a reputation as a social butterfly.

When you first met Sana, you hadn’t expected the two of you to get along. She was a new student, still adjusting to the unfamiliar environment and trying to find her place among the other students. Being the friendly social butterfly that you were, you became the first person to approach her.

Your personalities couldn’t have been more different. Sana was calm, reserved, and quiet, while you were bold, bright, and loud. 

Despite being complete opposites, the two of you grew unexpectedly close. You liked Sana because she was a breath of fresh air. Her calmness grounded the chaos within you, while your playfulness brought balance and excitement to her peaceful life.

Ever since you became best friends, you often accompanied her to church. Although you looked somewhat out of place trailing behind her while she helped with various church duties, volunteer work, and parish activities...you still enjoyed spending time with her.

You liked how she always listened to your rants and endless rambles. Following her around while she busied herself carrying boxes and helping wherever she could, your kitten heels clicked softly against the church’s marbled floors, and the longest dress you could find in your closet swayed gently with every step. As unusual as it felt to be dressed so modestly, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed these moments with Sana.

Your usual style of dressing didn’t exactly align with the church’s dress code… you had to trade your short skirts, midriff-baring tops, tight dresses, and cute spaghetti-strap tops for something more... demure.

At first, you tried to argue against it, but Sana quickly reminded you that those clothes weren’t appropriate for church. And of course, you had no choice but to listen unless you wanted another lecture about being a poor instrument of the Lord.

“Since when did you become a singer?” you teased as the two of you entered the church alongside a few parishioners and choir members.

Sana was dressed similarly to you, wearing a long skirt paired with a flowy long-sleeved blouse. In her right hand, she carried a small booklet filled with choir songs.

She pouted. “I can sing a bit, you know.” she opened the booklet and flipped through its pages. “As long as I’m serving the Lord, then no voice shall sound bad.”

You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.

“If you say so,” you sang back playfully, following her up to the choir loft. You offered a polite smile to the other choir members, who were already busy practicing.

Since you weren’t actually there to join the choir, you let Sana focus on rehearsal while you wandered around the church on your own. Normally, you would have spent the entire time chatting her ear off, rambling about anything and everything, but today you let her concentrate.

A few parishioners were arranging fresh flowers around the framed images of saints, while others carefully dusted and polished the statues lining the church walls. The distant voices of the choir drifted through the air, blending with the soft murmur of prayers and quiet conversations, creating a peaceful atmosphere that settled gently around you.

When Sana first invited you to come with her to church, you had agreed out of nothing more than curiosity. You traded your usual weekend night outs for sunday mass, wanting to see the world through her eyes and understand why this place, with its quiet prayers and solemn rituals, meant so much to her.

The church offered a kind of quiet that rarely existed in your everyday life. Away from crowded parties, endless conversations, and the glittering chaos of your social circle, there was something unexpectedly comforting about this place. It gave you a chance to slow down, to breathe, and to simply exist without needing to be the loudest person in the room.

“Good morning, Fr. Jeon.” a few choir members and parishioners greeted.

You turned around absentmindedly, your head tilting curiously when you saw a priest entering through one of the church's side doors. Dressed in a long black cassock, he offered everyone a warm smile and a slight bow as he stepped inside.

A new priest?

“Are you here for the charity blessing, Fr. Jeon?” someone asked.

The woman approached him and received a gentle pat on the head in return.

He smiled. “Yes, I stopped by to gather a few materials for the blessing.”

Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, finding yourself taking an unconscious step forward.

A handsome fucking priest.

For the past few months that you'd been spending time at the church with Sana, this was the first time you'd seen him, and unfortunately for your soul, he was ridiculously attractive. 

You found yourself shamelessly staring, almost in awe as he greeted everyone with effortless kindness. 

He bowed politely, acknowledged each person with a warm smile, and listened attentively whenever someone spoke to him. It should've been a crime for a priest to be that good-looking. 

Sinful.

The long black cassock he wore looked attractively sinful wrapped around someone so impossibly holy, the stark contrast only making him harder to ignore. His sharp jawline became more pronounced whenever he turned to greet someone with a kind smile, and a pair of thin-framed glasses rested neatly on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intelligence that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. His eyes were dark and warm behind the lenses, attentive whenever he listened to someone speak, and his jet-black hair was styled neatly, though a few stubborn strands had fallen across his forehead. 

Everything about him looked composed, dignified, and entirely inappropriate for the thoughts currently running through your head.

You almost let out a dramatic gasp when Fr. Jeon finally waved his goodbye and turned to leave. A curse nearly slipped from your lips as you watched him make his way toward the church doors. 

Everyone else had managed to greet him and earn one of his warm smiles, some even receiving a fond pat on the head. Meanwhile, you had spent the entire time standing near the altar, staring at him like an absolute creep, too mesmerized by his existence.

Internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you watched him disappear through the church doors. And then, because apparently your dignity had already left the building before he did, you immediately made your way back to Sana, who was still busy practicing her choir lines.

“So...” you began, trailing behind Sana as she walked around with her booklet, quietly memorizing her choir pieces.

“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”

Sana lowered the booklet and stared at you, her brows knitting together as she caught the suspicious wiggle of your eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“I mean...” you hesitated. “Is he a real priest or, like… an intern priest?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how stupid they sounded. 

Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?

Sana blinked. Then she burst out laughing. “He's a real priest, Y/N. What do you mean, intern priest?”

Your cheeks immediately warmed. You looked away while she continued laughing, lifting the booklet back up as you followed after her.

You pouted. “Well... he looks young.” And hot. “And I've never seen him before. Every time I've attended mass with you, he wasn't the presider.”

You tried to think back to the past few months but came up empty. No handsome priests. Because if there had been one, you definitely would've remembered.

In fact, you were pretty sure you would've started sitting in the front row.

“Yeah, because he only got appointed recently,” Sana answered, her attention back on the booklet. “A few months ago, I think.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, almost groaning when you haven’t met him before he got appointed. 

What the fuck, Y/N. Are you seriously eyeing a priest?

Absolutely not. That was...unholy!

For the following weeks, you found yourself clinging to Sana more than usual.

At first, you convinced yourself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Going to church with her wasn't exactly new. 

You just weren't nearly as consistent as she was.

There were plenty of sundays you skipped altogether, choosing late nights with your friends over early mornings in church. Besides, you figured there would always be another mass to attend, while convincing Sana to show up at one of your parties was practically impossible.

That was why you never attended as regularly as she did.

Lately, however, the situation seemed to have reversed. Now, you were the one volunteering to come.

Party invitations sat unanswered in your messages. Night outs were declined without hesitation. Instead, you found yourself asking Sana about choir practice, church activities, and whether she planned on volunteering for any upcoming events.

It was becoming a little concerning.

Wearing one of your now-usual long skirts and a modest blouse approved by church standards, you applied an extra layer of lip gloss in front of your mirror. Excitement bubbled inside you as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week—a charity event was coming up, and the church needed volunteers to help organize donations.

There had been plenty of charity events before, many of which you had skipped. Sana would usually spend the entire day helping sort donations and assisting the parishioners, leaving little time for the two of you to actually spend together. As much as you enjoyed tagging along with her, wandering around the church by yourself for hours wasn't exactly appealing.

This time, however, you were genuinely excited to come.

It wasn't as though you couldn't visit the church on your own. Nobody would stop you if you decided to drop by one afternoon.

The problem was that it would be… strange.

Ever since you started coming to church, it had always been because of Sana. Everyone knew you as her friend, not as someone particularly devoted to the church.

If you suddenly started showing up by yourself every weekend, people would notice. You weren't exactly known for your devotion. 

Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.

It was already strange enough that you were beginning to resemble a devoted Christian.

False piety.

When you arrived at the church, your heartbeat picked up immediately. Volunteers moved in and out of the building carrying boxes and supplies, conversations blending into a lively hum that filled the grounds.

“You can help with the boxes, Y/N. I'll just talk to the choir members,” Sana said with a smile.

You nodded a little too eagerly, grateful she didn’t question your sudden burst of interest in coming with her to church. It helped that you had accompanied her before—enough for it to not feel completely out of the blue.

“Okay! I'll help with the boxes!” you smiled brightly.

The moment Sana wandered off to join the other choir members, you immediately began looking around for ways to help.

“Let me carry those,” you offered with a bright smile, reaching for a volunteer struggling with a stack of old toy boxes meant for donation.

The woman thanked you and asked if you could bring them outside, where a small truck was parked to collect everything.

You happily agreed.

“I hope he comes today,” you muttered under your breath as you carried the boxes toward the truck, your eyes drifting toward the church entrance every few seconds.

According to Sana, Fr. Jeon frequently stopped by to check on donation drives, visit the parish office, or help coordinate volunteer work.

You had already carried nine boxes, then… ten. With every trip back and forth, you found yourself slowly losing hope that Fr. Jeon would show up at all. You were starting to regret wearing your cutest pink skirt today, and the growing disappointment was beginning to settle in alongside your irritation.

Just as you were about to accept that all your effort had been wasted, Fr. Jeon finally appeared, walking into the church hall.

Your eyes widened.

“Fuck—” you immediately winced, biting your lip the moment the word escaped. Mentally apologizing for cursing inside the church.

With a fresh box of donations balanced in your arms, you hurried toward the entrance, trying your best to look useful, helpful and responsible. Like the kind of person who volunteered here regularly and wasn't secretly waiting for your handsome priest to show up.

Your heart hammered against your ribs when he finally glanced in your direction.

“Good day,” he greeted with a smile and a polite nod, raising his right hand to gently pat your head.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, almost dropping the boxes when he touched you.

He patted my head!

Today, he was dressed in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, a simple brown cross necklace resting against his chest. His jet-black hair was styled neatly away from his face, exposing a heart-shaped forehead that made him look unfairly handsome. He wore his usual pair of glasses, the thin frames resting on the bridge of his nose and softening the sharpness of his features. Behind the lenses, his round eyes looked steady and attentive, always observant, as if he noticed everything without ever needing to say so. 

Goodness gracious.

Your gaze drifted lower, almost shamelessly staring…only to pause on his right hand.

You frowned slightly, you wanted to take a longer look, but his sleeves hid the rest of his arms from view, making it impossible to tell how far they extended.

Was that a tattoo?

For some reason, that discovery stunned you more than it should have. Priests and tattoos weren't exactly a combination you'd ever imagined together.

You were so distracted staring at his hand that you didn't realize he had already walked past you and moved on to greet the other volunteers.

You didn't even greet him back! Oh God.

Panic immediately settled in your chest. Adjusting your grip on the donation box, you hurried after him, determined to salvage the interaction somehow. You just needed a reason to talk to him. 

A simple religious question, maybe?

Unfortunately, your brain had chosen this exact moment to stop working.

You couldn't exactly walk up to him and ask if priests were allowed to have tattoos. Nor could you suddenly start quoting bible verses when the majority of your religious knowledge came from Sana lecturing you every other week.

You wanted to sound natural and virginal.

The problem was that you had absolutely no idea how to start a holy conversation without sounding fake about it, like you were trying too hard to be someone you weren’t.

When you saw him entering the church office, you frowned and stomped your foot against the floor in irritation.

Pity.

You were a bit disappointed when his gaze didn’t even linger on you. You were used to boys in college always noticing you…showing their interest, getting swayed by your pretty face and charming personality. But here, inside the church, you were nothing more than another kind volunteer in his eyes—someone he greeted with the same calm respect he gave everyone else.

Importunate.

At this point, it had become a routine. You would come to church with Sana after school, grateful she had joined the choir because it gave you an excuse to be there almost every day instead of only on weekends.

While she attended rehearsals, you spent your afternoons helping with volunteer work and assisting the parishioners...all while discreetly searching the church grounds for your future boyfriend.

You even started dressing for it—slipping into the most “virginal” outfits your closet could offer in hopes of blending in. Long skirts, conservative blouses, dresses that covered everything they possibly could. It was almost laughable how much effort you put into looking like the perfect church girl, when a few months ago you would’ve rather died than be seen in half of these outfits.

The worst part was that it wasn't even guaranteed to work.

There were days when your timing simply didn't align. You would arrive at the church only to hear that Fr. Jeon had already stopped by earlier, or spend the afternoon helping around the parish before finding out he had come and gone while you were busy elsewhere. Sometimes you would leave just before he arrived, missing him by mere minutes.

You would come home without seeing even a glimpse of him, staring at your ceiling later that night and wondering why you felt so deflated over someone you barely knew. 

Then there were the good days—when your schedules happened to align and you finally saw him. Your eyes would immediately light up the moment you spotted him across the church grounds, your smile growing brighter despite your attempts to act normal, your cheeks burning whenever he greeted you with that gentle smile and absentminded pat on the head.

Transgression.

At first, seeing him had been enough. Now, however, you found yourself expecting more. Not much...just a conversation that lasted longer than a few seconds. Something beyond charity drives, donation boxes, retreats, and volunteer work.

But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.

He greeted everyone with the same kindness, smiled at everyone with the same warmth, and spoke to everyone with the same respectful attentiveness. Whenever you managed to stand near him long enough for a conversation, he would ask about the charity, the donations, the volunteers, or whatever church event happened to be coming up next. 

The discussion always remained firmly within the boundaries of church matters, and before you knew it, he would excuse himself to continue helping elsewhere.

You couldn't even ask him anything personal. Every question that came to mind sounded ridiculous the moment you imagined saying it out loud. Are those tattoos real? How old are you? Why are you so handsome for a priest? 

None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.

So you remained stuck in this strange little cycle of yours, coming to church almost everyday with hopes far bigger than the interactions you actually received. And despite how ridiculous it felt, despite how much you scolded yourself for it, the highlight of your day was still that brief smile and the weight of his hand resting atop your head for a few seconds.

Shameful.

A shame that you had never actually talked to him. 

Not beyond a few good afternoons exchanged in passing and the occasional greeting whenever your paths crossed around the church. 

You didn't want to be too bold, afraid that he would notice your embarrassingly obvious attempts to get his attention. As someone who wasn't particularly religious, you found yourself in an absurd predicament. 

Should you start reading the bible? Memorize a few scriptures? Learn enough about church teachings to hold an intelligent conversation with him? 

The fact that you were even considering studying scripture just to impress a priest made you question every life decision that had led you to this point.

You wanted his eyes to linger on you. Wanted him to look at you a little longer than everyone else. Wanted to feel special in some way. But every time your gaze met his, he would simply smile and move on, his attention never staying in one place for too long. 

Sometimes you wondered if the only thing capable of holding his complete devotion was God himself.

Which was unfortunate for you. Because you were used to being noticed.

You were pretty, and you knew it. Attention had always come easily to you, yet the one man whose attention you wanted most remained completely out of reach.

A man who was distant, unattainable, and forbidden in every possible sense of the word.

Standing in front of your mirror that afternoon, you smoothed down your floral dress and examined your reflection one last time. The modest dress fell neatly against your figure, paired with white kitten heels that made you look far more innocent than you actually were. You dabbed a little extra blush onto your cheeks before adding a touch more glitter to your eyelids, your excitement growing as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week.

Fr. Jeon would be presiding over today's mass.

It would be the first mass of his that you would be attending, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to stop smiling, you realized your excitement felt dangerously close to the kind of anticipation one would have before a date.

Sana had noticed that you were coming with her far more often nowadays, but being as naive and obedient as she was, she only took it as a good sign. In her eyes, your heart was simply getting closer to God, closer to faith, closer to something pure and meaningful.

Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.

“You look excited,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling when you mentioned wanting to sit in the front row. The thought only made her happier, convinced that your devotion was finally deepening in the way she had always hoped for you.

Oh, you were devoted. 

“Excited for the Mass, you know,” you replied with a small giggle, clasping your hands together as if to sell the image. “Wonder what bible chapter will be discussed today.”

Of course you were gonna listen, be a good little church girl and have your eyes and attention to him.

Your eyes were practically shining when you stepped into the church, making a beeline for the front row without hesitation. You sat down shamelessly, smoothing your skirt as if you had done this every sunday of your life.

Sana only smiled at your eagerness, completely oblivious to the fact that your decision had nothing to do with spiritual focus and everything to do with proximity. Sitting at the front felt less like devotion and more like VIP seating for the sole purpose of seeing Fr. Jeon up close.

When the bell finally rang, the entire church rose to its feet. Your heart kicked up immediately as the sacristans entered in procession, one of them carrying a smoking thurible that swung gently with each step. And right at the center of it all was him.

Your future boyfriend.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes widening as Fr. Jeon walked slowly down the nave with calm, deliberate steps. His hands were clasped together in front of him in prayer, and he wore the full liturgical vestments—a long white linen robe beneath a green chasuble, a thin stole draped over his shoulders, and a cincture tied neatly at his waist. The fabric moved softly as he walked, making him look almost unreal under the church lights, like something out of a painting you weren’t supposed to stare at for too long.

He greeted people with gentle smiles along the way, bowing his head politely, even pausing to pat a few children on the head as he passed the pews.

By the time he reached the altar, your attention was fully locked in. 

Disingenuous.

You nodded a little too eagerly when responses were required, your voice coming out brighter than necessary during the choir parts, as if enthusiasm alone could prove your devotion. Every time he spoke, your focus sharpened, hanging onto his words a little too intently, even when you were supposed to be blending in with the rest of the congregation.

He was wearing his usual pair of glasses, slowly turning the pages of the bible with precise, practiced movements. His voice was steady and clear as he read, each word delivered with a calm authority that made it clear this role suited him completely. There was nothing rushed about him, nothing uncertain.. only a quiet certainty in the way he stood at the altar, as if it had always belonged to him.

By now, you had started mirroring him without even realizing it. Whenever he closed his eyes to say the prayers, you would close yours too, hands folded a little tighter than necessary, breathing in sync with the rhythm of the mass.

You were fucking crazy.

When it was time for the holy communion, you stood up almost too quickly, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you joined the line forming in the aisle. Each step forward felt heavier than it should have, not because of the sacrament itself, but because of who was waiting near the altar.

“Are you alright?” Sana commented quietly when she noticed your flushed expression after the bell rang.

You let out a small, awkward laugh and instinctively smoothed down your long hair, trying to compose yourself. “Just thinking about my prayers,” you said lightly, as if that explanation made any sense at all.

She gasped, like you were really serious about your prayers, when all you could think about was—

He’s gonna feed me the host!

You were almost sweating as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the moment inch closer with every step in the line. Sana’s voice was still beside you, something about God always listening and having faith in his timing, but her words barely registered anymore. Your mind was elsewhere entirely, stuck on the growing realization that you were seconds away from facing him directly.

Preparing your hands in a prayer position, your brain almost short-circuited when you finally faced him, his right tatted hand holding the host up for you.

“The Body of Christ,” he said in a soft tone, almost detached in its reverence.

You wanted him to recognize you—the obedient good girl who always volunteered at the church. But fuck, he was too absorbed in God and the communion.

Your lips parted. “Amen…”

When he finally fed you the host, you almost choked when you felt the slight, accidental brush of his index finger against your lips as he withdrew his hand. You were left completely flustered, while he remained composed and focused on the ritual, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on you.

To you, it felt intimate. 

To him, it was simply the Eucharist…a sacred duty, a practiced motion repeated countless times.

When you returned to your seat and lowered yourself to kneel again, you pressed your hands together a little too tightly. In your head, you immediately apologized to God for every impure thought, questionable intention, and shameless moment you had done.

Then, without even a full second of self-reflection, you proceeded to ask if he could somehow let you be a little closer to Fr. Jeon.

Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.

“Sana, are you gonna visit the church this week?” you asked with a small smile, falling into your usual habit of checking with her.

For the past few weeks, your afternoons and weekends had quietly reshaped themselves around her schedule. 

It had become something strangely comforting… helping wherever you could, spending hours in a place that once felt unfamiliar but was now slowly turning into routine.

But of course, you couldn’t deny that recently, there was another reason woven into it too.

“Nope,” Sana replied as she hugged her books closer to her chest. “I have to study this week. Finals are coming up, and I still have a chemistry exam to review for before vacation starts.”

You groaned softly and walked beside her as the two of you left the campus. “Then why don’t we just stop by for a bit? To pray for good grades?” you suggested, lifting a brow as if it was the most logical solution in the world.

Please. Please. Please agree with me.

Sana pouted, clearly considering it for a moment, and your heart almost stopped in anticipation. Then she shook her head slowly, and your excitement deflated instantly.

“You’re right,” she said gently, “but it’s a long test, Y/N. I need to review all week. God would understand.”

She smiled softly and slipped her arm through yours. “Let’s just pray at home and do the rosary before reviewing.”

You forced a small smile, though your shoulders sagged slightly at the realization. It wasn’t just a missed church visit—it was a missed chance, even if you kept telling yourself it wasn’t supposed to be about that.

Sure, you would probably still see Fr. Jeon at sunday mass. He was the new presider in the city now, after all.

But it still wasn’t the same.

You almost groaned when you found yourself at the church that saturday morning. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, kitten heels, and a rosary necklace you had recently bought for the sole purpose of impressing Fr. Jeon. You had no idea whether he would even notice it, but in your mind, it felt like the kind of thing a good church girl would wear.

Preposterous.

Sashaying your way inside, you took in the usual parishioners and volunteers already busy arranging boxes for the charity drive.

You bit your lip. This was your first time visiting the church without Sana. Still, as you walked in, you were relieved when a few volunteers recognized you.

Thank God and all the saints.

You smiled and bent down to help with the boxes, already familiar with the routine—carrying them to the truck, sorting old clothes and toys, or helping with the lists.

If any of your uni friends saw you here alone, they would be completely confused. Without Sana, your sudden appearance at church would make absolutely no sense.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon.” someone greeted, and your ears immediately perked up. You turned just in time to see him entering the church halls in his usual black long sleeves and slacks.

You were only on your third box today! He was early!

Your lips curled into a small, excited smile as you instinctively stepped closer, box still in hand, already anticipating the familiar greeting and gentle pat on the head.

“Good day,” he said as expected, offering a polite nod before his hand lifted to pat your head.

Your eyelashes fluttered.

But instead of letting him move on to greet the others…for the first time in the past few weeks, you actually gathered the courage to stop him.

“Uh, Fr. Jeon?” you called softly just as he was about to turn away.

He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Jesus– God in heaven.

Your cheeks instantly reddened at the nickname, fingers tightening around the box. Still, you forced yourself to breathe, and finally blurted out the question you had been rehearsing all night.

“Just wondering if you have any c-chapter recommendations? I’m currently reading the bible and I don’t know where to start,” you said shyly.

There was a brief flicker of pleasant surprise on his face, quietly impressed that you were asking about the bible in the first place. It wasn't often that someone approached him with genuine curiosity about scripture.

He was about to answer when, suddenly…his attention shifted.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on the rosary hanging around your neck—the small cross resting between your breasts.

His lips pursed. “Sweetheart…rosaries are not meant to be worn as necklaces,” he chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the rosary before looking back at you.

Your eyes widened. “I-It’s not…?” you asked, your ears and neck already heating in embarrassment.

Fuck. You didn’t know that! 

Fr. Jeon exhaled gently. “It’s a prayer tool,” he explained, his tone patient and calm. “Meant to be held in the hands… used in prayer, not displayed like jewelry.”

You blinked. “I-I didn’t know,” you admitted quickly, almost defensively. “I just really… like rosaries.”

Deception.

Fr. Jeon sighed softly, then lifted a hand to gently pat your head. “It’s okay…if you want, you can still wear rosary bracelets.” he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You almost melted at his kindness. “R-Right, that would be better,” you said shyly, barely keeping yourself together.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, adjusting his glasses before finally returning to your original question. “If you’re reading the bible,” he added at last, “start with the gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

You nodded quickly, smiling up at him as he returned a warm, genuine smile of his own.

“Noted, Fr. Jeon.” you smiled, unconsciously stepping a little closer. “...Uhm, d-do you have a bible in your office, Father?” you asked shyly, doing your best to sound innocent and academically curious. 

The moment the question left your mouth, you almost mentally slapped yourself.

Of course he has a bible in his office!

You opened your mouth, ready to rephrase the question, to save yourself from the embarrassment of sounding so foolish—but Fr. Jeon answered before you could.

“I do have a few bible collections in my office…would you like to see them?” Fr. Jeon offered, gesturing gently toward the church office.

You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”

Your plan actually worked!

Your eyes widened in horror. Mortified, you immediately bent down to pick them up, only to find Fr. Jeon already reaching for them.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly, lifting the boxes with ease as if they weighed nothing. “Let me carry these.”

“S-Sorry, it was kinda heavy,” you reasoned out, your neck already turning red. You still couldn’t believe you were actually having a full conversation with him.

And now he was even taking you to his office!

The Lord had truly answered your prayers.

With a polite smile, Fr. Jeon handed the boxes to the truck before gesturing for you to follow him toward the office.

“I can let you borrow a few scriptures if you’d like. I have the new version of the bible—would you want that?” Fr. Jeon asked as he reached into his pocket for his office keys.

You nodded immediately, hands clasping together behind your back. “Uh, yeah. That would be heavenly!”

Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.

Fr. Jeon only smiled at that, unlocking and opening the office door as if he were letting you step into a space you had no right to be so excited about.

Pious.

You had done your research last night—it had been difficult since he was such a private person, but you had managed to learn a few things.

Fr. Jeon had been ordained only six months ago and was now officially assigned as the priest of your city’s parish, something you were embarrassingly looking forward to.

He was twenty-eight. He had studied arts before eventually pursuing theology. There were only a handful of photos of him online…mostly seminarian group pictures, a few formal ones where he wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, though he was always in long sleeves.

You had even found one rare image where he had rolled his sleeve slightly during a group photo, revealing part of a tattoo on his arm beneath a white long-sleeve shirt and a cross necklace.

“Fuck… he’s hiding all that under his sleeves?” you had muttered to yourself last night, squinting at the screen and trying to find more…only to realize there was barely anything else. No social media, no casual photos, nothing.

“Take a seat here. I’ll get the books for you,” Fr. Jeon said now, smiling as he gestured toward the small couch in front of his desk.

You nodded and sat down obediently, trying very hard to look like a good parish girl. 

His office was quiet and orderly in a way that immediately made you straighten your posture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves filled with thick religious texts, bible editions, theological commentaries, and neatly stacked parish documents. A simple desk sat against one side, organized and uncluttered, with a few folders, a pen holder, and a small lamp.

In the center of the room, mounted on the wall above the desk, hung a large crucifix—christ on the cross—watching over everything in silent stillness. The soft light from the window fell across it gently, making the entire room feel even more solemn, almost sacred.

Yet your thoughts were nowhere near sacred. You were here to attempt a very dangerous, carnal sin.

Seduction.

Masked in your perfect good-girl appearance, wondering if you could crack that unshakable composure he wore so effortlessly—if you could make his calm, holy restraint finally slip.

You slowly stood up from the couch while his back remained turned, focused on his bible scriptures. Your head tilted slightly as you tried to make it look as innocent as possible…to enter his space without revealing your true, sinful intentions.

“Fr. Jeon,” you called softly, standing too close behind him.

You needed to converse, to interact with him, to get him interested—to show him how much you adored God as much as he did.

“Hmm?” He didn’t glance at you, still focused on the scriptures.

You pouted, slowly taking a peek at what he was doing. “I was wondering if I could just read the bible here instead of borrowing it….” you attempted softly. “That way, if there’s something I don’t understand… I can ask you about it right away.” you said in a sweet, suggestive tone.

Fr. Jeon glanced at you, subtly stepping back when he realized you were right behind him, your vanilla scent brushing his senses.

He paused for a moment, looking into your hopeful eyes. 

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face. “That's actually a good idea. Understanding scripture is easier when you can discuss it with someone. If I'm here, feel free to ask me anything you're confused about.”

Providence.

You smiled brightly, feeling your relationship with him finally take another step forward.

“That would be great! Thank you, Fr. Jeon,” you said, tilting your head and giving him one of your most charming smiles.

It was absurd.

After your finals, you were granted a two-month semestral break, and instead of using that time to party, travel with friends, or go on night outs, you had spent nearly all of it at the church. 

Sana, unfortunately, never questioned your growing interest. She was too kind to question your faith.

Over the next few weeks, your afternoons were spent in the parish office, reading scripture, flipping through commentaries, and waiting for the familiar sound of the office door opening.

During those weeks, you managed to have a few small talks with him whenever he stopped by. You learned that he visited the church every day…sometimes to pray, sometimes to help with ongoing charity work, hear confessions, or simply check on the church office before moving on to his next responsibility.

Hearing about his schedule made you quietly adjust your own, ensuring you arrived at the office around 3 p.m.—the time he usually came in to check mails and paperwork at his office.

Today, you were wearing a baby blue dress that flowed nicely around your ankles, trimmed with delicate lace at the hem. Your hair was tied in a half ponytail with a blue ribbon, your makeup subtle, and your kitten heels matching the softness of your outfit.

Sana didn’t come with you every day anymore—she had other “holy” activities outside the church, like charity visits, helping at retreat houses, touring other churches, and even climbing mountains to visit shrines and statues. 

You had politely declined most of those invitations, telling her you found comfort in staying within your church’s city.

Disingenuous.

The rhythm between you had become almost routine. You would come to the office in the afternoons, sit down with a bible, and quietly read while asking him occasional questions whenever something didn’t make sense. 

Fr. Jeon would remain at his desk, either going through papers or reading his own scripture in silence. The room would stay mostly quiet, filled with the soft turning of pages and the steady presence of his focus, as if the world outside didn’t quite reach either of you in that space.

Sometimes you would try to steer the conversation a little further, testing small openings beyond scripture, but it always naturally circled back to the same things—bible passages, God, charity work, church matters… anything within that same unspoken boundary of the holy.

Yet, that alone felt like a privilege—being allowed into the quiet rhythm of his office, as if you belonged there too.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon. I brought some snacks for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the church’s office.

As usual, he was sitting at his desk, wearing his framed glasses while reading some papers.

You walked toward him and held up a small box of cookies you had gladly baked. “I made these…kind of like a thank-you gift for letting me stay here in the office,” you said proudly.

During your free time, you had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies for Fr. Jeon, thinking it would be a nice thank-you gift for him. At first, you had even wanted to decorate them with cute frosting faces of Jesus, convinced it would make you look extra devoted in his eyes.

Unfortunately, after staring at your frosting bag for ten minutes, you realized it might look a little too....performative.

So, with great reluctance, you abandoned your tiny Jesus-face cookie idea and settled for regular chocolate chip cookies instead.

The result sat neatly inside the box you now held out to him, carefully packed and decorated with far more effort than necessary.

Fr. Jeon looked at the cookies, his head tilting slightly when he noticed the box was covered in heart stickers. A soft smile formed on his lips, quietly touched by your kindness.

“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart.” he said softly, taking the box before looking up at you from his swivel chair. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flushed, making you feel like a schoolgirl finally noticed by your crush.

“No worries, Fr. Jeon… besides, I really like reading the bible here! it feels comforting,” you said, leaning in slightly as if to emphasize your point. “And thank you… you really help me understand it better when I get confused,” you added softly, fluttering your lashes at him.

He blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard by your sweet smile and the way you leaned in, his usual composure faltering for a brief moment as he paused.

“No...no problem sweetheart.” he said with a small smile. “I’m… glad you find comfort here. God will always find a way to comfort our souls.”

You smiled sheepishly and sat down on the small couch in front of his desk. “Hmm, I know…I always pray whenever I’m overwhelmed, somehow talking to God really helps me.” you said thoughtfully, even if you had only learned those kinds of phrases from Sana.

Fr. Jeon nodded quietly, he didn’t expect you to be this devoted.

You were very pure, kind, and charming. He had always noticed you volunteering at the church with your friend Sana—you would help with the boxes, sit around during her choir sessions, sometimes simply sit in the pew as if the presence of the church alone was enough for you.

It wasn’t hard to notice you. You were pretty and graceful, always smiling at everyone, carrying a soft, composed presence whenever he saw you at the church in your long skirts and modest blouses—like a quiet image of devotion itself. 

Despite that, his eyes never lingered. 

Always composed, always measured…because anything longer than a passing glance felt like something he shouldn’t allow himself.

Ever since you asked him about the bible that day, he had been quietly amazed. Nowadays, very few people showed genuine interest in scripture, let alone someone your age. 

Seeing your devotion—or what he believed was devotion…filled him with a warmth he hadn't expected. It was rare to meet someone so eager to learn more about God.

What he didn't realize was that your sweet, holy little plan had been working all along.

And what you didn't realize was that your sweetness, your smiles, your carefully built innocence—had been working from the very beginning.

You were so focused on the fact that his eyes never lingered, so convinced that he remained untouched by your presence, that you failed to see the subtle effect you had already left behind.

“What do you do during your free time, Fr. Jeon?” you asked casually one friday afternoon, trying your best to sound merely curious rather than interested. 

You had spent weeks keeping your questions safely within the boundaries of scripture. Careful not to reveal how badly you wanted to know the man behind the collar. 

So you kept your tone light and innocent, as though it were nothing more than a harmless question that had happened to cross your mind.

Fr. Jeon's head tilted slightly. He was sitting across from you at the small coffee table inside his office, a bible resting in his hands just like yours. 

“I visit charities,” he answered lightly. “I usually stay there for a while and spend time with the children.” a fond smile crossed his face at the memory.

Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.

“How about you, sweetheart?” Fr. Jeon asked.

You quickly searched for a suitably holy answer. “Umm, I-I sometimes climb mountains to visit shrines and blessed statues,” you said, biting your lip as you recalled one of Sana's favorite religious activities.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully, visibly impressed…his expression softening as if genuinely moved that you spent your free time in service of the Lord.

“What a good girl you are,” he said softly. 

His eyes lifted to meet yours for a brief moment—just long enough to make your heart stumble…before he looked away first, a small smile forming on his lips that he quickly hid as he lowered his gaze back to the bible.

Your lips parted slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks at the compliment.

Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.

Even though Sana had been busy lately with her other holy activities, you didn't mind attending mass alone. In fact, you were more than happy sitting in the front row. 

Your eyes would sparkle whenever Fr. Jeon spoke, your heart thumping whenever his gaze swept across the congregation and briefly met yours.

It always felt like a small victory, as though he was finally acknowledging you, finally noticing you.

“The Body of Christ.” Fr. Jeon held up the host.

“Amen,” you replied softly.

Unlike before, however, his gaze briefly lowered to meet yours. It lasted only a moment, accompanied by a small smile, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Enthralled.

Little by little, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The walls around him no longer felt quite as impenetrable as they once had.

Overtime, you had finally managed to crack through the edges of his usual reserve. What started as strictly scripture and charity talk had slowly, almost imperceptibly, begun to shift into something more personal. 

You learned how he first became interested in the priesthood, how his mother had served in the church, and how deeply devoted his family was to their faith. You even found the courage to ask about his tattoos, discovering they came from his love for art long before he pursued theology.

In return, you had shared little pieces of yourself as well—your hobbies, your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. Of course, you were careful to sprinkle in a little extra holiness whenever you could, always eager to impress him and maintain the image he seemed to have of you.

Fr. Jeon enjoyed your presence. It was refreshing to converse with someone who seemed to share the same interest and devotion that he held so dearly.

As the weeks passed, he found himself quietly looking forward to your visits, anticipating the familiar sound of your voice drifting into his office each afternoon. After all, you had always been naturally playful and talkative, and somehow… your constant babbling had become a welcome part of his routine.

It had been a month since you started spending your afternoons in his office. Upon entering, you found him sitting at the coffee table instead of his desk. Scattered across the table were several small boxes in different colors.

Curious, you stepped inside, your usual box of homemade cookies in hand—the same kind you brought him every week.

“What’s that, Fr. Jeon?” you asked, taking a seat across from him and placing the cookies on the table.

Fr. Jeon looked up and smiled. “When's your birthday, sweetheart?”

You blinked, a question that was out of the blue—like you were on a date, and he was casually getting to know you.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, you told him your birth date, unable to hide the slight confusion in your voice.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully before reaching for one of the small boxes on the table.

There were twelve of them in total, each a different color. Pink, purple, green, blue, yellow, and several others.

“This would be your birthstone color then,” he said with a fond smile, handing you the box that matched your birth month.

Confused, you picked up the box and slowly opened it.

A small rosary bracelet rested inside.

Your heart began thumping so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you remembered the conversation from weeks ago…when he had gently corrected you and told you that rosaries weren't meant to be worn as necklaces.

“T-This is for me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling.

Fr. Jeon smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart. I didn't know your birthday, so I bought all twelve colors,” he admitted with a small chuckle, glancing at the remaining boxes on the table.

It was such a simple gift, yet your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest. Somehow, this meant more than the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and expensive jewelry your admirers had given you before.

Before you could stop yourself, you rose from your seat and threw your arms around him.

Fr. Jeon froze in surprise, his eyes widened as you suddenly closed the distance between you. The force of the hug nearly made him lose his balance in the chair as your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“Thank you, Fr. Jeon...so sweet of you.” you murmured, overwhelmed with happiness.

He gulped harshly. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a woman.

Not accidentally in a crowded place. Not a polite handshake after mass. Not a brief greeting exchanged out of courtesy.

A long time.

His heart raced against his ribs as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your hot breath fanned softly against his collar, carrying the familiar scent of vanilla that had become impossible for him not to recognize. The closeness was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected, making him painfully aware of how little physical affection existed in his life.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before gripping the edge of the table instead. Every instinct told him to return the gesture, to place a comforting hand against your back and reassure you, but he remained still, forcing himself to hold onto his composure.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Fr. Jeon rasped, his voice coming out rougher than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled brightly and sat back down in your chair, immediately slipping the bracelet onto your wrist.

Meanwhile, he remained frozen for a moment, trying to swallow away the lingering awareness of your closeness. The warmth of your embrace, your breath against his collar, the brief press of your breasts against him.

The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.

Which only made it worse.

Because he had no reason to be affected by it at all. He found himself quietly unsettled by the fact that he had needed to restrain himself in a moment that should have been nothing more than simple gratitude.

Temptation.

The next day, you proudly wore the rosary bracelet he had given you. You had even chosen a dress that matched its color, complete with a ribbon in your hair to tie everything together.

When you entered his office, you found Fr. Jeon standing by the bookshelves, a scripture in one hand. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read through a passage.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon,” you greeted happily, practically sashaying toward him.

His attention lifted from the page.

Immediately, you raised your wrist and showed off the bracelet. “Look,” you said with a grin.

Fr. Jeon glanced down, you were already twirling in place, eager to show him how the bracelet matched your dress.

Pretty.

The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.

“Good day, Y/N.” he replied, forcing his attention away from the observation.

You smiled brightly and wriggled your wrist. “I matched the bracelet with my dress and ribbon, see?”

Turning in a small circle again, you proudly showed off the entire outfit.

Fr. Jeon watched for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Lately, he had become far too aware of things he shouldn't be noticing.

How pretty you looked whenever you walked into his office, how your face lit up whenever you talked to him, how easily your excitement filled the room.

Even your long dresses—soft fabric falling gently to your ankles, lace details tracing along the edges…began to feel distracting in a way he could not fully explain or justify. 

Turning innocent things into distractions. The modesty that should have protected his thoughts was beginning to have the opposite effect, making him painfully aware of the woman hidden beneath layers of fabric and lace.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be this close to a woman. Years spent in seminaries, rectories, church offices, and ministry had made him accustomed to a life of distance and discipline. He had grown comfortable in it.

Until you.

“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” he said at last, forcing a small smile before returning his attention to the scripture in his hands.

It was easier to focus on the page than on the way you were still standing there, smiling at him as if he had just given you the greatest gift in the world.

You giggled and stepped a little closer. “You know, I didn’t remove the bracelet yet… I’m planning on wearing it forever.”

Fr. Jeon raised a brow at that, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Really?” he asked, unable to hide the delightfulness in his voice.

“Yes! I didn’t even remove it when I took a bath,” you giggled, smiling at him with pure adoration.

His brows furrowed slightly at what you had just said, but before he could stop himself, a faint flush crept across his cheeks.

Test of faith.

His mind betrayed him for a brief second, wandering toward the image of you showering while still wearing the bracelet he had given you, carefully keeping it on even then. The thought was so sudden and inappropriate that he immediately felt ashamed.

He gulped harshly, disappointed in himself. He would have to repent later and ask the Lord for forgiveness for allowing such a crude thought to cross his mind.

Fr. Jeon could not entertain that desire. It was forbidden, a temptation that needed to be buried and forgotten before it could take root.

Yet despite the turmoil quietly unfolding inside him, he weakly reached over and gently patted your head.

His heart immediately thumped against his ribs when your eyes lifted to meet his, shining with unmistakable adoration at the simple gesture.

You beamed at him...letting out a small, delighted giggle that softened the moment even further.

Craving.

The past few weeks had been exhausting. As the city's new presider, he had been buried beneath paperwork and responsibilities. The church had also been flooded with parishioners seeking confession, and the lines seemed to grow longer with each passing day.

Hundreds of voices had passed through the confessional since then, each carrying their own sins, burdens, and regrets. Most of them faded from memory the moment absolution was given.

Yours hadn't.

Fr. Jeon leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix hanging on the office wall. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room.

He had spent years strengthening his faith, disciplining his mind, and dedicating himself entirely to the Lord. Yet lately, all it took was a sweet smile, an innocent touch, or the sound of your voice to shake that discipline.

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.

A threat to his devotion.

-

“Ouch, fuck,” you groaned, pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven.

You were baking a fresh batch for Fr. Jeon today, trying out a larger baking tray than usual so you could make more cookies at once. Unfortunately, the experiment immediately backfired.

As you bent down to take the tray out, the hot metal edge accidentally brushed against your inner thigh. You winced, pouting as you watched your skin slowly turn red.

“This looks so bad,” you murmured, setting the tray of cookies down on the counter.

Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.

Prepping the boxes of cookies you had baked, you decided to wear a purple long lacey skirt paired with a cute ruffled top. Your hair was styled into low pigtail braids, each tied with a ribbon at the ends. Holding the box carefully, you frowned slightly when you felt the bandage rubbing against your swollen skin.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon, I got you cookies!” you beamed.

You noticed he had become even busier after being appointed as the city’s official presider, though you didn’t realize he had been deliberately drowning himself in paperwork—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they shouldn’t.

“Good day, Y/N,” he replied, glancing up for only a brief moment to return your smile before his attention went back to the documents in front of him.

You frowned slightly and placed the box of cookies on the table in front of him. “Got you a different flavor! It’s red velvet this time,” you said, pointing at the box with a small, proud smile.

Fr. Jeon glanced at them, warmth flickering in his chest before he quickly pushed it down.

“Thank you, Y/N… that’s very kind of you,” he said gently, his tone careful, as though he was trying to place distance even while accepting your kindness.

You pouted almost immediately. The response felt far too brief for someone who had spent the morning baking for him.

Wanting his attention back on you, you shifted your weight and played with the ends of your braid, searching for something that would pull his focus away from the paperwork on his desk.

“You know… I even got burned earlier because I used a bigger tray and it hit me,” you said with a small chuckle, watching him carefully for a reaction. “But it’s fine, I’m just worried it might leave a mark,” you added with a light giggle, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice as you waited for him to look at you again.

That got his attention immediately.

His brows furrowed as he looked up from the papers, concern breaking through the careful distance he had been trying to maintain. His eyes instinctively moved to your hands, searching for any sign of injury.

“Where is it? Let me see,” Fr. Jeon said, the concern in his voice unmistakable. His gaze lingered on your fingers and wrists, unable to find the burn he was looking for.

You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.

Slowly, you made your way around the table until you were standing beside him. From his swivel chair, he tilted his head back to follow your movement, his attention still fixed on your hands.

“It’s not there, Fr. Jeon…” you said softly. “Here...”

A small giggle escaped you as you gently lifted the hem of your long skirt. 

His eyes widened instantly, panic flashing across his face before he could hide it. Before you could lift your skirt any higher, his hand shot forward on instinct, wrapping around your wrist to stop you.

“W-What are you doing?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.

The reaction was immediate, almost alarmed, as though the sight of you standing there with your hands on your skirt had caught him completely off guard. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to halt your movement, his composure visibly rattled.

“I burned my thighs, Fr. Jeon… see?” you said innocently, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bandage wrapped beneath.

His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.

The bandage sat against your soft thighs, the realization of how close he was to something so private making his mind go blank for a second. 

He had never seen so much of you like this before—not this close, not this exposed in such an unguarded, unexpected way.

Your thighs looked so soft, pink and smooth… faintly marked by the redness around the bandage, drawing attention to how tightly you had wrapped it. 

“It hurts a little,” you pouted, pointing at it.

His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his gaze immediately faltering. Behind his glasses…his pupils were dilated, his ears and neck flushing red. His hands gripped the sides of his swivel chair tightly, as though grounding himself in place.

“Y-You wrapped it wrong,” he managed to say at last, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and forced his attention elsewhere, brows furrowing as he tried to recover his composure.

You tilted your head. “I did?” you looked down, trying to check your bandage when he suddenly stood up.

“I-I have a first aid kit in my cabinet. Sit in my swivel chair...I-I’ll wrap it for you,” he said quickly, already turning away from you as if creating distance would steady him. Without waiting for another reaction, he walked toward the cabinet near the bookshelves.

You bit your lip. “Okay…”

You obediently sat down in his swivel chair, a small, satisfied feeling flickering in your chest when you noticed how concerned…and slightly flustered—he seemed.

When he returned, he was holding a small first aid kit. Your breath caught slightly when he suddenly knelt in front of you.

“L-Lift your skirt, please.” he said, his tone firm but strained, his brows drawn together as he deliberately avoided looking too directly while waiting for you to comply.

Your heart stammered, green thoughts flowing inside your filthy brain.

With shaky, anticipatory hands, you lifted your skirt up to your inner thighs, purposefully raising it a little higher than necessary.

When he looked at your exposed thighs, his breath hitched. He tried to remain as calm as possible, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, he reached for the bandage, almost flinching when he felt the softness of your skin beneath the rough pad of his fingers.

“It’s too tight,” he said breathily, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the bandage from your thigh.

“Is it?” you said softly, watching the way his lips were slightly parted, his expression focused and controlled.

When the burn was finally exposed, his brows furrowed. “You should be more careful, Y/N.” he said quietly.

He took a small tube of ointment from the kit, applying a bit to his index finger before carefully spreading it over the burn.

You winced slightly at the contact, while his attention remained fixed and steady as he worked.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lower than usual as he briefly checked your reaction before focusing back on the injury.

You bit your lip. “J-Just a little bit.”

He sighed harshly at that, gently rubbing the ointment in with steady movements, though you could see beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.

“Just a little more,” he murmured almost under his breath, applying another layer of ointment. His control was thinner now, each movement more deliberate than the last, as if he was carefully holding himself together.

When he took the new bandage, he wrapped it carefully around your burn with precise, practiced hands. Once he was done, he immediately adjusted your skirt, smoothing it down with controlled efficiency…perhaps a little too quickly, as though creating distance from the moment itself.

When he stood up, you could see it more clearly now: the restraint in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure wasn’t as effortless as before. He looked like he was actively holding himself back from something, grounding himself before it showed too much.

“Thank you,” you said warmly, smiling up at him.

He looked down at you, tilting his head slightly at how innocent you appeared with your ribbons and braids.

Forbidden.

That night, Fr. Jeon fell into the forbidden temptation he had been trying so hard to resist.

It was ten o’clock, yet he remained inside the church office, refusing to leave the premises until his mind and soul were free of guilt.

Frustrated, he buried himself in scripture, but his thoughts kept drifting back to your soft, beautiful thighs and the rosary bracelet on your wrist that had stirred such sinful thoughts within him.

“Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, his tattooed hand sliding down his slacks to palm his hardening cock.

His lips parted. It had been a very long time since he had touched himself...he had almost forgotten how good it felt. With a shaky breath, he slowly stroked his growing erection, murmuring apologies and curses beneath his breath.

He nearly rolled his eyes back at the sensation. It felt far too good. His cock hardened with alarming ease at the mere thought of you.

Lust.

With trembling hands, he slowly pulled his cock free from his slacks. It was thick and pulsing, a bead of precum already forming at the swollen tip.

When his tattooed hand squeezed the base, more fluid gathered at the head, coating his throbbing shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, a groan escaping him as he rediscovered how good it felt to touch himself after so long.

It was sinful. Dirty.

He was still inside the church office, dressed in his usual black clerical shirt with its roman collar. Scripture lay open on his desk, and his glasses had begun to fog from the heat of his breath.

It had been years. He could no longer remember the last time he had touched a woman, nor the last time he had thought of one this way. When he devoted himself to the Lord, he had promised never to indulge in such acts again.

The longer he had restrained himself, the better it felt to finally release that tension after so many years. His cock almost ached. Thick and veiny, it twitched whenever he rolled the foreskin down.

“God, help me.” Fr. Jeon moaned shamelessly, jerking himself in slow, deliberate strokes, determined to savor every second of it.

He gathered spit in his mouth and let it trickle down his aching shaft. The added lubrication drew a groan from him. He bit down hard on his lip as the realization struck him once more—how good this felt, how much he had missed touching himself.

His thoughts drifted to you.

He imagined your sweet confession about still wearing the rosary bracelet he had given you... even while bathing. The thought lingered longer than it should have, unfurling in his mind as he pictured your small, delicate hands gliding a bar of soap across your soft skin. The rosary would brush against your chest with every movement, the beads shifting and sliding as you washed your nipples.

And then his thoughts wandered further, painting one image after another—your inner thighs, the way the beads might accidentally graze your soft skin as you shower. Each vision arrived unbidden, more vivid than the last, and far more difficult to suppress.

A sacred desire.

He was leaking more and more with every thought of you. The only sound echoing through the office was the wet rhythm of his hand jerking along his hard leaking cock.

Curious, he gathered a bead of precum between his thumb and index finger and brought it to his lips. The taste was salty, thick, and strangely addicting.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, collecting more of it only to taste himself again.

Your forbidden thighs.

The softness of them. The way he had been close enough to imagine burying himself in their warmth. The way they flushed pink beneath his touch. The way they looked so plump and beautiful, tempting thoughts he should never have entertained.

He imagined pressing kisses along your legs, lingering there as though each touch were an act of devotion. He imagined how soft your pussy would feel beneath his lips, how he would part your folds just to stare at your glistening cunt, worshipping it with the reverence of a prayer.

Fr. Jeon was close to climaxing, using memories of your past interactions to fuel his sinful fantasies. His hand was slick with saliva and precum, his thighs tensing as he struggled to hold himself back. He tried to edge himself, to prolong the moment, because the sensation felt far too good after so many years of restraint.

Your body. Even beneath your long dresses and modest blouses, he could tell you were beautiful.

It shamed him that it had been one of the first things he noticed when he saw you wearing that rosary. The way your chest filled out your modest clothing. The way your waist appeared so delicate beneath layers of fabric. The way he found himself wondering what was hidden beneath all that lace and decency.

It was a sin he was terrified to acknowledge. A sin he was terrified to put into words.

But you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and devoted in your faith.

He wanted to fuck you.

When the shameful thought finally broke free from the restraints he had placed upon it, he came hard, his release staining the dark fabric of his slacks.

A deep groan tore from his throat as he continued to stroke himself, milking every last wave of pleasure from his body. His thumb brushed along the underside of his cock, chasing the lingering sensitivity.

“Fuck, I’m still hard,” he muttered, biting his lower lip as he glanced down at himself.

It was understandable.

After years of abstinence, it wasn't surprising that his body responded so eagerly. The restraint he had maintained for so long seemed to have shattered all at once.

Yearning.

All night, instead of losing himself in scripture, he gave in to temptation. His hand jerked shamelessly over his cock as his thoughts returned to you again and again. To every forbidden desire he had tried to suppress. To every impulse he had buried beneath prayer, discipline, and devotion.

Hours passed unnoticed.

He had so much pent-up desire, so much neglected hunger, that he remained awake until dawn, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure in jerking his insatiable cock. The office grew quiet around him while the darkness slowly gave way to morning light, yet his thoughts never strayed far from your face, your kindness, and the feelings he had spent so long denying.

And the fantasies that filled his mind were so sinful that he feared they had carried him beyond forgiveness.

“This should do it,” you giggled to yourself, wrapping the bandage poorly on purpose so he would have an excuse to fix it for you again.

Your box of cookies was already prepared, resting neatly on your lap while you held a bible in your hands and waited for Fr. Jeon.

Unfortunately, hours passed with nothing but the sound of turning pages accompanying you. You flipped through scripture after scripture, occasionally glancing toward the door, expecting him to appear at any moment.

Yet he never came.

Confused, you eventually stepped out of the office to look for him yourself. Perhaps he was outside helping with the donations or speaking with parishioners, as he often did. But after wandering around the church grounds and checking every place you could think of, you still couldn't find him anywhere.

“Where is he?” you pouted to yourself, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips as you made your way back to his office.

By the time you returned, the warm glow of sunset had already begun spilling through the stained-glass windows.

Realizing he wasn't coming, you reluctantly decided to leave the cookies behind along with a small handwritten note. The thought alone made your chest feel strangely heavy.

“I miss him already,” you murmured, frowning at your own words.

It wasn't as if you could simply call or text him. Despite spending weeks at the church, Fr. Jeon had never given you his number, and you had never found the courage to ask for it. Perhaps it was because you preferred seeing him in person.

The idea of receiving his answers through a text message whenever you had questions about scripture felt disappointing somehow. You liked sitting across from him, listening to his voice as he patiently explained things to you. You liked the little smiles he gave you, the way his attention never seemed rushed, and the comfort that came with simply being around him.

That day left you unusually sad. It was the first time you hadn't seen him at all. Even when he was busy, he always managed to stop by, if only for a minute. No matter how much work he had, he never missed the opportunity to check on you.

Avoidance.

You came back today...hopeful that you would finally see him again and finally ask where he had been yesterday, you were instead met with confusion when he didn’t appear again. You pouted when you noticed the box of cookies you had left behind was still untouched, exactly where you had placed it.

“That’s odd, he can’t miss a bible reading,” you murmured to yourself, already accustomed to his usual routine. He always visited the church at a certain time to pray quietly and read scripture before continuing his day, and you had grown used to waiting for him during those moments.

But days passed, and he was still nowhere to be seen.

The cookies you had prepared for him began to lose their freshness, and the papers he usually kept neatly on his desk started to gather dust. A strange sense of unease settled in your chest as you tried to understand what had changed.

You asked around the church, speaking to parishioners and volunteers, hoping someone might have seen him or could explain where he had gone. But what you learned nearly broke your heart.

He was still coming to the church every day. He just arrived earlier now.

You had always known his schedule well—he used to visit his office around three in the afternoon, which was why you were always there waiting at that time. You never thought he would suddenly change it without warning.

“T-Thank you,” you managed to say, forcing a small smile when one of the parishioners finally informed you that he had been seeing Fr. Jeon every morning. You were lucky this particular parishioner stayed at the church throughout the day, otherwise you might never have learned the truth.

Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.

The fact that he was visiting every day but never acknowledged your cookies. The fact that he never even left a note to explain. The fact that you had been waiting for him all this time, dressed in your usual modest dresses, as if your presence alone meant anything to him.

Tears slowly began to gather in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t fully understand. It felt almost like being rejected without a single word, like a quiet heartbreak you hadn’t been prepared for. It seemed as though he was suddenly avoiding you.

“What did I do?” you pouted softly to yourself, walking home with slumped shoulders as you tried to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

On the way, your thoughts turned over your last interaction with him. Had you been too bold? Had he noticed something in you that you thought you had hidden well? Had he finally realized that your devotion wasn’t as pure as it appeared?

The more you thought about it, the more desperate you became to see him again. And instead of wanting to reveal your true ill intentions, you found yourself wishing the opposite—that he would see how devoted you were, how deeply you admired him, how willingly you would sacrifice your dignity just to remain close to him.

Restraint.

You didn’t know that he had been avoiding you all along, because your sick plan had finally taken effect, his careful restraint crumbling like a rock under pressure.

Fr. Jeon couldn’t bring himself to face you. Even the slightest eye contact felt like it would burn through his skin, your presence alone eating away at whatever remained of his guilt until there was nothing left but discomfort and temptation.

Desperate.

You woke up early that day, preparing yourself carefully so you could see him. The constant overthinking had become unbearable, and you were convinced that seeing him would finally calm your thoughts.

Slowly, you walked through the church halls, your kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your wandering gaze passed over parishioners and silent figures lost in prayer, the morning air gentle and warm as it settled over your chaotic mind. The scent of the church—fresh flowers and holy water—was oddly soothing as you moved deeper inside.

But as you went further in, you nearly lost your balance when you noticed his office door slightly ajar.

Your heart began to pound in anticipation as you carefully approached. And when you finally looked inside, your eyes widened.

There he was.

In his usual black clerical long-sleeved shirt and roman collar, Fr. Jeon stood looking down at the box of cookies you had left a week ago.

Your heart sank at the realization that he must have seen the box of cookies days ago—and still chose to ignore it.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside and gently closed the door behind you, locking it without hesitation.

“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.

He looked up immediately, his eyes widening as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have. For a brief moment, he looked almost like he had seen a ghost. His entire body stiffened, tension tightening in his posture as he forced himself upright.

“What are you doing here?” His tone came out sharper than intended, almost accusatory, as he tried to regain control of himself by straightening his clerical collar and adjusting the bridge of his glasses.

You frowned at the reaction, slowly taking a step closer. Something in your chest cracked when you noticed how his expression shifted with each movement you made—his brows tightening, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t bear to hold it steady on you for too long.

“You didn’t get the cookies I got you,” you said with a small pout, glancing between the box and him as if the answer should have been obvious.

Fr. Jeon bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, as though needing time to steady himself.

“I was… busy,” he said, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. He almost stepped back when you moved closer.

You tilted your head at him. “Am I taking too much of your time, Father?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a sad little pout.

Patience.

Fr. Jeon exhaled slowly and heavily, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if trying to ground himself. Your presence alone seemed to shut down every carefully built wall he had been maintaining.

He looked down at your sad pout, and something in him nearly cracked at the sight of your sadness. For a moment, his composure faltered as fantasies surged back in, uninvited and overwhelming.

For the past few days, he had been deliberately avoiding you. He had started arriving at the church earlier, knowing you always came in the afternoon, carefully timing his routines so he would not run into you. He avoided his office as well, because every corner of it reminded him of you.

But this morning, he had come in anyway.

And the first thing he saw was the box of cookies you had left behind… along with a small note that said you missed him.

Desire.

For the past few nights, he had been jerking his cock non-stop. Ever since that first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t resist the urge to return to it again and again—groaning your name under his breath like a sacred prayer.

“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”

“I’m sorry… I just really like it here, and I love talking to you,” you said in a soft tone, stepping closer until he could smell your vanilla perfume, your pleading eyes pulling him deeper into your orbit.

Fr. Jeon swallowed harshly, his pulse quickening at how sweet and beautiful you looked for him.

“Sweetheart—”

“Would you like me to leave?” you asked quietly, biting your lower lip.

His eyes dropped to your lips. His hands curled into fists, every passing second testing his hard-earned faith and devotion.

But no...he would rather endure the torment alone, rather than risk touching your beautiful, tempting soul.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you much of my time right now. I’ve been really busy—” Fr. Jeon said with finality.

Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes to meet his height and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Father… I understand,” you whispered, your lips lingering dangerously close to his.

Succumbed.

Before you could pull away, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you—holding you in place more firmly than expected. You were about to look at him in confusion when he suddenly crashed his lips into yours.

Your eyes widened, your body nearly falling backward, but he held you firmly in place. His kiss was harsh and desperate—like a man starved, and you were the only water in a burning desert.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers down your spine.

His brows were furrowed tightly, every bit of pent-up frustration spilling into the kiss. It was rough, consuming—his control slipping as he pulled you deeper into it, saliva beginning to spill messily between your mouths from how intensely he claimed your lips.

When he finally pulled away, his pupils were blown wide. His lips were red and swollen, his chin damp with both of your saliva.

He released your waist almost instantly, as though you had burned him.

Swallowing hard, he stared down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

Oh God. What had he done?

“W-What—” you stammered, bewildered, still in shock at how easily Fr. Jeon—a priest with such a good reputation….had fallen into your lips like a man undone by weakness and lust.

Surrendered.

When you saw him step back, his brows furrowing as if he had just realized what he had done, you immediately grabbed his arms.

“I—I’m sorry, this is blasphemous, I—”

You pulled him back and kissed him again, softer this time. “I like you, Fr. Jeon. Please don’t avoid me,” you almost pleaded, tugging him down so you could reach his lips again.

His eyes widened. He shook his head immediately. “Y/N, n-no… this is wrong,” he blurted weakly, trying to grab your wrists as you pulled him closer.

Hearing those words from your mouth struck something deep in him, shaking his resolve. He couldn’t fall for you, he couldn’t kiss you, he couldn’t touch you...he couldn’t even think about you.

The only solution was to stay away—to pretend none of this had ever happened.

You shook your head. “Please, I want you so badly… there’s nothing wrong with this,” you insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he turned away. His eyes were heavy-lidded, weakened, the air in the office suddenly suffocating.

“You make me happy, Fr. Jeon… please,” you pleaded.

He shook his head firmly. “I am a priest, Y/N. This is forbidden,” he said weakly, his voice low and rough—like every word cost him something, like it was painful to say.

“But...why did you kiss me?” you pleaded.

Fr. Jeon groaned under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

“Do you like me too, Fr. Jeon?” you pushed further, stepping closer, watching how much it seemed to strain him.

“Y/N, this is wrong—”

Your lips parted. “You...you like me,” you concluded when he didn’t deny it.

A small smile formed on your lips at the confirmation. Suddenly, the past few weeks made sense—the distance, the avoidance, the restraint. Everything clicked into place.

When he weakly let go of your wrists, you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, as if he had finally surrendered to you. His lips parted, his eyes clouded and hazy.

“Since when, Father?” you whispered, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He shut his eyes tightly. The feeling of your hands on him was already enough to send him spiraling. His lack of physical affection was becoming obvious in the way his body reacted—his restraint slipping under something as simple as your soft, shallow touch.

“The first time I saw you at the church,” he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch it, as though even admitting it was a sin.

You gasped, your eyes widening at the revelation that he had noticed you from the very beginning.

“I-I thought… you didn’t recognize me. Y-You were always so busy and—”

“I did,” he cut in softly, his voice rough. “But it’s impure of me to stare at such beauty. I cannot do that.”

His gaze dropped to your lips again, weak and conflicted.

You gasped, a fond grin forming on your beautiful face. “Indeed, that’s very impure of you…Father,” you giggled.

Fr. Jeon groaned, attempting to step back again, but this time you pulled him closer and kissed him without hesitation. When you tried to part his lips with yours, you felt him shake his head, his hands gripping your waist to hold you back.

“N-No… we can’t—”

“Shh... it’s okay, Father… we’ll keep this a secret,” you whispered like a little devil in disguise, your pouty lips brushing against his again. “No one will know…”

Fr. Jeon groaned, your words sending shivers down his spine. The tension between restraint and desire tightened further.

“No, sweetheart, this is wrong… we should—”

“Please, Father…I’m already so wet.” you mumbled softly, looking at him with pleading eyes.

His eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had heard such crude words—especially coming from a pretty mouth like yours.

“T-That’s—” he stammered, his composure slipping further under the weight of you.

“Unholy?” you giggled, taking his right hand and guiding it beneath your long skirt.

His lips parted when his fingers brushed against the wet fabric of your underwear. His cheeks and ears burned red at the realization of how aroused you were.

You bit your lip, rising onto your tiptoes to whisper against his ear.

“No one will know.” you dragged your tongue along the shell of it, smiling when you heard him let out a soft, broken sound.

Blasphemous.

His lips grazed your inner thighs as his once devout, God-bound gaze now fixed on your bare, wet pussy. He knelt before you like you were some immaculate saint.

“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly, his fingers parting your folds and gently pulling back your hood to expose your sensitive clit.

You gasped loudly when he spat onto your center, his soft lips immediately wrapping around your clit, sucking in both his saliva and your wetness.

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

Fr. Jeon looked almost sacred between your thighs. Your skirt was bunched at your waist just enough for him to fully indulge in your pussy, while his black clerical shirt began to stain from how much you were dripping onto him. His glasses had grown slightly fogged from the heat of his breath against your body and the warmth between your legs.

He ate your pussy like a starving man, unable to get enough. His tongue pushed inside your tight cunt in search of more, drawing more juices from you, while the obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room. His throat worked with every swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily took in every drop you gave him.

“You taste so good,” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration of his voice sending pleasure straight to your core.

You bit your lip, giggling softly while trying to keep your balance—you were leaning against his desk.

“Do you like how wet it is?” you asked, looking down at him as if amused by how much he was enjoying himself.

Fr. Jeon nodded against your cunt. “So wet and pretty,” he mumbled, sucking your clit until his cheeks hollowed, his dimples showing each time he latched on harder.

The way he ate you out was wet and messy, continuously spitting as his lips stayed locked around your clit. You gasped when he pinched your folds together, trying to eat your entire pussy into his warm mouth.

Every time you squirmed, he tightened his grip on your thighs, groaning under his breath as if he wanted to drown himself in you completely.

Whenever he pulled back to breathe, he took a moment to stare at your swollen, messy cunt—admiring it like something sacred, something almost holy in its beauty. He whispered how ethereal it was before spitting on it again and diving back in hungrily.

“H-How come you’re so good at that?” you moaned, looking down at his mouth as he remained relentless, your juices dripping down his chin.

Fr. Jeon looked up at you, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said with a smile. “I imagine devouring your cunt while I jerk off my cock.”

He pressed a light kiss to the top of your clit before burying his face against you again.

Your eyes rolled back at the confession, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm... really? That’s ungodly, Father.”

Fr. Jeon only groaned, pressing his face deeper until you were certain he could barely breathe. “I’m only willing to surrender myself to you.”

You gasped. The way he said it felt so wrong, so forbidden, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of him willingly committing such sinful acts, of him literally being on his knees for you.

When he felt your wetness growing, he lifted his head slightly to look at your cunt. Using his index and middle finger, he spread you open, watching as more of your milky-white juices gathered.

Fr. Jeon groaned, swallowing hard at the sight of how wet and horny you had become.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

He gathered your juices, the pads of his fingers sliding down your slit and making you flinch. Your breath caught when you watched him scoop your cum onto his fingers and bring them to his mouth, tasting your sweetness. "You got so much wetter."

“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”

He continued gathering the excess wetness, scooping up your cum until he was satisfied that you were no longer dripping. His brows furrowed as he sucked the collected juices from his fingers, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.

When he finally gathered the last drop, you frowned as he rose to his feet.

For a moment, you thought he was done. Then he brought his fingers, coated with your cum, up to your mouth.

“Open up, sweetheart.” he whispered, his gaze lowering to your lips, swollen from how hard you had been biting them.

You slowly opened your mouth, moaning when he slid his fingers inside so you could taste your own juices mixed with traces of his saliva.

“You taste like sin, don’t you?” he said softly, his fingers twirling inside your mouth, nearly making you gag.

You sucked on his fingers, your cheeks hollowing eagerly as you looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mhm. I want to taste how pure you are, then,” you said softly, sucking his fingers the way you imagined sucking his cock.

His cock twitched inside his slacks, precum already gathering at the swollen tip.

He immediately shook his head. “Want to make you cum first, sweetheart.”

Before you could protest, he was already kneeling again, his tongue out as he buried his face between your thighs as though his life depended on it. His nose brushed against your swollen clit while his tongue alternated between slow, deliberate licks and eager suction, determined to draw every reaction from you.

The moment he sensed you were getting close, he pushed his tongue deeper, determined to suck every drop. You were about to push him away from the sudden wave of oversensitivity, but his grip on you tightened.

"I wanna swallow it, please."

You bit down hard on your lip, whispering curses beneath your breath as your body tensed. Your pussy pulsed uncontrollably, heat rushing through you as release overtook your senses.

He groaned at the way your body responded to him, your pussy throbbing vigorously against his tongue.

“I-I want to pleasure you too,” you almost cried.

He didn't stop eating you, even after you came he was sucking your pussy again. He had already made you cum several times just by eating you out. Even after your fifth orgasm, he still hadn’t stopped—still devouring you, drawing out every last drop before spitting it back down onto your slit, pulling your folds apart just to watch it drip, then catching it again with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough.

You were already overstimulated, your thighs burning from his tight grip, but every time you looked down at him, another wave of arousal surged through you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying.

“Please, I want to eat your pussy more.” he mumbled, looking up at you through his glasses, his tongue teasing slow circles around your very swollen clit.

It had been hours. His knees were already red from kneeling, and your back ached from leaning against his desk, yet he still had the stamina to continue, again and again. His cheeks and chin were slick from your cum.

You could see his slacks straining…his arousal obvious beneath the fabric—but he remained focused, almost pleading when you tried to push him away, his mouth still following your spent pussy as if he couldn’t let go.

“Please… one more, sweetheart,” he begged, his thumb soothing along your inner thighs.

When you shyly nodded, he parted your legs further, scooping up what remained of your release as it dripped down. His face pressed in close, his nose brushing against you as he worked, the carpet below you already damp with a mixture of saliva and your arousal.

Unholy.

The once-simple afternoon bible sessions had turned into something far more profane.

The moment you arrived at his office and locked the door behind you, his hands were immediately around you. He would drop to his knees, pushing your panties aside so he could press his face against your wet slit, sniffing your cunt before his tongue slipped out to taste your wetness.

“Hmm… do you like my pussy, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as he indulged you.

He groaned against you, burying his face deeper. “Like it so much.”

He was always so desperate—needy, almost whiny. It was obvious how deeply his years of abstinence had affected him, how long he had denied himself even the thought of such intimacy.

Every touch carried the weight of that restraint, as though all those years of self-denial had finally found an outlet. The way he ate your pussy for hours without stopping, the way he would suck your breasts until they turned swollen and red.

Every time you tried to touch him, he would pin your hands down instead. You had never really touched him yet—he always insisted on giving first, on worshipping you instead. He would say that pleasing you was enough,that eating your cum was enough for him, that devoting himself to your body was what satisfied him most.

“Shh, sweetheart… please be quiet.” he pleaded, his middle and index finger pushing inside your cunt, knuckles deep while massaging your spongy spot.

You were certain his fingers were already wrinkled from how long he had been fingering you, your nipples swollen and sensitive from how harshly he had been sucking them while rubbing your clit.

You bit your lip, tears almost forming in your eyes from how good it felt. “S-sorry, it’s just so good,” you mumbled incoherently.

Fr. Jeon groaned. “Yeah?” He spat down where his fingers met your pussy. “Hear that, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me.” he muttered, biting your nipple harshly while his fingers continued going in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds echoing inside the church office.

You were always a whining mess. Even if he hadn’t fucked you yet, your body was constantly left exhausted from how intensely he made you cum repeatedly. Your legs were always wobbly and shaking after each round, and you would always come home with new hickeys and bruises left by his harsh mouth.

He had the stamina to go on for hours and hours, until the entire afternoon was filled with nothing but wet sounds and your filthy moans echoing through his office.

You wanted to return the pleasure so badly, but every time he begged you to eat your pussy, your knees would go weak. You always gave him what he wanted, opening your legs and spreading your cunt for him.

It was one afternoon when you decided that you wanted to please him.

He was busy sucking on your nipples when you noticed how hard he was beneath his slacks. Your eyes rolling back when you saw him almost humping the air.

With a determined groan, you gently pushed him away from you. Your nipples were already pink and swollen.

“Let me taste you,” you pleaded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before trailing down his jaw.

He protested again, trying to guide you back against the couch.

“Sweetheart—”

“Please, Father.” you begged. “You always make me cum so good. I think I’d cum even harder if I got to taste your cock.”

You couldn’t deny that he always left you more than satisfied, constantly pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. Every time it happened, you could see just how hard his cock was. Sometimes, you would even catch the subtle movements of his hips while he was buried between your thighs, completely consumed by pleasuring you.

Fr. Jeon licked his lower lip, as though contemplating whether he could truly accept the idea of you being on your knees for him. It felt like too much to bear, as if he wasn’t ready for it yet. Shamefully, he was certain he would cum the moment your lips touched his tip.

But seeing you like this—begging, your lips drawn into a sweet pout—made his resolve weaken. His eyes fluttered shut helplessly as you eagerly knelt in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.

You looked up at him before slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against the bulge beneath his slacks.

A harsh groan escaped him. His cock throbbed beneath the fabric, and that simple, innocent kiss was almost enough to make him stumble.

When you pulled down his zipper, you gasped audibly at the sight of his black boxers, already soaked with a large patch of wetness from his precum.

“You’re leaking, Father,” you said with a pout, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

He sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to compose himself. You looked beautiful and completely undignified at the same time, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to resist.

Slowly, you tugged down his boxers...just enough to tuck his balls and free his hard cock.

Your eyes widened.

He was huge and pretty, twitching on his own and curving upward. Thick veins ran along his shaft, and his swollen pink tip glistened with precum.

You licked your lower lip, unable to hide your anticipation at the sight of him. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the wet tip.

A strained whimper escaped him.

His hands immediately grabbed the sides of his clerical shirt, as though physically restraining himself from losing control over something as simple as your lips touching him.

“Look at me when I suck you, Fr. Jeon.” you said, raising a brow when you noticed him avoiding eye contact.

He bit his lower lip, trying to look down at you.

You gasped when his cock twitched the moment you made eye contact.

With a teasing look, you slowly sucked his mushroom tip while keeping your eyes on him, fluttering your lashes as you took him into your warm mouth.

He groaned harshly. He was about to close his eyes, but you shook your head immediately.

“Eyes on me, please.”

“Oh, God,” he whimpered, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you eagerly sucked his leaking tip.

You swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back every time you repeated the motion. When you finally pulled away, you spat on the tip, your fingers immediately spreading your saliva and his precum along the shaft, leaving him even wetter and messier.

“Do you like how I kneel for you?” you asked before taking his tip into your mouth again, trying to take him deeper until his mushroom head brushed the back of your throat. The upward curve of his cock dragged against the roof of your mouth, drawing another whimper from him.

“Y-You look like a slut,” he blurted out through a moan, his jaw repeatedly tensing, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was fisting his shirt.

You looked up at him and nodded obediently...like a good girl seeking praise.

He bit his lower lip. “My pretty slut.”

Fr. Jeon was trying so hard not to come. He wanted to savor the feeling of your tight mouth around him for as long as possible, wanted to hold on to it, to prolong it, but you were simply too much..too pretty, too warm. Every time you took him deeper, his resolve weakened a little more.

Your eyes were already beginning to redden, your throat struggling to accommodate his thickness. Drool slipped messily down your chin, and the wet, obscene sounds coming from your mouth only pushed him closer to the edge. Each swallow, each desperate attempt to take more of him, made his chest tighten with pleasure, his restraint slipping further and further away.

Whenever you pulled back to catch your breath, you would stroke his cock quickly with your hands and spit messily onto his tip.

Before the saliva could slide down his length, you would take him back into your mouth, licking along his shaft and tracing the prominent veins with your tongue before returning to the swollen underside of his head with soft, teasing kitten licks.

Using your free hand, you reached up to cup his balls gently, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. The movement only made it harder for him to hold himself together, especially as you continued gagging on his cock like a good little slut.

The moment you noticed him clutching his shirt again, you immediately grabbed his hand.

“Use my mouth, Father,” you whispered, guiding his hand to your hair, silently urging him to take control.

Fr. Jeon groaned and shook his head, but your eagerness never wavered. You paused, waiting patiently for him, your eyes fixed on his face.

The moment you placed your hands obediently behind your back, he nearly cursed the Lord himself.

He weakly dragged a hand through your hair, gathering it away from your face before pulling you a little closer. His jaw tightened as he looked down at you, every ounce of restraint tested by the sight of your quiet obedience.

Grabbing your hair with both hands, he guided your face toward him before finally rolling his hips, slowly thrusting into your waiting mouth.

“God, you really are a slut,” he moaned, his composure unraveling a little more with every passing second.

Whenever he pulled back, you would twirl your tongue around the underside of his crown, earning a shaky whimper from him. Then, he would push you down forcefully onto his cock, your nose hitting his pubic hair as he lost whatever restraint he had left.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he whimpered.

Your mouth was already growing tired, but you remained determined, refusing to pull away. Tears gathered in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with him, yet you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

When he saw the tears in your eyes, he almost stopped. 

But you eagerly took him deeper, deliberately pushing forward until your face was pressed flush against his pubic hair. Your mouth struggled to accommodate his thickness, soft gargling sounds escaping despite your efforts to suppress them, yet you took everything he gave you.

“God, fuck.” his eyes rolled back as he released hot, thick cum into your mouth.

He was about to push you away when your hands tightened around the backs of his thighs, holding him firmly in place...determined not to let a single drop of his cum go to waste.

“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.

When you finally pulled away- his cock slipping from your lips, you stuck out your tongue to show him his thick, milky cum. Your lashes fluttered as you held his gaze for a moment, letting him take in the sight before you swallowed.

Delirious.

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Fr. Jeon stood before the congregation, one hand resting lightly against the pulpit as he prepared to proclaim the gospel.

“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”

“Glory to You, O Lord,” you whispered under your breath, your sparkling eyes lifted up toward him.

You were in your usual favorite spot—in the front row, like his favorite little church girl—your hair tied with a white ribbon, a long modest dress hiding the sinful image beneath.

Every time he spoke, his eyes never lingered on you. He looked over the crowd like a devoted priest, delivering his words slowly, with quiet passion. And whenever he did happen to find you in the congregation, he would only glance past you, as if you were anyone else.

You smirked inwardly. Who would’ve known that this same priest was literally begging on his knees to eat your pussy inside the church office?

When Holy Communion came, you made sure to open the first few buttons of your dress, revealing the rosary necklace you were wearing—the small cross resting between the plush curve of your cleavage.

“The Body of… Christ,” Fr. Jeon said slowly, his eyes drifting down to the rosary wrapped around your neck, the cross sitting dangerously above your breasts.

“Amen,” you said softly, parting your lips for him.

You almost smiled in quiet victory when you saw his jaw tighten—his composure slowly, subtly fracturing beneath the weight of your sacrilegious act.

When he placed the host on your tongue, you leaned in just slightly too far, letting your tongue brush against his thumb in a fleeting, deliberate touch. So small it could be denied. So intentional it could not be mistaken.

A soft hum escaped you as you pulled back, watching the shift in him—the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught. You were already turning away when his voice followed you, low and controlled.

“Meet me after this.”

You looked up at him, briefly thrown, but his gaze had already returned to the ritual at hand, as if nothing had happened.

Delight curled through you at the sight of him unraveling so carefully in public, holding himself together by force alone while you watched the cracks form in real time.

And when you returned to your seat, you could still feel it—the difference. His voice had deepened into something sharper, more distant. His posture stiffened as he finished the mass, each word now measured, restrained, as though he were forcing himself back into place one line at a time.

Wicked.

Sitting properly on the couch in his office, you waited patiently for Fr. Jeon. It was the first time you would see each other up close after mass, and the thought alone made a soft, bubbling excitement bloom in your chest.

You even brought a small box of cookies for him, carefully balanced in your lap, as if sweetness alone could disguise the anticipation curling beneath your ribs.

When the office door finally opened, you looked up at once and smiled.

He stood there still in his liturgical vestments. Over his white alb, he wore a flowing chasuble that draped heavily over his shoulders, embroidered gold catching the afternoon light that spilled through the glass windows like something almost sacred in itself. A white stole rested beneath it all, marking him clearly as the celebrant of the mass, a figure meant to be untouchable.

He looked absolutely breathtaking—so holy, so distant, so unreachable.

And yet, you already had him like a servant—willing, obedient, on his knees for you.

When he walked toward you, his expression was serious and unyielding. You stood up quickly, excitement lifting you, holding out your small gift for him.

“Good afternoon, Fr. Jeon. I got you cooki—”

The cookies slipped from your hands as he suddenly closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat. The rosary beads pressed sharply into your skin.

“I told you...that rosaries are not meant to be worn around your neck, didn’t I?” he said in a mocking tone, his voice low and controlled. His eyes looked darker behind his glasses.

His liturgical vestments suddenly felt overwhelming in this close space, no longer distant or ceremonial, but imposing, almost suffocating, as if you were only now realizing the weight of him in this proximity.

You gasped as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to demand an answer.

“Y-You did, Father.”

“Mhm. I did,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t I?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the shift in him—how his composure had snapped so suddenly, as if the thin thread of his restraint, stretched in the presence of the Lord, had finally given way.

Dominance.

You gasped when he kissed you hard, cutting off your breath in an instant. His other hand bunched up the long skirts of your dress, hot palms slipping beneath the fabric to cup your warm pussy.

“You’re so impure,” he chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing over your clothed clit.

A soft moan escaped you as you tried to wriggle in his hold, but his grip at your throat kept you firmly in place.

“Sit on my desk and spread your legs,” he commanded, releasing you all at once—both your throat and your pussy.

With shaky legs, you moved toward his desk, climbing onto it and bunching your long skirt up around your waist before slowly spreading your legs wide for him.

Fr. Jeon walked toward you, his gaze fixed on the sight of you—so openly willing for him. The rosary cross rested between your breasts like a sin made visible, the white ribbons in your hair now looking almost tainted, your dress bunched up enough to expose your wet cunt to him.

His fingers closed around the rosary you were wearing. Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled it, forcing your neck to tilt forward with the motion.

“You’re such a whore, wearing this around me,” he said in a condescending tone, drawing you closer until he pressed a shallow kiss to your lips.

“I-Isn’t it pretty?” you asked weakly, still trying to tease him.

He let out a humorless chuckle. Without another word, he reached for the scripture on his desk. “I’ll show you what’s pretty.”

You gasped as he pulled the rosary again, forcing you forward while his other hand held the bible. “Open your mouth.”

Confused, you slowly obeyed, your eyes widening when he suddenly placed the book between your teeth.

“Hold still and bite the scripture,” he commanded sharply before spreading your legs wider.

You bit down hard on the book as he suddenly slapped your cunt.

“Mhmp!” you whimpered, eyes watering from the intensity of it.

Fr. Jeon raised a brow. He lifted his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on you as he slowly dragged his tongue over them. You bit down harder on the book when he used his saliva-coated fingers to slap your cunt again.

“Shh, quiet, sweetheart… there are other people outside- praying,” he said mockingly, tugging lightly on the rosary around your neck.

You bit down harder when he slapped your cunt again, pulling harshly on the rosary around your neck whenever your whimpers escaped.

“Poor baby… you want me to finger you?” he cooed, slapping your cunt once more. Your panties were already soaked, your arousal building from the relentless stimulation.

You eagerly nodded, drool spilling past your lips and onto the scripture beneath you. Your neck was beginning to ache and swell each time he tugged on the beads.

“Do you deserve it?” he asked, twirling the rosary between his fingers, playing with it slowly.

A tear slipped down your cheek when he slapped your cunt again. Your thighs tried to wriggle on the table, but he only pulled harder on the rosary in response.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m finally going to give you what you want,” he said, letting go of you.

Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.

You drooled messily against the book when he flipped your panties aside, three of his fingers immediately slipping inside you to stretch your cunt.

“So tight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit while his fingers continued to thrust inside you.

Each time his fingers pulled back, a fresh gush of wetness spilled out, revealing just how needy and aroused you were.

Looking down, you saw how godly he looked—kneeling so close to your pussy, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of your tight hole.

“Mhmph,” you whimpered, his fingers knuckles deep inside you, brushing against your spongy spot and leaving you wriggly and tingly.

“You’re so soaked, sweetheart. It’s so hard to rub you properly like this… so, so wet.”

When he saw how restless you were getting, he suddenly removed his fingers. You were about to frown when he stood up, your eyes widening as he began removing his chasuble and slacks.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he taunted, finally revealing his hard cock.

It was already thick and hard, twitching on its own before he even touched it. Prominent veins pulsed along the girth, and his mushroom tip looked swollen and flushed. Using his fingers, he squeezed the plump head, drawing out more precum before spreading it along the shaft. He slowly rolled the foreskin down, his gaze fixed on your helpless body.

“Do you want this cock inside your tight little pussy?” he said breathily, jerking his hard cock in his hand…his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted.

You nodded eagerly, tears spilling down your cheeks from anticipation. Your pussy pulsed hard, leaking more of your arousal down onto the table beneath you.

He chuckled, gripping both of your thighs and spreading them wider for him. “Hold your skirt up, sweetheart,” he murmured, as your long skirt kept drifting down while he positioned you.

With weak hands, you slowly bunched your skirt up. Your jaw was already aching from biting down on the book, but you were determined to be a good girl for him, biting down harder as your eyes turned red and your cheeks flushed, warm and swollen.

When he positioned his mushroom tip against your slit, you almost dropped the book. The feeling of his wet cock against your folds sent a sharp jolt through you.

“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your teeth nearly ached from how hard you bit down when he suddenly pushed inside you. Your tight walls immediately sucked him in. You watched his lips part in shock, his eyes rolling back for a moment—before he could even thrust, you felt him spilling inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he cursed under his breath, trembling as he suddenly came so hard inside you, his lips parting at how good your pussy felt.

You were so warm and tight that he was already convulsing. His grip on your waist tightened so hard it was almost painful. You were shocked—you hadn’t expected him to cum that quickly, but then again, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. The pent-up frustration was overwhelming, and the moment he felt you, he was already shaking.

When you saw him trembling, you slowly removed the book from your lips. Your jaw ached, but you still managed to give him a small, weak smile.

“Mhm, am I tight, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered weakly, feeling him twitch inside you, filling you with so much cum that it had you feeling completely full.

"T-Too tight." he groaned.

His arms were growing weaker, still trying to push his cum deeper and deeper into your cunt. His cock was already overstimulated and softening, but he still wanted his cum buried deep inside you, some of it already dripping down your thighs.

He groaned, pushing his cock deeper until he was finally hard again. You could feel his mushroom tip swell once more, your pussy stretching around his thickening girth.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. He had come so hard he had nearly forgotten about the book he made you bite down on, his rational thoughts slipping away completely, leaving only the heat and the feeling of you.

You bit your lip, opening your legs wider. “Yeah? Do you miss having such a warm pussy around your cock?”

His lips parted...his right hand returned to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat.

“What a dirty mouth you have,” he whispered breathily, like he was only just remembering why he was fucking you so hard in the first place.

He squeezed your throat, earning a loud whimper from you.

Before you could coo at him, he was already flipping you over, bending you against his desk. He immediately grabbed the book, shoving it forcefully into your mouth.

“You think I’m done, huh?” he taunted, kneeling down behind you.

You groaned, biting down on the scripture again, whimpering loudly when you felt him spreading your wet pussy from behind.

“Push my cum out for me,” he said, opening your folds and waiting for you to push it out.

You contracted your pussy, and a gush of his milky white cum spilled from your used hole. Before it could even drip onto the floor, his tongue was already there, scooping it up and swallowing everything until no trace was left.

When he stood up, you were left a trembling mess. Your eyes widened as he pulled on the rosary necklace, the beads wrapping around your throat like a collar. He used it as leverage before pushing his cock back inside you.

“Shh… bite down on the scripture. Let it silence your impurity,” he murmured behind you, thrusting deeper and harder until your body was nearly bouncing against the table from the force of it.

You wanted to moan so badly. The way his mushroom tip kept brushing against your g-spot felt so overwhelming. When he angled his hips in slow circular motions, your weak lips finally dropped the book, and you gasped as it hit the floor with a dull thud.

The moment he felt you slipping out of control, he stopped—only for you to immediately reach for the book. Before you could even grab it, he flipped you onto your back again.

“Fucking whore, can’t follow simple instructions while my cock’s deep inside you, huh?” he taunted, ripping the buttons of your dress just enough to expose your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

You shrieked loudly when he suddenly slapped your nipples, the area turning immediately pink.

“Stay there,” he commanded.

You went still at once, your weak eyes following his movements as he reached into the bottom cabinet of his desk.

When he stood up again, he was holding a candle and a box of matches. “Hold this, sweetheart.”

He usually used those candles during scripture readings, letting the flame illuminate the pages.

You held it for him as instructed, watching as he struck a match and lit it, the small flame flickering to life before he set the match aside.

You turned slightly, glancing toward the window. There was still daylight outside—enough to see clearly. Before you could ask what he needed it for, he took the candle from your hand.

“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”

Your eyes widened when he tilted the candle downward, the wax threatening to drip onto your breasts. You gasped sharply when it finally landed on your nipple.

“Does it feel good?” he whispered, lowering the candle toward the other bud.

When the hot wax fell onto your other nipple, you moaned loudly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as pain and pleasure collided.

It was hot and shocking—yet, for some reason, the sting felt addictive, almost intoxicating.

“Y-Yes, Father.” you bit your lower lip hard, watching as the candle was now directed toward your inner thighs.

He raised a brow, your nipples already covered in white wax. “Yeah? Does this get you wet?”

Before you could answer, he was already pouring hot wax onto your left inner thigh. The pain there was sharper, more intense—like the skin was far more delicate and sensitive. When you instinctively tried to close your legs, he held them open, spreading you wider as he moved the candle to drip more wax onto your right inner thigh.

“Oh, God,” you moaned loudly, the hot wax dripping dangerously close to your wet pussy.

You were already trembling. The mix of heat and pain felt overwhelming yet addictive, tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Fr. Jeon chuckled at you. “What a pretty little pain slut… I’m supposed to punish you with this, but you’re dripping like a whore.”

He grabbed your cheeks, raising the candle up toward your face. “Make a wish,” he whispered.

You looked up at him with weak eyes, your nipples and inner thighs still burning and oversensitive from the wax. With a faint, shaky smile, you told him your wish.

“Fuck me like a slut, Fr. Jeon." you said breathily.

He growled harshly, stepping back a little to admire his work on your body, how the wax was covering your skin like a sin, how your pussy was so swollen and red, yet your hole was still eagerly twitching to be used.

He tilted his head. “You want that, sweetheart?” he said sweetly, his tone contradicting what he had just done to you.

You nodded eagerly. "Please, use my body like a whore, cum inside me until I’m dripping full of your cum, abuse my tight little pussy until I’m all loose and gaping, release all your forbidden frustrations and destroy my dignity.” 

Fallen.

You couldn’t count the number of times you came around his cock that night—his cock thrusting so hard and deep inside you that you could feel how stretched your pussy was.

Every time you tried to fight him, he would push your body down onto the desk, threatening to silence you with scripture whenever you tried to break free from his hold.

When you thought he was done, he would maneuver your body again, spreading your legs wide so he could fuck you hard. His cross necklace would dangle in your face with every thrust. Whenever you moaned too loudly, he would punish you by dripping hot wax onto your inner thighs.

He would always condescendingly praise you, telling you what a poor little girl you were, letting him use you for his own sick pleasure.

"God, you'd let me use you whenever I want wouldn't you? Letting me fuck this tight pussy inside the church, like a good little christian." he would whisper.

It was so lewd when he asked you to touch yourself using the hand that wore his birthstone bracelet, urging you to part your lips for him, watching how the beads would brush over your clit every time you fucked your fingers inside your used, swollen hole.

"That's right...stretch your pussy, sweetheart. I want you nice and gaping when I fuck you again."

Then he would pull your body up, forcing you to bounce on his cock while pressing the beads deeper into your throat. He held both of your cheeks with his free hand so he could continually spit into your parted mouth, watching it drip messily down your chin like a cheap filthy whore. "I love how sinful and dirty you are...so perfect for me."

Capitulated.

You never forgot him, after that night he vanished like a wind.

When you heard that he had suddenly been appointed to another city, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet. Overnight, he was simply gone. The weekly sunday mass was no longer presided over by him, and no matter how many people you asked, nobody seemed to have a clear answer as to why.

All you heard were rumors.

Some said he wanted to experience ministry in a different city. Others claimed he had become so busy that he was constantly traveling between churches, handling responsibilities in several places at once. Every explanation sounded vague, rehearsed, and unsatisfying.

You wanted to believe them. But you couldn't.

For months, you carried that bitterness inside you. A part of you convinced yourself that he had simply left. That perhaps everything you shared had meant far less to him than it had to you. The thought hurt more than you cared to admit, especially because, between the two of you, you had been the dishonest one. You had been the one who approached him with hidden intentions, who slowly seduced him, who carefully led him into your snare while pretending to be an innocent church girl.

Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.

For all your lies, for all your schemes and carefully crafted devotion, you couldn't deny what had happened to your own heart. You had fallen in love with his kindness. Not because he was a priest. Not because he was forbidden. Not because winning his attention felt like a challenge.

But because it was him.

It was the way he remembered small details about you. The way he listened whenever you spoke. The way he always treated people with patience and warmth. Somewhere between the scripture lessons, the afternoon conversations, and the countless boxes of cookies, your feelings had become real.

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

Your hands trembled as you opened it, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. As your eyes moved across the page, tears immediately gathered in them.

All this time, you had believed he left because he wanted to.

The truth was far worse.

Someone had noticed. Someone had seen the way he treated you differently from everyone else—the way his gaze lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way he always seemed to make time for you no matter how busy he was. And eventually, they had discovered what happened behind the closed doors of the church office.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you continued reading, your vision blurring with every line. For the first time since he disappeared, you finally understood why he had left.

The moment the parish discovered what had happened, he immediately apologized—to the church, to his superiors, and most of all, to the Lord. He had even offered his resignation, believing he was no longer worthy of his position.

But they refused. The parish forgave him.

They told him he was too kind, too devoted, too valuable to lose over a mistake. Instead of removing him from the priesthood, they gave him a chance to start over in a different city, far away from the rumors and whispers. They told him that what happened was a test of faith. A temptation. That God would always be stronger in his heart than any earthly attachment.

You were the temptation they spoke about.

You never wrote back, you never tried contacting him again. Because if he had truly wanted you, he would have resigned. He would have walked away from the collar, from the church, from the life he had chosen long before you entered it. 

He would have chosen you.

Instead, when forced to decide between you and God, he surrendered himself to God. And that answer was enough.

With a deep breath, you entered the confession booth. You wanted to confess your sins, you wanted to move on.

It had been two years, and somehow you were still holding on to him. 

Whenever Sana mentioned his name, your eyes would sting with unshed tears. Whenever you heard stories about him…how successful he had become, how respected he was as a priest now…an ache would settle deep inside your chest.

You could no longer step inside a church without thinking about him.

The stained-glass windows, the scent of incense, the quiet hum of prayer before mass. Every sacred thing had become tangled with the memory of him, until devotion and desire were no longer things you could separate.

So, with a heavy heart, you finally decided to let him go.

Sitting inside the confessional that afternoon, your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you gathered the courage to speak.

A thin wooden partition stood between you, a barrier meant to separate priest from sinner, confession from judgment, devotion from temptation.

“Bless me, Father…. for I have sinned.” you said softly, behind the confession grille.

Your voice…soft and unforgettable, echoed through the small confessional booth. 

The familiar scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a memory he had spent years trying to forget. 

“Sweetheart.” 

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