cleverquaketrace

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 10 (Last)

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

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The hospital room was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl. The monitors beeped softly, a steady rhythm that kept Y/N tethered to the present.

She was stable now, the doctors had said, after the emergency C-section and a terrifying drop in her blood pressure.

A transfusion and some meds had pulled her back from the edge, but her body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, sore, drained.

Her son, Min-jun, was safe, his tiny chest rising and falling in the bassinet across the room. That was all that mattered.

But her heart? That was a mess.

 Her mind kept replaying everything—the way Jungkook had looked at her in the operating room, his face pale with fear, his hand gripping hers like he could keep her here through sheer will. The way he’d stayed by her side, his suit wrinkled, hair a mess, eyes shadowed from days without sleep.

Jeon Jungkook, the untouchable billionaire who built an empire from nothing, was unraveling. Because of her. Because of their son.

It should’ve made her feel something warm, something soft. Instead, it lit a fire in her chest—anger, sharp and hot.

She was done with the confusion, the way he’d pull her close one moment and push her away the next.

Done with loving a man who might never let her in.

The contract had been clear: this was a deal, a transaction. But he’d blurred the lines, and she was tired of guessing where she stood.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice broke the silence, low and rough, like he hadn’t slept in days.

He leaned forward in the chair by her bed, elbows on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Talk to me.”

She stared at the ceiling, her jaw tight. “I don’t have to.”

His chair creaked as he shifted. “You almost died, Y/N. You can’t just shut me out.”

She turned her head, meeting his gaze, and the fire in her chest flared. “Me shut you out? You’re the one who’s been pushing me away from day one, Jungkook. You made this a contract.A deal. I followed your rules. I kept my distance, tried to keep my heart out of it, because that’s what you wanted. But then—” Her voice shook, and she hated how it betrayed her.

“You let Ms. Han think I’m your wife. You touch me like I mean something. You stay up all night watching me, and then you act like it’s nothing. Like I’m supposed to just deal with it.”

Jungkook’s hands clenched, his knuckles whitening. “You think I act like it’s nothing? You think I’d be here, losing my mind, if I didn’t care?”

“Then why?” she snapped, sitting up a little, ignoring the ache in her body. “Why do you keep me guessing? One minute you’re holding my hand, the next you’re cold as ice. ”

He flinched, just a flicker, but she saw it.

His guard dropped for a second, showing something raw in his eyes something she hadn’t seen before.

 He stood, moving to the edge of her bed, close enough that she could smell his cologne, faint and familiar, like cedar and something warm. “You don’t get it, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer, almost broken.

“I’ve spent years building this life—training, standing on stages for millions. Money, power, fame I’ve had it all. But you know what I’m proudest of?” His eyes locked on hers, intense and open, no walls left.

 “It’s that you love me. That you, of all people, see something in me worth loving.”

Her breath caught, her heart slamming against her ribs.

 His words hit like a wave, crashing through every defense she’d built. But the anger was still there, burning, because she’d been hurt too much, left confused too long.

“If that’s true,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes, “then why make me feel like I don’t matter?  I deserve better, Jungkook. I deserve the truth.”

He sat on the bed, his knee brushing hers, his hand lifting to her cheek. His thumb brushed her skin, soft and careful, and it made her chest ache. “The truth?” he said, his voice low, rough with something real.

“The truth is, I love you. I’ve loved you for months, and it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever felt. Not because I don’t want it, but because I’ve never done this before. I’ve kept everyone out—fans, friends, family. But you? You got through, Y/N. You’re in my head, my heart, all the time.”

Her heart stopped, then raced, his words sinking deep.

She wanted to believe him, wanted to let them heal the cracks in her heart.

But the hurt was still there, raw and sharp. “Then why didn’t you say it?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Why let me think I was alone in this? Do you know how much it hurt to love you and think you’d never feel the same?”

His thumb paused, his eyes searching hers.

“I didn’t know how to say it. I thought I could keep you at a distance, keep this simple. But every time you laughed, every time you pushed back when I was being an ass, every time you looked at me like I was more than just a name on a contract—you broke me. In the best way. And when you were bleeding, when I thought I might lose you, I knew I couldn’t keep pretending. It’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she swiped at them, angry at herself for crying. “You can’t just say that and think it fixes everything,” she said, her voice firm.

“You hurt me, Jungkook. You made me feel like I was losing my mind, chasing something you’d never give me. I need more than words. I need you to show me this is real.”

He nodded, his face serious, his hand still on her cheek. “I will,” he said. “Every day, if you let me. Just us.”

She looked at him, searching for any sign he’d pull back again. But he was different open, real, hers. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “But I want all of you, Jungkook. Not half. Not pieces.”

His lips curved into that smile she loved, the one that made her heart skip. “You’ll get all of me,” he said. “I promise.”

And then he kissed her.

It was slow, soft, like he was saying everything he couldn’t with words.

Her hands grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, her heart pounding with hope and fear mixed together.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, she felt lighter, like something had finally settled.

“What now?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Jungkook’s hand moved to her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse. “Now, we start over. No contract. No rules. Just you, me, and Min-jun.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “Min-jun,” she said, the name grounding her.

Their son, the tiny boy with his dad’s eyes, was why she’d fought so hard to stay.

The hospital room faded into a blur of soft beeps and sterile white walls as Y/N’s recovery progressed. Each day brought a little more strength, her body slowly reclaiming itself after the ordeal of the emergency C-section.

Min-jun, their son, was the anchor that kept her grounded his tiny gurgles, the way his fingers curled around hers, the soft weight of him in her arms.

Every time she looked at him, she felt a surge of purpose, a reminder of why she’d fought so hard to stay.

Jungkook was there, too, a constant presence in a way she hadn’t expected. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd her, but he was always nearby sitting in the chair by her bed, bringing her water, watching Min-jun with a quiet intensity that made her heart twist.

The man who’d built an empire on control and precision was different now, softer in the edges, though still unmistakably himself. His suits were still sharp, his voice still carried that low, commanding tone, but there was something new in his eyes when he looked at her.

Something open.

Something real.

The day they left the hospital, the air felt lighter, like the world had shifted. Jungkook carried Min-jun’s car seat, his movements careful, almost reverent, as he secured it in the back of the sleek black SUV. Y/N slid into the passenger seat, her body still sore but her heart a little less heavy. The drive to the villa was quiet, the city blurring past the windows, the hum of the engine blending with Min-jun’s soft breaths.

“You okay?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, his eyes flicking to her before returning to the road.

She nodded, her hands resting in her lap. “Yeah. Just… glad to be out of there.”

He didn’t say anything, but his hand moved from the gearshift to rest on the console, close enough that his fingers brushed hers. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it was enough. Enough to make her chest ache with something she wasn’t ready to name.

The villa welcomed them with its familiar elegance—white walls, tall windows, the faint scent of jasmine drifting in from the garden. Mrs. Kang, the housekeeper, was waiting at the door, her usually stern face softened by a rare smile. “Welcome home,” she said, her eyes lingering on Min-jun’s tiny form. “The nursery’s ready. Everything’s set.”

Y/N managed a smile, though exhaustion tugged at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Kang.”

Jungkook led the way inside, carrying Min-jun’s car seat with a care that made Y/N’s heart skip. The nursery was a soft haven of pale blues and creams, a crib in the center with a mobile of tiny stars spinning lazily above it. Jungkook set the car seat down gently, unbuckling Min-jun with a precision that was almost comical for a man who commanded boardrooms.

“He’s so small,” Jungkook said, his voice barely above a whisper as he lifted Min-jun, cradling him against his chest. The baby stirred, letting out a tiny sound, and Jungkook’s lips curved into a faint, unguarded smile.

Y/N watched them, her throat tight. “He’s perfect,” she said, her voice soft.

Jungkook’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the three of them. No contract, no walls, just this fragile, growing thing they were building together. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with something unspoken. “He is.”

The first week back at the villa was a blur of new routines. Min-jun was a quiet baby, but demanding in his own way—waking every few hours, his cries soft but insistent. Y/N learned his rhythms quickly, the way his tiny face scrunched before a cry, the way he calmed when she hummed softly against his cheek.

Jungkook was there, too, surprising her with how naturally he slipped into the role of father. He’d change diapers with a focus that made her laugh, his brows furrowed like he was negotiating a billion-dollar deal.

“You’re overthinking it,” she teased one morning, watching him carefully fold a tiny onesie.

He glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “I don’t overthink. I’m thorough.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Sure, Mr. CEO.”

The nickname was familiar, a remnant of their early days when she’d used it to keep him at a distance.

But now, it felt different—lighter, like a shared joke rather than a barrier. He smirked, tossing the onesie into the laundry basket with a precision that was annoyingly perfect.

Their days settled into a rhythm, but the nights were where things felt different. The villa was quiet, the staff retreating to their quarters, leaving just Y/N, Jungkook, and Min-jun. After putting Min-jun to bed, they’d often end up in the living room, the tall windows open to let in the cool night air.

Sometimes they talked about Min-jun, about her family, about the bakery she’d left behind. Other times, they sat in silence, the kind that didn’t need filling, the kind that felt like enough.

One night, as the moon hung low over the garden, Y/N found herself on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a mug of tea warming her hands.

Jungkook sat beside her, closer than necessary, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder. The TV was on, some mindless drama playing in the background, but neither of them was watching.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low, his eyes studying her.

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. “About… this. Us. What happens next.”

His hand stilled on her shoulder, his body tensing slightly. “What do you want to happen next?”

She looked at him, his face half-lit by the soft glow of the lamp, his eyes dark and steady. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice honest. “I just know I don’t want to feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like one day you’ll wake up and decide this isn’t what you signed up for.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something crossing his face hurt, maybe, or guilt. “Y/N,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said in the hospital. No contract. No rules. Just us.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words settle the restless part of her heart. But the scars of their early days the cold distance, the contract, the feeling of being temporary still lingered. “It’s not that simple,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “You’re… you. Jeon Jungkook. The man who runs an empire. And I’m just......”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice sharp, his hand moving to her chin, tilting her face to meet his eyes. “Don’t say you’re just anything. You’re Y/N. You’re Min-jun’s mother. You’re the woman who walked into my life and turned it upside down. You’re not just anything.”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding at the intensity in his voice. She searched his eyes, looking for the walls he’d always kept so high, but they were gone, replaced by something raw, something real. “Then what am I to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse. “You’re everything,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “And I’m going to spend every day proving it.”

Her heart skipped, her breath hitching. She wanted to push back, to demand more clarity, but his touch, his voice, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered made it impossible. She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his, and for a moment, the world was just them, their breaths syncing in the quiet.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure. “But I’m holding you to that.”

He smiled, that rare, devastating smile that made her heart ache. “Good.”

The weeks that followed were a dance of small moments, each one building something stronger between them. Min-jun grew, his eyes bright and curious, his tiny hands grasping at everything within reach. Y/N found herself settling into the villa, not as a guest or a contract, but as something more something undefined but real. Jungkook was there, too, not just as the CEO who’d hired her, but as a partner, a father, a man trying to figure out what it meant to let someone in.

One afternoon, Y/N’s mother and sister visited, filling the villa with warmth and noise. Her mother, still frail but stronger than she’d been in months, held Min-jun with a tenderness that made Y/N’s throat tight. “He’s beautiful,” her mother said, her voice soft, her eyes glistening. “Just like his mama.”

Y/N smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He’s got his dad’s eyes, though.”

Her sister, always the louder one, laughed from across the room, where she was teasing Jungkook about his fancy coffee machine. “You sure you know how to use this thing, Mr. Billionaire?” she called, holding up a bag of coffee beans like it was a trophy.

Jungkook’s lips twitched, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I manage.”

Y/N watched them, her heart full. It was strange, seeing her family here, in Jungkook’s world a world that had once felt so cold and unreachable. But it didn’t feel cold anymore. It felt like home.

That evening, after her family left, Y/N found herself in the garden, Min-jun asleep in his stroller nearby. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, the jasmine blooming heavy and sweet. Jungkook appeared, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, looking less like the untouchable CEO and more like the man she was starting to know.

“You’re good with them,” she said, nodding toward the villa, where her family had been. “My sister doesn’t warm up to just anyone.”

He shrugged, sitting on the bench beside her. “She’s not so bad. A little loud, maybe.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and free. “That’s just her.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “You light up when they’re around. Your family.”

Her heart warmed, but there was a pang there, too. “They’re all I’ve had for a long time,” she said, her voice quiet. “After my dad… it was just us. I did this” she gestured vaguely, meaning the contract, the villa, everything “for them. To make sure they were okay.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, not with anger but with understanding. “I know,” he said. “And now?”

She looked at him, her heart thudding. “Now… I don’t know. I did it for them, but somewhere along the way, it became about more. About Min-jun. About…” She trailed off, her cheeks warming.

“About us,” he finished, his voice low, his hand reaching for hers.

She didn’t pull away, letting his fingers lace with hers. “Yeah,” she said softly. “About us.”

The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken things. He didn’t push, didn’t demand more, and she was grateful for it. They sat there, the garden quiet around them, Min-jun’s soft breaths a steady rhythm in the background. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not yet, but it was a step. A promise to keep moving forward, together.

As the weeks turned into months, their rhythm grew stronger. Min-jun started smiling, a gummy little grin that made Y/N’s heart melt and Jungkook’s eyes light up in a way she hadn’t thought possible. The villa, once a fortress of cold elegance, became a home filled with small, messy moments spilled milk on the counter, Jungkook’s tie tangled in Min-jun’s tiny fist, Y/N’s laughter echoing through the halls.

Jungkook was still himself, still the man who could silence a room with a glance, but with Y/N and Min-jun, he was different. He’d come home from meetings, his face tense, only to soften the moment he saw them. He’d sit with Y/N in the evenings, talking about nothing and everything her childhood, his rise to power, the way Min-jun’s tiny snores sounded like music. He’d listen, really listen, in a way that made her feel seen.

One evening, as winter settled over the city, Y/N stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup she’d insisted on making herself. The staff had protested, as always, but she’d waved them off, needing the normalcy of it, the grounding feeling of doing something with her hands. Jungkook leaned against the counter, watching her with that quiet intensity she’d come to recognize.

“You’re going to burn that,” he said, his voice teasing, his lips twitching into a smirk.

She shot him a look, stirring more deliberately. “I’m a professional, thank you very much.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made her stomach flip. “Sure you are.”

She stuck out her tongue, and his laugh grew, filling the kitchen with a warmth that felt new and familiar all at once. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm as he reached for a spoon, tasting the soup with a dramatic flourish. “Not bad,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Could use more salt.”

She swatted his arm, laughing. “Get out of my kitchen.”

“Your kitchen?” he said, raising an eyebrow, stepping closer until he was right in front of her, the counter at her back. “Last I checked, this was my villa.”

Her breath hitched, her heart racing at how close he was, his warmth seeping into her. “Maybe,” she said, her voice softer now, “but I’m the one cooking.”

His eyes darkened, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice low, his hand lingering on her arm.

The air between them crackled, charged with a tension that wasn’t new but felt sharper now, more defined. She could have stepped away, could have broken the moment with a joke, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into it, her hand brushing his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her fingers.

“Jungkook,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers. His breath was warm against her lips, his hands sliding to her waist, careful but firm. “Y/N,” he murmured, her name a soft question, a quiet plea.

She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing—slow, deliberate, like they were both afraid to break it. His lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of the soup he’d teased her about. Her hands slid to his shoulders, pulling him closer, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and certainty. This wasn’t the desperate kiss from the hospital, born of fear and relief. This was something quieter, something realer, a moment they’d both been moving toward for months.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads still pressed together, Y/N’s breath was shaky, her hands still on his shoulders. “What are we doing?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Jungkook’s hands tightened on her waist, his eyes searching hers. “What we should’ve been doing all along,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Being us.”

She laughed, a small, breathless sound, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. They stood there, the soup forgotten, the kitchen warm and quiet around them. Min-jun’s baby monitor crackled softly, a reminder of the life they were building, and for the first time, Y/N felt like she could breathe.

Spring came, bringing warmth to the villa’s garden and a new kind of lightness to their days. Min-jun was growing fast, his babbling filling the house with sound, his tiny hands reaching for everything—Jungkook’s watch, Y/N’s hair, the soft toys scattered around the nursery. Y/N’s mother visited often, her health improving, her smiles brighter each time she held her grandson. Y/N’s sister, too, became a regular, her teasing banter with Jungkook a source of endless amusement.

One afternoon, as the three of them sat in the garden, Min-jun on a blanket between them, Y/N watched Jungkook play with their son, his usually sharp features softened by a grin as he dangled a toy above Min-jun’s reaching hands. The sight made her heart ache, not with pain but with something fuller, something she was starting to trust.

“You’re good at this,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes on the way Min-jun giggled at Jungkook’s antics.

He glanced at her, his smile fading into something more serious. “I didn’t think I would be,” he admitted, his voice low. “I never thought… this would be my life.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “What did you think your life would be?”

He leaned back, his hands resting on the grass, his eyes on Min-jun. “Work. Deals. Power. I built everything to keep people out, to stay in control. Then you came along, and…” He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers, steady and warm. “You made me want more.”

Her heart thudded, her breath catching. “More?”

He nodded, his hand reaching for hers, his fingers lacing with hers in a way that felt as natural as breathing. “You. Min-jun. Us. I didn’t know I could want this until you showed me.”

She swallowed, her throat tight, her hand tightening in his. “I didn’t expect this either,” she said, her voice soft. “I thought I’d do this for my family, walk away, go back to my life. But now… I don’t know how to go back.”

“Then don’t,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, his eyes locked on hers. “Stay. Be with me. With us.”

It wasn’t a proposal, not a grand gesture, but it was enough. More than enough. It was a promise, a choice, a step toward something real. She nodded, her eyes stinging with unshed tears, and leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched Min-jun babble happily on the blanket.

The garden was alive around them, the jasmine blooming, the sun warm on their skin. The villa, once a cold fortress, was a home now, filled with laughter, love, and the quiet moments that had changed everything. They weren’t perfect, weren’t finished growing, but they were together. And for now, that was everything.

Months later, on a quiet evening, the villa glowed under the soft light of lanterns strung across the garden. Y/N’s mother and sister were there, along with Mrs. Kang and Minji, who’d become more like family than staff. They’d gathered for Min-jun’s first birthday, a small celebration filled with laughter, cake, and the chaos of a baby who was more interested in smearing frosting than eating it.

Jungkook stood by the edge of the garden, a glass of wine in his hand, watching Y/N chase Min-jun as he toddled unsteadily across the grass. Her laughter rang out, bright and free, and his heart swelled at the sound. She was stronger now, her recovery complete, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it. She was his, not because of a contract, but because they’d chosen each other.

As the evening wound down, Y/N found him by the fountain, the same spot where they’d shared so many quiet moments. She slipped her hand into his, her fingers warm and sure. “He’s a mess,” she said, laughing, nodding toward Min-jun, who was now being fussed over by her sister, his face covered in cake.

Jungkook chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at their son. “He’s perfect.”

She glanced at him, her smile softening. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice low, his hand tightening around hers. “But I’m right.”

She laughed, leaning into him, her shoulder brushing his. The night was cool, the stars bright above them, and for a moment, the world was just them. No empire, no contracts, just two people who’d found something worth keeping.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but steady.

He turned to her, his brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For staying,” she said, her eyes meeting his, warm and certain. “For being more than I expected.”

His heart thudded, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re more than I expected, too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They stood there, the garden quiet around them, the laughter of their family a soft backdrop. It wasn’t a fairytale, wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. A family built on quiet moments, shared silences, and a love that had grown slowly, steadily, like roots finding their way through stone.

And as the stars shone above, Y/N knew—this was just the beginning.

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[cleverquaketrace]

Hey loves 💌

Sorry for the taglist issues! 😔 I know some of you aren’t getting notifications even though you’re tagged. I’ll figure it out and make sure it works better moving forward 🫶💗 Thanks for being so patient and still checking in it means the world!

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 9

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

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The realization settled over Y/N like a quiet storm.

She lay in bed that night, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the villa’s tall windows, casting long shadows across the room.

The tension from her earlier argument with Jungkook lingered, thick and unresolved, curling around her like smoke.

Staring at the ceiling, her hands resting on her swollen belly, she felt the weight of a painful truth.

This whatever it was between them could never work.

Jeon Jungkook was a fortress. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable. A man who built his empire on precision, where emotions were weaknesses to be eliminated. And her? She was temporary. A contract. A vessel for his child. Nothing more.

The ache in her chest deepened, but she forced herself to accept it. This wasn’t a love story.

It was a deal, a transaction, and she’d been foolish to let her heart blur the lines.

She closed her eyes, fingers tracing the curve of her belly. I’ll give my child everything, she thought. Even if it means walking away.

But fate had other plans.

Morning came with sharp, insistent cramps that yanked her from a restless sleep. Then the blood—too much, too fast. Panic surged as she fumbled for her phone, hands trembling as she called for help.

The rush to the hospital was a blur: sirens screaming, nurses barking orders, the sharp sting of antiseptic in her nose.

“Placenta previa,” the doctor said, voice calm but urgent. “Significant bleeding. We need an emergency cesarean.”

Y/N’s heart pounded, fear clawing at her chest. Words like risk and complications swirled in her mind, but all she could focus on was her baby. Her son.

Jungkook was there, his presence overwhelming even in the chaos. His face usually so composed, so unreadable was pale, jaw tight, eyes betraying something she’d never seen before. Fear. Raw, unguarded fear.

As the medical team prepped her for surgery, Y/N gripped his hand, her strength fading.

“If I don’t make it…” she whispered, voice cracking with exhaustion and panic.

Jungkook’s body tensed, his grip tightening like a vice. “Don’t ”

“Listen,” she cut in, tears burning her eyes. “If I don’t make it… take care of him. Please.”

His jaw locked, eyes blazing with something fierce. “Y/N”

“Tell him I love him. Promise me, Jungkook.” she said, voice breaking.

For a moment, his walls crumbled. The CEO, the untouchable billionaire, the man who turned emotions into liabilities—he was gone. In his place was someone raw, vulnerable, terrified. His eyes searched hers, desperate, as if he could will her to stay.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, voice low and rough, almost breaking. “You have to be.”

The doctors moved quickly, pulling him back, wheeling her toward the operating room. The last thing she saw before the doors closed was Jungkook’s face—his mask shattered, eyes wide with fear, hands clenched as if he could hold onto her through sheer will.

The hallway outside the operating room was a void of silence.

Jeon Jungkook, the man who intimidated world leaders and built empires with a single word, stood frozen, staring at the double doors that had swallowed her whole. His tailored suit felt too tight, his hands curled into fists, the crumpled consent forms forgotten at his side.

The doctors’ words echoed relentlessly in his head.

“Significant blood loss. We’ll do everything we can.”

Everything we can.

What if it wasn’t enough?

Minutes stretched into hours. Time lost meaning. His world, usually so controlled, so precise, was unraveling, and he was powerless to stop it.

A nurse approached, her steps hesitant.

“The baby’s stable,” she said softly. “But the mother… we’re still working.”

Jungkook barely heard her. His eyes stayed fixed on the doors, as if staring hard enough would bring her back. They led him to a recovery room, and there she was.

Y/N.

Pale. Fragile. Hooked to machines that beeped steadily but faintly. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her face still except for the faintest twitch of her lips.

She was alive. But barely.

Jungkook’s chest cracked open.

Fear raw, suffocating fear gripped him.

This woman, who had stormed into his carefully guarded life, who argued with him, laughed with him, carried his child—she’d made his cold, calculated world feel human.

And now she lay there, looking like she might never wake up.

He sank into the chair beside her bed, his hand hovering over hers before finally settling there. Her skin was too cold. It shouldn’t be this cold.

“You’re infuriating,” he whispered, voice rough and unfamiliar. “You never listen. You argue. You… make me feel.”

The words spilled out, raw and helpless. His grip tightened on her hand.

“I don’t want this life without you in it.”

The truth hit him like a tidal wave—heavy, undeniable, terrifying. It wasn’t about the contract. Not the baby. Not duty.

It was her.

He was in love with her. Fully. Completely. Helplessly.

The monitors beeped steadily, but all he heard was the echo of his own realization, breaking him apart.

“Please, Y/N,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “be safe”

The baby was born healthy. Five pounds, eight ounces. A head full of dark hair, tiny fists curled tightly against his chest, strong lungs crying out to the world.

The doctors declared him stable. The nurses cooed, their voices soft with affection. Her family arrived in wave.Y/N’s sister, beaming with pride, hovered near the bassinet. Her mother, frail but smiling, kissed the baby’s forehead with trembling hands, murmuring thanks to the heavens.

The room buzzed with quiet joy, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital walls.

But for Jungkook, it was silent.

His eyes never left Y/N.

She was awake now, her eyes fluttering open hours after the surgery. Pale, exhausted, but breathing. Alive.

Relief should have flooded him, overwhelming and absolute. But it didn’t. Because when her eyes opened, they looked everywhere but at him.

She smiled weakly at her sister. Spoke softly to her mother.

 But him? Nothing. No words. No glance. No acknowledgment.

Jungkook stayed by her side anyway. The chair beside her bed had become an extension of him.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t left. The hospital staff whispered about it in the hallways—how the feared Jeon Jungkook, the untouchable billionaire, refused to move from her side.

But Y/N remained distant. She held her son, cooed at him, her face soft with love. But when her eyes drifted to Jungkook, they held something else. Conflict. Resignation. A wall of her own.

Because now, she carried an impossible weight.

How could she walk away? Leave the baby—the tiny boy whose heartbeat she’d felt for months? Leave Jungkook, the man who, despite his cold exterior, had stayed by her side through the worst of it?

But she had to. The contract was clear. This was temporary. Always meant to be temporary.

Except the lines weren’t clear anymore. They were blurred, tangled, impossible to navigate.

Jungkook leaned forward, his hand brushing hers—cautious, almost tentative.

“You should rest,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion but softer than she’d ever heard it. Not a command. Not cold. Just… there.

Y/N’s fingers twitched under his touch, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t speak either. Because if she did, if she let her walls down, she wouldn’t survive what came next.

Night fell, the hospital room dimmed to a soft glow. The baby slept peacefully in the bassinet by the window, his tiny chest rising and falling. The nurses had left, giving them privacy.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. Neither could Jungkook.

She felt his presence beside her, steady and unmoving. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, top buttons of his shirt undone. The pristine billionaire was gone, replaced by someone disheveled, human, worn down by worry.

And yet, even like this, he was devastating. Her heart ached, torn between what she knew and what she felt.

Jungkook’s voice broke the silence, low and rough, stripped of his usual control.

“You haven’t spoken to me.”

Y/N kept her eyes on the ceiling, her voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t know what to say.”

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Then don’t say anything.”

She frowned, turning her head slightly to look at him. “What do you want, Jungkook?”

The air thickened. His eyes locked onto hers dark, intense, burning in the low light.

“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m a stranger.”

The words hit her hard, heavy with meaning. Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to remind him this was supposed to be a contract, nothing more. But his eyes raw, unguarded, stripped of the cold mask he always wore stopped her.

She swallowed, her voice shaking. “If I stop… if I let this be real… how do I walk away after?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Then, the mattress dipped.

Her eyes widened as Jungkook stood, his movements deliberate, and slid onto the bed beside her. Not rushed. Not forceful. But heavy with intent, with something unspoken but undeniable.

He rested his hand on the pillow beside her face, leaning down, close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips.

“Who said I’d let you walk away?” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, sincere.

Y/N’s heart pounded, her body aching not from the surgery, but from how close, how warm, how real this moment felt. She should push him away. She didn’t.

His thumb brushed her jaw, tracing the curve of her cheek with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

“You’re not temporary to me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath caught. His eyes flicked down to her lips, her flushed cheeks before meeting hers again. A faint smirk ghosted his face, but it wasn’t mocking. It was soft, almost tender.

And then, before she could process it, a sharp beep cut through the silence. The monitor beside her bed flickered, the numbers shifting erratically. Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand tightening on the sheet.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward the machine, his body tensing.

“Y/N?” His voice was sharp now, laced with panic.

The room spun, her vision blurring as a wave of dizziness hit. The beeping grew louder, faster. Footsteps echoed as nurses rushed in, their voices overlapping in a frantic hum.

“Her pressure’s dropping....”

“Get the doctor”

Jungkook’s hand gripped hers, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Y/N, stay with me.”

But the world was fading, the edges going dark. The last thing she saw was his face raw, terrified, desperate before everything went black.  

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Taglist : @lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309@taemond-in-the-ruff

@mar-lo-pap@hellogorgeousstuff @nnnnmmmuuiu 

@turbulentnightmaretestament@pbell7

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 8

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The days blurred together, each one marked by Jungkook’s quiet presence. He wasn’t warm, not in the traditional sense. He didn’t smile easily or make small talk. But he was there always there his actions speaking louder than any words could.

When the hospital called to confirm her C-section date, he was beside her, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair as she spoke.

When she struggled to bend down to pick up a dropped sock, he was there, retrieving it without comment. When she woke in the middle of the night, her back aching, he was already awake, standing in the doorway, his silhouette a quiet reassurance.

It was too much.

And not enough.

Because every gesture, every moment, pushed her closer to a truth she wasn’t ready to face: she was falling for him. For the man who’d made it clear this was a transaction. For the man who’d built an empire but couldn’t or wouldn’t let anyone close.

The night before her final check-up, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her hands resting on her belly.

The baby kicked, a small reminder of why she was here. She closed her eyes, trying to ground herself, but all she could think about was Jungkook. The way he’d knelt before her that first night, massaging her feet. The way he’d stayed after the hospital, his presence a quiet promise. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.

The door creaked, and she opened her eyes to find him standing there, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“You should sleep,” he said, his voice low.

“I will.” She hesitated, then added, “You don’t have to check on me.”

He didn’t respond, just stepped closer, his eyes flicking to her belly, then back to her face. “You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question. She nodded, her throat tight. “The C-section… the bleeding. It’s a lot.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t offer empty reassurances. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. “You’ll be fine. The doctors know what they’re doing. I’ve made sure of it.”

She smiled faintly, despite herself. “Of course you have.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen in days. For a moment, they sat there, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable.

Then, without warning, he reached out, his hand resting lightly on her belly.

The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and Y/N’s breath caught.

“He’s strong,” Jungkook said quietly, his eyes on her stomach. “Like his mother.”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

She stared at him, searching his face for something anything to explain the shift in his tone.

But he didn’t look at her, just kept his hand there, his thumb brushing faintly against her skin.

And in that moment, she knew. This wasn’t just a contract. Not anymore. Not for her. And maybe just maybe not for him either.

But neither of them said it. Not yet.

Instead, she placed her hand over his, her fingers curling lightly around his. He didn’t pull away. And for the first time in months, the villa felt like home.

The afternoon was supposed to be simple. Just a quiet meeting in Jeon Jungkook’s sleek, modern villa, where he handled his most private business deals. The room felt tense, like something big was at stake. Jungkook sat at the head of a shiny wooden table, his dark eyes sharp as he looked over some papers.

Across from him was Ms. Han, a smart and powerful businesswoman who knew how to command a room. She wore a sharp suit and a calm smile, confident but kind. They had just signed some important papers when something unexpected happened.

Y/N walked into the lounge.

She didn’t mean to interrupt. She just wanted to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, moving quietly even with her baby bump showing. But when she stepped in, the room’s mood shifted. Ms. Han looked at her, her eyes quick but softening when she saw Y/N’s pregnancy.

Jungkook reacted fast, though it was subtle. His hand, which had been resting on the table, moved toward Y/N’s lower back, hovering close without touching. It was like he did it without thinking, protective and natural.

Ms. Han smiled warmly.

“You must be Mrs. Jeon,” she said.

Y/N froze.

Mrs. Jeon?

Her mind raced, and her cheeks got warm. She opened her mouth to say something.

“Yes,” Jungkook cut in, his voice smooth and steady, like he meant it.

Y/N’s head turned to him, her eyes wide. What did he just say?

Ms. Han’s smile grew, her eyes softening as she looked at Y/N’s baby bump.

“I was wondering why you never mentioned her,” she said kindly. “And congratulations on the baby. You look radiant.”

Y/N’s face felt hot. She tried to find words to fix the mix-up.

“Oh, I—uh—”

Jungkook’s hand gently touched her lower back, calming her down. The touch was soft but firm, like he was telling her to stay cool. His thumb brushed her back lightly, making her heart skip.

“She likes to keep things private,” Jungkook said, his voice low and strong, with a hint of something serious. “So do I.”

Ms. Han nodded, like she understood completely.

“In our world, privacy is rare,” she said, her eyes showing respect and a bit of amusement. “You two make a great pair.”

The meeting ended quickly after that. Ms. Han gave Y/N another warm smile before leaving the villa, her heels clicking softly on the floor. The door closed with a quiet click, leaving Y/N and Jungkook alone.

Y/N turned to him right away, her heart still pounding.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” she asked, her voice sharp. “She thinks I’m your wife.”

Jungkook stayed calm, his dark eyes looking at her steadily. It made her heart beat faster for a different reason. He leaned back a little, slipping one hand into his pocket, like this was no big deal.

“It was easier,” he said simply.

“Easier?” Y/N’s voice got louder. “She thinks I’m married to you, Jungkook. That’s not just a small thing!”

His eyes moved over her slowly, pausing on her belly before meeting her gaze again.

“You live in my house,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re carrying my child. What else would she think?”

Y/N opened her mouth but couldn’t find words. His answer made sense, but it felt like he was dodging something bigger. She crossed her arms, trying to hold back the mix of feelings swirling inside her.

“That’s not the point,” she said, her voice softer but firm. “You didn’t just let her think it. You said yes.”

Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted just a bit, and a tiny smile tugged at his lips, like he found it amusing.

“And you didn’t say no,” he pointed out.

Y/N’s breath caught, her cheeks burning again. He was right she hadn’t corrected Ms. Han either. But why hadn’t she? Her mind was a mess, and his calm attitude wasn’t helping.

She took a step closer, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re acting different,” she said. “You’re too… comfortable with this. Letting her think we’re married. Touching my back like that. It’s not like you.”

Jungkook’s smile faded, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something deeper, unguarded. He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, crisp and expensive.

“I’m protecting what’s mine,” he said, his voice low and serious. “ The baby.”

Y/N’s heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it.

“Protecting him doesn’t mean acting like my husband,” she said, but her voice shook a little.

His eyes stayed locked on hers, intense and unreadable.

The air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them was saying. Y/N’s throat felt tight, her thoughts tangled.

“You’ve always said this is just a contract,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Business. That’s what you called it. Every day since we started this.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, just for a second. He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming.

“And now?” he asked, his voice softer but still sharp.

Y/N hesitated. Her heart was racing, and she didn’t know how to answer.

“Now… you’re acting like it’s more,” she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

For a moment, his calm mask slipped. Something raw flashed in his eyes—something that made her chest ache. But then he stepped back, his expression closing off again.

“You’re tired,” he said, his voice back to its usual cool tone. “You think too much when you’re tired. Go rest.”

He turned and walked toward his study, leaving her standing there, heart still racing, mind spinning. The door clicked shut behind him.

Y/N stood alone in the lounge, her hand resting on her belly without thinking. The contract was supposed to be simple clear rules, clear boundaries. But the way Jungkook had touched her, the way he’d let Ms. Han believe they were married, the way he’d called her his… it didn’t feel simple anymore.

It felt real.

Too real.

And that scared her more than anything.

She tried to shake it off, but the moment clung to her. Later that evening, as she sat in the quiet of her room, the memory of Jungkook’s hand on her back kept replaying. The way his thumb had brushed her spine, soft but sure. The way he’d looked at Ms. Han, calm but possessive, like he was claiming something without saying it out loud.

Y/N pressed her hands to her face, trying to cool her cheeks.

“Get it together,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just business.”

But even as she said it, the words felt hollow. Jungkook wasn’t acting like the cold, calculated man who’d laid out the contract months ago. The man who’d made it clear this was a temporary arrangement, a means to an end. He was different now hovering when she felt sick, making sure she ate, even massaging her feet one night when she’d complained about the swelling.

And now this. Letting someone think she was his wife.

She stood up, pacing the room, trying to make sense of it. Her eyes caught the view of the villa’s gardens through the window, the soft glow of the moon lighting up the perfectly trimmed hedges. Everything in Jungkook’s world was controlled, precise, deliberate. So why was he letting this misunderstanding slide? Why was he leaning into it?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Jungkook, short and to the point:

Dinner’s ready. Come downstairs.

She stared at the screen, her heart doing that annoying flip again. Even his texts felt different lately less formal, more familiar. She set the phone down trying to make sense of everything.

The dining room was quiet when she arrived, the table set with a simple but elegant spread. Jungkook was already there, standing by the window, his back to her. He turned when she entered, his expression unreadable as always.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone light but with that same edge of intensity.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, sitting down. “Got caught up thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. They ate in silence for a while, the clink of cutlery the only sound. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Jungkook,” she started, setting her fork down. “We need to talk about earlier.”

He didn’t look up from his plate. “What about it?”

“You know what,” she said, her voice firm. “You’re acting… different. Like this is more than just a contract.”

He paused, his fork hovering over his plate. When he looked at her, his eyes were steady, but there was something softer there, something that made her chest tighten.

“You’re in my home,” he said, his voice low. “You’re carrying my child. I’m taking care of you. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t all. She could feel it in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the way he lingered just a little too long when he helped her up the stairs.

“It’s confusing,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’re confusing me.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “I’m doing what feels right,” he said finally. “If that looks different to you, maybe you’re the one overthinking it.”

“Finish your dinner. You need to eat.”

He left the room, and Y/N sat there, her heart pounding, her mind a mess. The contract was supposed to keep things clear, but the lines were blurring. And the scariest part? She wasn’t sure she wanted to stop it.

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309@taemond-in-the-ruff

@mar-lo-pap@hellogorgeousstuff@nnnnmmmuuiu 

[cleverquaketrace]

are we getting an update todayyy 👀👀

YESSS in 15 mins bestie!! ⏰👀 Get readyyy it’s a good one 😭🔥💗

[cleverquaketrace]

Do you have an update schedule👀👀

I’m currently updating every 3 days! 😌✨ Tried alternate days at first (RIP my sleep schedule 😅), but this new pace feels just right still consistent but manageable. Stay tuned!! 💗

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 7

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By eight months, pregnancy had lost its charm. The initial glow had faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that clung to Y/N like a shadow.

Her body felt heavy, her swollen feet throbbing no matter how long she propped them up or soaked them in warm water. Every step was a reminder of the weight she carried both physical and emotional.

That evening, Y/N sank into the plush sofa of the sprawling villa, her legs elevated on a cushion, her thumbs digging into the tender arches of her feet. She winced, the sharp ache radiating upward.

The villa, with its sleek marble floors and towering windows, felt more like a museum than a home beautiful, but cold. Yet, tonight, it wasn’t the sterile elegance that occupied her thoughts. It was the man seated across from her.

Jeon Jungkook, CEO of a tech empire, sat engrossed in his tablet, scrolling through reports with the same intensity he brought to everything.

His dark hair fell slightly over his brow, his sharp jawline set in concentration. To anyone else, he was untouchable a man who commanded boardrooms and bent the world to his will.

But here, in this quiet moment, his eyes flicked up, catching the subtle grimace on Y/N’s face as she massaged her feet.

Without a word, he set the tablet aside.

Y/N didn’t notice until he was already moving, crossing the room with that effortless grace that made her breath hitch. Before she could process it, he knelt before her, his presence commanding yet strangely intimate in the dim light.

“W-What are you doing?” she stammered, her voice catching as his large hands gently lifted her foot onto his knee.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. His fingers, precise and steady, began working into the arch of her foot, applying just enough pressure to ease the tension without causing pain. The sensation was both startling and soothing, a quiet relief spreading through her aching muscles.

“Jungkook…” she breathed, her eyes wide, embarrassment and gratitude warring within her. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s practical,” he cut in, his voice low and even, his gaze fixed on his task. “Swollen feet can lead to circulation issues. You’re carrying my son. I won’t have you compromised.”

His tone was detached, almost clinical, but his touch told a different story. His fingers moved with care, deliberate and gentle, as if he’d studied the exact pressure points to alleviate her discomfort.

Y/N’s cheeks burned, torn between mortification and the undeniable comfort of his hands.

Then, the sound of footsteps broke the moment.

Mrs. Kim, the head housekeeper, entered with two maids and Minji, Jungkook’s assistant, carrying a tray of evening tea and freshly folded linens.

They froze in the doorway, their eyes widening at the sight before them.

Jeon Jungkook. The CEO. On his knees. Massaging Y/N’s swollen feet.

Mrs. Kim’s mouth parted, but no words came. One of the maids nearly fumbled the tea tray, catching it just in time. Minji’s usually composed expression faltered, her eyes darting between Jungkook and Y/N.

Jungkook glanced up, his expression as cool as ever. “What?”

The staff scrambled, their faces flushing as they stammered excuses. “N-Nothing, sir! Just tea! Linens! We’ll uh we’ll come back later!” Mrs. Kim ushered the group out, their hurried footsteps echoing down the hall.

Y/N buried her face in her hands, a laugh bubbling up despite her embarrassment. “You’ve traumatized them.”

Jungkook’s thumbs pressed a little firmer into her arch, unfazed. “They’ll survive.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, her lips twitching. “You’re aware you looked terrifying massaging someone’s feet, right?”

His lips quirked just the faintest hint of a smile, gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’m aware I look terrifying doing most things.”

Y/N shook her head, her flush deepening, but a warmth settled in her chest. For once, the villa didn’t feel so cold. And neither did he.

Jeon Jungkook didn’t do things halfway. It was a truth Y/N had learned early in their arrangement.

When he’d agreed to this contract, he’d thrown himself into it with the same ruthless precision he applied to his business. Security details shadowed her discreetly.

Nutritionists curated her meals. Medical check-ups were scheduled with military precision. But lately, it was the smaller things things he didn’t need to do that had her mind spiraling.

That morning, Y/N sat on the villa’s terrace, the early sunlight filtering through the trees. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, when a warm, cashmere blanket appeared over her shoulders.

She turned, startled, to find Jungkook standing there, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“It’s colder today,” he said simply, his voice devoid of warmth or softness.

But his hands lingered as he adjusted the blanket, his fingers brushing her collarbone for a fleeting second. Her heart stuttered, betraying her with a rush of warmth she couldn’t quite suppress.

Later, in the kitchen, she struggled with a jar of honey, her fingers slipping on the stubborn lid.

Before she could ask for help, Jungkook was there, taking the jar from her hands. With a single twist, he popped it open and set it down, his movements fluid, effortless. He didn’t say a word, just returned to his tablet as if nothing had happened.

Her mind screamed: Husband behavior.

At dinner, her chair was pulled out before she could reach for it. Her prenatal vitamins sat neatly beside her plate, arranged with precision.

Her dessert a small serving of fruit tart had been vetted to meet her strict pregnancy diet.

Jungkook, meanwhile, sat across from her, scrolling through reports, his face a mask of indifference.

Y/N chewed her food slowly, her thoughts a tangled mess. It’s a contract, she reminded herself. It’s for the baby. This isn’t a marriage. 

But the way he lingered in doorways, his eyes flicking to her whenever she moved, the way every small gesture felt instinctive it was dismantling her carefully built walls.

She didn’t voice it.

She just sat there, wrapped in the blanket he’d draped over her, eating the dessert he’d approved, her swollen feet tucked under the table, and wondered how the lines had blurred so effortlessly.

So dangerously.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and lavender, a sterile combination that did little to calm the knot in Y/N’s chest. She lay on the exam table, cold gel slick across her belly as the obstetrician moved the ultrasound probe with practiced ease. Jungkook stood beside her, arms crossed, his eyes locked on the monitor with an intensity that could’ve powered a boardroom negotiation.

The baby’s heartbeat filled the room rapid, steady, a small reassurance in the sterile space. “Baby’s measuring perfectly,” the doctor said, her smile warm. “Good growth, strong heartbeat. Everything looks excellent on his end.”

Y/N exhaled, her hand drifting to her stomach, a wave of relief washing over her. But the doctor’s tone shifted as she set the probe aside.

“However…” She paused, reviewing the charts. “There’s something we need to discuss regarding your delivery.”

Y/N’s pulse faltered. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening.

The doctor glanced between them, her voice calm but measured. “You’ve developed signs of placenta previa.”

Y/N frowned. “Placenta…?”

“The placenta is positioned low, covering the cervix,” the doctor explained, pointing to the ultrasound image. “It’s why you’ve had occasional spotting. In most cases, the placenta shifts upward as the uterus grows, but yours hasn’t.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed. She’d dismissed the spotting as nothing, chalking it up to pregnancy’s endless list of discomforts. Stupid.

The doctor continued, her tone gentle but firm. “This means a vaginal birth isn’t safe. There’s a significant risk of bleeding during delivery.

We’ll schedule a cesarean section around thirty-eight weeks to avoid labor altogether. Even with a planned C-section, placenta previa increases the risk of postpartum hemorrhage.”

“Excessive bleeding,” Jungkook said, his voice low, cutting through the air like a blade.

The doctor nodded. “We’ll prepare for that. Our surgical team is excellent, and we’ll have blood products on standby. But you both need to be aware of the risks.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, anxiety curling beneath her ribs. Her hand rested protectively over her stomach, where their son small, perfect, oblivious continued to grow. Jungkook’s hand brushed her wrist, a fleeting touch, but enough to anchor her for a moment.

The doctor printed the ultrasound images and left them alone, the silence heavy in her wake.

Y/N stared at the photo of their son, her throat tight. Jungkook’s voice broke through, low and controlled.

“We’ll do whatever it takes.”

She looked up, startled by the quiet conviction in his tone. “It’s dangerous,” she said, her voice cracking. “I could—”

“No.” His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering. “We’re not entertaining that thought.”

Y/N swallowed, caught between arguing and leaning into the certainty he exuded. His hand hovered near hers again not possessive, not commanding, just there. A quiet promise.

This wasn’t just a contract anymore. It wasn’t business. It was something messier, something that made her heart race and her thoughts spiral.

The ride home was quiet, but not the cold, distant silence Y/N had grown accustomed to.

This silence carried weight tension, protectiveness, something unspoken but palpable.

She expected Jungkook to retreat the moment they stepped into the villa, to bury himself in his office or disappear into a conference call. That was his pattern. His shield.

But he didn’t.

That evening, he stayed.

He sat beside her on the sofa as she sipped chamomile tea, his presence a steady anchor.

When she shuffled to the kitchen for water, he was a few steps behind, his footsteps silent but deliberate. When she moved to the bedroom to sort baby clothes and hospital documents, he lingered in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the soft light.

Everywhere.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. But when she slipped out to the garden for fresh air and found him casually appearing beside her, his hands in his pockets, his gaze scanning the horizon, she understood.

 He wasn’t leaving her side.

Not for a moment.

“You don’t have to hover,” she teased, trying to lighten the air as she settled onto a bench, the evening breeze cool against her skin.

Jungkook leaned against the railing, his eyes flicking to her. “I’m not hovering.”

“You’re practically monitoring my breathing.”

“It’s called being cautious.”

“It’s called acting like a husband.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Y/N froze, her breath catching as the weight of what she’d said settled between them.

Jungkook’s gaze met hers, sharp and unreadable, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect. He just… looked at her.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things.

Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the villa. Y/N’s heart sank, her fingers twisting in the blanket draped over her lap. Stupid, she thought, cursing herself for crossing a line she’d promised to avoid.

But a moment later, he returned, holding a small tray with her prenatal vitamins and a glass of water. “You missed these,” he said, his voice even, as he set the tray beside her.

Y/N stared, her mind reeling. Jeon Jungkook ruthless, untouchable, the man who could silence a room with a glance was hand-delivering her vitamins. Total husband material. And completely, infuriatingly unaware of it.

She took the pills, her fingers brushing his for a fraction longer than necessary. Neither of them spoke, but as Jungkook settled beside her on the bench, just a fraction closer than before, her heart did that traitorous flip again.

The lines between contract, duty, and something deeper were blurring. Fast. And neither of them seemed inclined to stop it.

Over the next few days, the shift in Jungkook’s behavior became impossible to ignore. He wasn’t overt no grand gestures, no flowery words but his presence was constant, his actions deliberate.

 He checked her hospital bag, ensuring every detail was accounted for. He hovered during her calls with the nutritionist, his sharp eyes catching every detail.

When she winced from a particularly sharp contraction, he was there, his hand at her elbow, steadying her without a word.

It was overwhelming. Confusing. And yet, it grounded her in a way she hadn’t expected.

The villa, once a cold, cavernous space, felt smaller with him around.

 Warmer.

Like a home, not just a house.

But Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew the stakes. This was a contract signed, sealed, with clear boundaries. He was here for their son, not her. The gestures, the care, the quiet protectiveness it was all for the baby. She repeated it like a mantra, trying to drown out the part of her that wondered if there was more.

Late one night, as she sat in the nursery folding tiny onesies, Jungkook appeared in the doorway. He didn’t enter, just leaned against the frame, his arms crossed, his eyes tracing her movements. The soft glow of the lamp cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp edges of his jaw.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.

Y/N glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Says the man who never sleeps.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the crib, the neatly stacked diapers, the mobile hanging above. “Everything’s ready?”

“Almost.” She smoothed a onesie over her lap, her fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “Just… trying to make it real, you know? He’ll be here soon.”

Jungkook nodded, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t leave. He stayed, his presence filling the room, and for the first time, Y/N didn’t feel alone in this. The weight of the pregnancy, the risks of placenta previa, the uncertainty of what came next it was still there, but it felt lighter with him standing there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309@taemond-in-the-ruff@mar-lo-pap

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 6

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The late afternoon sun hung low, casting a golden shimmer across the villa’s pool, its light fracturing into diamonds on the water’s surface. The air was warm, still, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden beyond.

Earlier that day, Y/N and Jungkook had learned the baby’s gender a boy. The doctor’s words had hung in the air, quiet but seismic.

Y/N had glanced at Jungkook, catching the briefest flicker in his eyes something raw, unguarded, almost tender before he’d masked it with a nod, his jaw tight, his voice steady as he’d said, “Good to know.”

But she’d seen it, the way his hand had lingered on the ultrasound photo, the way his shoulders had softened, betraying the emotion he’d buried deep.

Now, Y/N had slipped outside, craving the quiet, the open sky anything to escape the villa’s polished interiors and the staff’s relentless teasing about “bonding hugs” that had followed her all morning.

The poolside, with its soft hum of tranquility, felt like the only place untouched by the corporate sheen of Jeon Jungkook’s world.

She hadn’t expected to find him there.

Jeon Jungkook, stretched out on a lounge chair, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, head tilted back, eyes closed. The sharp line of his jaw caught the sunlight, his dark lashes fanning over his cheeks, his face softened in a way that made him look almost human.

For a man whose presence commanded boardrooms and silenced rivals, he seemed… peaceful. Vulnerable, even, though Y/N knew better than to believe he could ever be truly unguarded.

She froze, her breath catching as she studied him. The faint crease between his brows, the way his lips parted slightly in repose—it was unfair, the way he looked like a sculpture carved by some divine hand.

Her gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the lines of his face, the quiet elegance of him.

Then, realizing she was staring, she glanced around.

 No one else in sight.

The villa was still, the staff occupied, the world holding its breath.

A mischievous grin tugged at her lips. “What a waste,” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible as she paced slowly along the pool’s edge. She kept her tone low, playful, dramatic, as if performing for an audience of one—herself.

“God, why are you like this?” she continued, gesturing vaguely at his profile. “You gave him that face. That jawline. Those eyes that could probably kill a man at forty paces…”

Her hand rested on her six-month bump, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

“But no, nooo… you made him emotionally unavailable. No interest in love, no women, no attachment. Just business meetings and glaring at people.”

She shook her head, sighing theatrically. “All those godly visuals, and for what? Boardroom intimidation? That’s just cruel.”

A soft exhale broke the silence.

Y/N’s steps faltered. Her eyes narrowed, flicking back to the lounge chair.

Jungkook’s lips curved, the faintest, most infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Done with your monologue?” His voice, low and smooth as velvet, cut through the air without him even opening his eyes.

Her face flushed instantly, heat creeping up her neck. “You were awake?!”

One eye cracked open, dark and gleaming with quiet amusement. “I was… until someone started debating divine unfairness next to my ear.”

“I—” She sputtered, mortified, her hands flailing as she tried to salvage her dignity. “You weren’t supposed to hear that!”

Jungkook shifted, propping himself up slightly, his smirk deepening. “It’s good to know you’re so… invested in my love life.”

“I’m invested in justice!” she huffed, crossing her arms, though a grin was already betraying her. “There’s a difference.”

His smirk widened, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his gaze steady, unreadable, but with a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “Noted.”

The air between them shifted lighter, warmer, threaded with a playfulness that felt new, fragile, but real.

Y/N rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about “arrogant CEOs” as she turned to leave, her heart still racing from being caught.

 But then, as she paused at the edge of the garden path, she couldn’t resist one last jab.

“And for God’s sake, if this kid doesn’t get his visuals and my personality, I’m holding a serious grudge against the universe. He’d be unstoppable gorgeous and charming.”

Jungkook’s quiet chuckle followed her, low and unexpected, trailing her like a shadow as she retreated toward the villa. “Ambitious request,” he said, his tone dry but laced with humor. “What if he gets my personality and your face?”

She spun around, mock-offended, her mouth agape. “Are you saying I’m not good-looking?!”

He leaned back, one eyebrow arching, his smirk now a full-blown weapon. “You’re… fine.” A pause, deliberate, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But imagine a smaller version of you glaring at the world like me with my eyes. That’s terrifying.”

Y/N gaped, laughter bubbling up despite herself. “You have some nerve for a man who just eavesdropped on my private prayer.”

“Private?” Jungkook tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave. “You were practically yelling at the sky.”

She laughed, bright and unguarded, the sound cutting through the lingering tension like a blade.

The playful thread between them tightened, stretching across the distance as she turned away again, her steps lighter now, her heart inexplicably warm.

--------------

The villa was cloaked in tension by late afternoon.

A cadre of high-ranking politicians had descended for a private meeting with Jungkook discussions of economic projects, whispered deals that never reached the public eye.

Y/N had been instructed to stay in the her room, out of sight, out of the way.

But pregnancy hormones, restless energy, and a craving for fresh air had conspired against her better judgment.

She’d only wanted a walk. A piece of fruit from the kitchen, maybe. She hadn’t meant to wander into the formal lounge, hadn’t expected to step into a room thick with power and scrutiny. The men in tailored suits, their eyes sharp and calculating, had turned to her as one. Her loose dress did nothing to conceal her bump. The silence that followed was deafening.

Jungkook’s gaze had snapped to her, his posture shifting in an instant—shoulders squared, eyes narrowing, the controlled mask of the CEO slamming into place. But beneath it, something else had flickered.

Something territorial, instinctive, fierce. He’d stood, moving around the table with a predator’s grace, his voice low and unyielding as he’d asked, “What are you doing here?”

Her panic had been immediate, her mind spiraling. She’d stammered, apologized, certain she’d humiliated him by exposing their arrangement to men who thrived on leverage.

His hand on her elbow, guiding her out, had only deepened her shame. In the hallway, she’d pulled away, her voice trembling with apologies, convinced she’d made him look weak, human, vulnerable.

But then he’d stopped her. His words—cold, sharp, honest—had cut through her assumptions. “I don’t care if they know. I care if they see you as leverage.” His hand, hovering near her back, hadn’t touched her, but its presence had been enough.

A silent promise.

A shield.

That moment lingered now, hours later, as Y/N sat in the garden under the soft glow of string lights.

The villa had settled into quiet, the politicians gone, the staff retreating to their routines. But her thoughts were restless, circling back to Jungkook’s protectiveness, the way his eyes had darkened, the way his voice had tightened—not with anger, but with something deeper, something that made her chest ache.

She didn’t hear him approach, but she felt him a shift in the air, a presence that made her pulse quicken.

Jungkook stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his silhouette sharp against the twilight. His white shirt, sleeves still rolled, caught the amber light, softening the edges of his otherwise unyielding demeanor.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low, carrying that quiet command that seemed to thread through everything he did.

Y/N’s gaze flicked to the roses climbing the trellis, their petals bruised by the evening breeze. “Thinking,” she replied, her tone softer than intended, betraying the weight of her thoughts.

A pause stretched between them, charged but not uncomfortable, like the air before a storm. Jungkook didn’t move closer, didn’t crowd her, but his presence filled the space anyway. She wondered if he knew how much space he took up physically, emotionally, in every way that mattered.

“About what?” he asked, and there was something in his voice curiosity, perhaps, or something that didn’t match his usual detachment.

She hesitated, her fingers stilling on the hem of her dress. The memory of his protectiveness, the way his posture had shifted in that room, made her chest tighten.

She hadn’t expected it.

Not from him.

 Not from the man who seemed to live for contracts and control, whose emotions were locked behind a vault she hadn’t begun to crack.

She met his gaze, his eyes dark and steady. “Thank you,” she said quietly, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them.

His brow lifted slightly, surprise breaking through his composure. “For what?”

“For earlier.” Her voice steadied, though her heart didn’t. “For making it clear you weren’t angry at me.”

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence wasn’t cold it was heavy, layered with something unspoken. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, firm. “I wasn’t.”

She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing her bump as she looked away. “I know. I misunderstood.”

Another pause. The garden hummed softly leaves rustling, cicadas in the distance. Jungkook shifted, loosening his posture, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

He set it on the stone table beside her with a casualness that felt deliberate, like he was downplaying the gesture.

“What’s this?” Y/N asked, curiosity tinged with wariness.

“A security pass,” he said, his tone clipped, businesslike. “Access to every part of the villa. Emergency lines included.”

She opened the box, revealing a sleek keycard, polished and expensive, nestled in velvet. She turned it over, her thumb brushing the engraved logo of his company. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Necessary,” he replied, leaving no room for argument. “I can’t be everywhere.”

Her lips curved, a playful glint in her eyes. “Is this your way of being… considerate?”

Jungkook’s lips twitched, amusement breaking through his mask. “Practicality.” His eyes locked onto hers, the air thickening. “If you’re safe, you stay out of trouble.”

She laughed softly, the sound easing the tension like a crack in glass. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” His brow arched, but there was warmth in his eyes.

“Pretending it’s just practicality,” she said, teasing, but laced with truth. “You’re not as cold as you want people to think, Jeon Jungkook.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze unwavering. The smirk faded, replaced by something introspective. He took a step closer, hands still in pockets, posture relaxed, eyes intense.

“Maybe,” he said, voice low, almost a murmur. “Don’t get used to it.”

Her smile softened, mirroring his. She didn’t push back, didn’t tease. She leaned back, hands on her bump, looking out at the garden.

The silence settled, no longer heavy. Comfortable. Warm. A thread pulled taut, stretching, testing limits.

“You know,” she said, breaking the quiet, her voice softer, less guarded, “I meant what I said by the pool.”

Jungkook’s brow arched, amusement sparking. “Which part? My face’s unfairness, or my personality’s tragedy?”

She laughed, bright, unguarded. “Both. But mostly… the kid.” Her hand rested on her bump, her voice soft. “I hope he gets your looks. That jawline, those eyes… it’s unfair, but good unfair.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “And your personality.” His voice was low, teasing. “Why’s that better?”

She grinned, undaunted. “I’m charming. Warm. Emotionally available. Unlike someone.”

His smirk returned, deeper, his eyes glinting. “Careful,” he said, his voice a murmur, almost dangerous, playful. “You’re assuming he won’t get my charm.”

“Charm?” She arched a brow, mock-skeptical. “You? I’d call that intimidation.”

He chuckled, low, the sound warm, rare, grounding. “Maybe he’ll get both. Your stubbornness, my… persuasion.”

She paused, her smile widening, something softer catching. “Stubborn’s good. Means he’ll fight for something.”

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to her bump, a flicker of something protective, unguarded passing over his eyes. “If he’s like you,” he said quietly, “he’ll fight.”

Her heart stuttered not with romance, not yet, but with quiet disbelief. The words, simple, honest, landed heavy with meaning.

She didn’t answer. Just smiled. Softly. Unspoken.

The thread tightened, realer now, undeniable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309@taemond-in-the-ruff

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 5

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The exhaustion clung to Y/N like a second skin.

Six months into her pregnancy, every step felt heavier, her body sagging under the weight of fatigue. The doctors had called it normal low iron, her system stretched thin by the life growing inside her. But their reassurances didn’t lighten the load. Even the short walk from the her room to the kitchen drained her, leaving her legs leaden and her mind foggy.

That afternoon, she’d collapsed onto the sofa, sunlight spilling across her in golden waves. A book lay forgotten on her chest as sleep claimed her, pulling her under.

She didn’t hear the door whisper open. Didn’t catch the soft tread of footsteps. Only stirred when a blanket settled gently over her shoulders, the faint rustle pulling her from the edges of sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, bleary, and found him.

Jungkook.

He stood above her, his face a quiet mystery sharp jawline softened in the warm light, eyes unreadable but fixed on her. His hand lingered on the blanket’s edge, a moment too long to be casual.

Not the untouchable CEO. Not the man who ruled an empire with iron precision. Just… him.

“You should sleep in a bed,” he said, voice low, steady, but softer than she’d come to expect.

Y/N blinked, still caught in the haze of sleep. “Didn’t mean to…” she mumbled, words trailing into nothing.

He straightened, adjusting his cuff with a practiced flick, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You’ve been exhausted for days.”

A tired smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve been watching me?”

A beat of silence. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “The doctor mentioned your iron levels.”

It wasn’t just that.

His gaze lingered on the shadows under her eyes, the gentle swell of her stomach beneath the blanket. Something flickered in his expression, not control or calculation, but a sharp, reluctant concern.

Before she could respond, a wave of dizziness washed over her as she shifted upright. Her vision swayed, and she braced herself against the sofa.

Jungkook’s hand was there in an instant, steadying her elbow. Firm. Warm. Not hesitant, but not demanding either.

“Careful,” he said, the word carrying a quiet weight.

Y/N sank back, exhaling shakily. “You’re not… supposed to care.”

The words slipped out, unguarded.

His hand didn’t move. His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no coldness in them. “I don’t,” he said, then paused. “I manage risks.”

The faint strain in his voice betrayed him.

She smiled, small but genuine. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

He didn’t answer. His hand fell away, but the silence that followed wasn’t sterile or distant. It was… close. Unspoken. A thread stretched taut between them, neither rushing to snap it.

The villa was a hush at night, its sprawling halls cloaked in stillness. Y/N lay awake in the room, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. But her body had other ideas.

A craving sharp, absurd, undeniable clawed at her. Not for chocolate or ice cream, but for pickles slathered in whipped cream. Ridiculous. Mortifying. Yet it consumed her until she couldn’t think of anything else.

With a quiet groan, she slipped out of bed and padded to the villa’s cavernous kitchen, bare feet whispering against the cool floor.

She was halfway through raiding the fridge when a voice cut through the dark.

“What… are you doing?”

Y/N froze, a can of whipped cream in one hand, a jar of pickles in the other.

She turned slowly.

Jungkook leaned against the doorway, sweatpants slung low, a plain black t-shirt softening his sharp edges. His expression was pure disbelief, eyebrows raised as he took in the scene.

“Is that…” His eyes flicked to her hands. “Pickles and whipped cream?”

Y/N set both items on the counter, cheeks burning. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like a crime scene.”

She snorted despite herself. “I was hungry.”

“For that?” His voice was dry, but amusement flickered in his eyes.

Y/N shrugged, grabbing a spoon and trying to play it off. “Blame your kid.”

His posture shifted, just slightly. His gaze dipped to her stomach, then back to her face. “Already blaming our kid?” he said, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

She dipped a pickle into the whipped cream, holding his stare. “You gonna stand there judging, CEO, or help me?”

His brow arched higher. “Help you commit that crime?”

“Be useful.”

A pause. Then, to her surprise, he crossed to the fridge, pulled out another pickle bottle, and handed it to her, his face a mask but his eyes glinting with something lighter.

“You’ll owe me,” he said.

“Put it on my tab.”

They stood there, eating the absurd combination in the quiet kitchen, the hum of the fridge the only sound. No grand gestures. No weighty words. Just… ease. A strange, fragile closeness that neither acknowledged but both felt.

Jungkook shook his head, muttering, “Pickles and whipped cream. Of all things…”

But he didn’t leave.

And she didn’t ask him to.

She popped another bite into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated defiance.

Jungkook watched, like she was some curious anomaly. “If our kid inherits your taste,” he said, voice dry, “we’re testing their palate at birth.”

Y/N choked on a laugh, real and unfiltered, spilling out before she could stop it. It wasn’t graceful it was raw, unguarded, a burst of warmth in the sterile elegance of the villa.

Jungkook’s brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “I’ve… never heard you laugh like that.”

She caught her breath, still grinning. “What, I’m not allowed to laugh now?”

“It’s… unexpected.” His voice softened, just a fraction. “Not unwelcome.”

The air stilled. The hum of the fridge faded to nothing. The ridiculousness of the moment pickles, whipped cream, the two of them in the dim kitchen melted into something heavier.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her smile fading but her eyes steady. “You’re such a contradiction, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he said, without missing a beat.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was alive, threaded with something neither of them named.

The next morning, everything unraveled.

Y/N woke feeling… wrong. Her body ached, her emotions a tangled mess. One moment, she was on the verge of tears for no reason. The next, she was giggling at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. By lunch, she’d apologized to the villa staff four times for things that weren’t her fault.

It all came to a head at the dining table.

Jungkook sat at the head, scrolling through reports on his tablet, his face as unreadable as ever. Y/N pushed her food around her plate, a lump rising in her throat.

Then her hand brushed a water glass. It tipped, shattered, the sound slicing through the room.

The maid rushed forward, already kneeling to clean the mess.

But Y/N’s eyes welled up instantly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking.

The maid blinked, startled. “It’s alright, miss—”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N said, tears spilling now, fast and unstoppable. “I’m such a mess. I didn’t mean to…” Her words fractured, her chest tight as she wiped uselessly at her face.

The maid opened her mouth to reassure her, but froze when Jungkook’s chair scraped back.

He stood, his movements deliberate, and crossed to her side. He crouched beside her chair, his eyes sharp but soft, searching her face.

“It’s a glass,” he said, voice even. “It’s replaceable.”

Her lip trembled. “I’m losing it.”

“You’re six months pregnant.” His tone was quieter now, steady. “You’re allowed to.”

The words weren’t poetic, but they landed with a weight that felt real. Human.

Y/N sniffled, a wet laugh breaking through. “This is so pathetic.”

“Inconvenient,” he corrected, handing her a napkin without flourish. “Not pathetic.”

She took it, dabbing at her face, still crying but laughing now too. “I’ve never cried over a glass before.”

“You’ve never carried my heir before.”

Her breath caught at the way he said it not possessive, not cold, but with a quiet gravity that shifted the air.

The maid slipped away, leaving the broken glass forgotten on the tray.

Y/N met his gaze, her tears slowing. “You’re not supposed to be this… soft.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened, just a fraction. “Don’t get used to it.”

But something had cracked open between them something raw, unguarded.

And for once, neither moved to seal it shut.

The villa was vast, its grandeur a cold weight. Marble floors gleamed under soft lighting, but the space felt hollow, its elegance more intimidating than inviting. Yet, within its walls, the people who moved through it carried a warmth that softened its edges for Y/N over the past six months.

The gardener, a quiet man with weathered hands, left small bundles of wildflowers by her guesthouse door each week, their colors a silent gift. The young kitchen assistant, barely out of her teens minji, would sneak Y/N extra pastries when the nutritionist’s back was turned, her shy grin a conspiratorial spark. And then there was Mrs. Kang, the head maid stern with the staff, her orders sharp and precise, but with Y/N, she was a steady anchor, her presence warm and grounding, like the mother Y/N hadn’t seen in too long.

That evening, after the shattered glass and a day of emotions that swung like a pendulum tears one moment, laughter the next Y/N found herself lingering near the staff quarters. Her body ached, her mind frayed, and though she knew she should rest, she couldn’t bring herself to return to the quiet of the guesthouse.

Mrs. Kang noticed her immediately. She set aside a stack of linens, her sharp eyes softening as they settled on Y/N’s tired frame. “You should be in bed, dear.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears again, infuriatingly. She swallowed hard, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

The older woman, Mrs. Kang, noticed, her hands pausing as she folded linens, her expression soft and open.

“Y/N, you alright, dear?” Mrs. Kang asked gently, her voice a quiet invitation.

Y/N’s lips parted, her voice catching before she managed a small nod. “I’m just… having a rough moment.” Her words were soft, raw, carrying the weight of everything she’d been holding back.

Mrs. Kang didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, wrapping Y/N in a gentle, steady embrace, her arms a quiet haven. The scent of lavender and starch clung to her, comforting and familiar.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth, her face pressed against the older woman’s shoulder, her breathing easing for the first time that day.

A few of the younger maids nearby watched, their tasks forgotten. Minji, a soft-spoken girl with a kind smile, stepped forward, placing a tentative hand on Y/N’s back.

“We’re all here for you,” Minji whispered, her voice barely audible but sincere.

The moment was quiet, unadorned, a small pocket of humanity in the vast, polished villa.

Until a shadow fell across the hallway.

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes catching on him Jungkook. He stood a few feet away, his presence commanding even in the dim light. His sharp gaze swept over the scene: Y/N, flushed and tear-streaked, cradled by the protective hover of the staff.

The air shifted. The maids stiffened, stepping back instinctively, their warmth retreating under the weight of his scrutiny. But Mrs. Kang didn’t move, her hand resting firmly on Y/N’s shoulder, a quiet defiance in her posture.

Jungkook’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s damp cheeks, the faint tremble in her hands, the way she stood surrounded yet somehow alone. Something flickered in his expression, not anger or disapproval, but something tighter, quieter, almost unsettled.

Y/N straightened, wiping her face quickly, embarrassment flooding her. “Sorry,” she muttered, stepping out of Mrs. Kang’s embrace. “I just… needed a moment.”

His expression didn’t waver, but his voice was low, measured. “You’re allowed to need comfort.”

The words landed like a stone in still water, rippling through the hallway. The staff exchanged glances, their surprise palpable.

A pause stretched, heavy with unspoken things.

“But next time…” Jungkook’s gaze held hers, sharp yet not entirely cold. “You can ask me.”

The hallway froze.

Minji’s eyes widened. Mrs. Kang’s hand tightened briefly on Y/N’s shoulder, a flicker of shock crossing her usually composed face. The other maids stood motionless, as if the villa itself had held its breath.

Y/N’s heart stuttered not with romance, not yet, but with a quiet disbelief that made her chest ache.

Jungkook didn’t wait for a response. He turned, his steps deliberate, ready to disappear into the shadows of the villa as he always did.

But then he stopped.

His shoulders tensed, and he turned back, his eyes finding Y/N’s again. Her flushed face, her tired eyes, the gentle curve of her stomach under her loose sweater. Something shifted in his gaze, a crack in the controlled facade he wore like armor.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them.

Y/N’s breath caught as he stopped in front of her, too close, his presence overwhelming yet not oppressive. “What are you—”

Before she could finish, his arms came around her slow, careful, almost awkward. The embrace wasn’t polished or practiced; it was stiff, hesitant, as if he were navigating unfamiliar terrain. But it was warm, grounding, undeniably real.

The hallway went deathly silent.

The staff stared, jaws slack, their untouchable CEO Jeon Jungkook, the man who ruled with precision and distance holding Y/N in a quiet, clumsy hug.

His breath was warm against her ear as he leaned down, voice low and clipped, as if forcing the words out. “I… should bond with the child.”

The excuse was flimsy, almost laughable. A clinical justification for an act that was anything but. His arms lingered, his hand resting lightly against her back, the faintest tension in his jaw betraying the effort it took to stay composed.

Y/N bit back a smile, her heart thudding against her ribs. She saw through the excuse, saw the crack in his armor, but she didn’t call him out. Instead, she let herself lean into the embrace, just for a moment, her cheek brushing the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Bond away,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with quiet amusement.

The staff exchanged stunned glances, their eyes darting between Y/N and Jungkook. Mrs. Kang’s lips twitched, a flicker of something like approval crossing her face before she masked it. Minji’s hand hovered near her mouth, as if to stifle a gasp.

Jungkook pulled back, his posture snapping into place shoulders squared, expression cool. But his eyes lingered on Y/N’s face for a heartbeat longer than necessary, a flicker of something raw passing through them before he turned away.

His steps echoed down the hall as he left, the sound sharp against the silence.

The maids exhaled, their whispers starting before he was fully out of sight. Mrs. Kang’s hand lingered on Y/N’s shoulder, a quiet reassurance.

Y/N stood there, her cheeks warm, her heart still racing. The villa’s walls, once cold and imposing, felt different now cracked, shifted, softer.

Something had changed. Not just between her and Jungkook, but in the air itself.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel so alone in the vastness of it all.

The days that followed carried a subtle shift. Jungkook was still himself sharp, controlled, always a step removed. But there were moments now, fleeting but undeniable, where he was… present. A glance that lingered too long when she laughed. A quiet question about her doctor’s visit, asked over breakfast with a casualness that felt practiced. Small cracks in the facade, each one letting a little more light through.

Y/N noticed it, and so did the staff. Mrs. Kang’s knowing looks grew more frequent, Minji’s shy smiles brighter. The villa, once a cold expanse, began to feel like a place where connections fragile, tentative could grow.

One evening, as Y/N sat in the her room, sketching absentmindedly in a notebook, a knock came at the door. She looked up, surprised, and called, “Come in.”

Jungkook stepped inside, his presence filling the small space. He held a small tray tea, a few biscuits, nothing extravagant.

“You haven’t eaten dinner,” he said, setting the tray on the table. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes lingered on her sketchbook, curious.

“Didn’t feel like it,” she admitted, setting the pencil down. “Just… one of those days.”

He nodded, as if he understood, though he didn’t say so. Instead, he gestured to the tray. “Eat something. Doctor’s orders.”

She raised a brow, teasing. “Since when do you play delivery service?”

“Since you started skipping meals,” he shot back, but there was no bite in his voice.

She smiled, reaching for a biscuit. “Careful, Jungkook. You’re starting to sound like you care.”

He didn’t respond, but the way he lingered—leaning against the wall, watching her take a bite said more than words could.

The moment stretched, quiet but not empty. The guesthouse felt smaller, warmer, with him there.

“You’re sketching,” he said, nodding toward the notebook.

She glanced down, a little self-conscious. “Just… doodling. Keeps my hands busy.”

He stepped closer, tilting his head to see the page—a rough sketch of the villa’s garden, flowers spilling over the edges. “It’s good,” he said, and there was no flattery in his tone, just observation.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her cheeks warming.

He didn’t stay long, but as he left, he paused at the door. “If you need anything…” He trailed off, his voice quieter. “You know where to find me.”

She nodded, her heart thudding softly. “I know.”

The door closed behind him, and Y/N sat there, the biscuit still in her hand, the sketchbook open on her lap. The villa didn’t feel so vast anymore.

And for the first time, she wondered if the walls—his, hers, the ones between them might one day come down entirely.

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 4

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four months. Y/N stared at herself in the full-length mirror of the guesthouse bedroom, her hand resting lightly on the curve of her stomach. It wasn’t dramatic yet just a soft swell beneath her loose shirt but it was real. Undeniable. She was carrying his heir.

The doctor’s checkups were now bi-weekly. Nutritionists hovered. The staff prepared every meal precisely. Her body wasn’t just hers anymore it was monitored, protected, managed… like another asset in Jeon Jungkook’s empire.

But some things couldn’t be controlled. The quiet weight of late-night thoughts. The subtle, unsettling way Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer now. The questions that slipped past his guarded lips—rare, precise, but there.

“Are you sleeping well?” “The nausea it’s manageable?” “If the staff miss anything, tell me.”

Not warmth. Not care. But… control. Wrapped in protectiveness he refused to name.

Tonight was the same. Y/N had just finished dinner when a soft knock came at the guesthouse door. She opened it to find Jungkook, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his usual tailored coldness intact but his eyes… they lingered on her stomach. Not with emotion. But with possession. Calculation. And something he refused to analyze.

“The doctors sent me the report,” he stated. “Everything’s normal.”

Y/N nodded. “I could’ve told you that.”

The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smirk. Gone before she could confirm it.

A pause stretched between them. Jungkook’s eyes drifted back to her stomach, unreadable. Then, quietly “Does it… feel strange?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Pregnancy?”

He hesitated, an unusual crack in his usual precision. “Carrying… my child.”

For a moment, the sharp edges of his words softened not warm, but real. Y/N’s heart kicked slightly, not from the question but from the fact that he asked.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It feels… separate from me. Like I’m watching it happen to someone else.”

A beat. His eyes flicked up to hers, studying her. “Do you regret it?”

The air stilled. Y/N exhaled, fingers brushing her belly lightly. “No.” A pause. “I just… didn’t expect the loneliness.”

She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. But Jungkook didn’t mock her. He didn’t dismiss it. If anything… his gaze darkened slightly, thoughtful. Unsettled.

“Loneliness is… efficient,” he said finally, almost to himself.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “You think that’s a good thing?”

“I think feelings complicate results.”

She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You must be exhausting to be around all the time.”

For the first time, a faint smirk ghosted across his face small, fleeting, dangerous. “Most people don’t get close enough to find out.”

A pause. His eyes swept over her, guarded but curious now. “But you… you’re already too close.”

The words weren’t a threat. They were a quiet, reluctant admission.

Y/N’s pulse flickered.

The nursery was under construction. Y/N hadn’t been asked for input. Of course not. Interior designers, staff, and architects handled everything sleek, modern, detached. It wasn’t a room for a child. It was another investment, executed with military precision. Just like everything else in this house.

She stood by the doorway that evening, watching workers carry in custom furniture wrapped in plastic. Neutral tones. Minimalist design. Perfect, cold lines.

Behind her, Jungkook's voice broke the silence. “It’ll be finished by next week.”

She didn’t turn. “It doesn’t feel like a nursery.”

A pause. His footsteps approached, precise, measured. “It’s functional.”

Of course. Y/N finally turned, facing him. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze met hers, unreadable as always. “You can.”

She exhaled, steady but guarded. “After the baby’s born… when I’m gone… how exactly do you plan to manage that?”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed faintly. His reply came sharp. “The same way I manage everything. Structured. Efficient. The child will have the best care. Private security. Education arranged. Full-time staff.”

His voice was so devoid of emotion, it almost made her dizzy.

“The child,” she repeated flatly, arms crossing. “Not… your son. Or daughter.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his posture tightening. But she wasn’t done. “You’re talking about a human being,” she snapped, the frustration finally cracking through her calm. “Not an acquisition. Not a stock option. A child, Jungkook.”

The air in the room shifted — sharp, brittle. “It’s mine,” he replied, voice low, clipped. “Of course, I’ll—”

But Y/N cut him off, stepping closer. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Her voice shook not from fear, but from restraint. “It’s yours… and it’s mine too.”

A pause. His eyes darkened slightly, not in anger in surprise.

“I carried it. I’ll deliver it. I’ll leave… because that’s the deal.” Her jaw clenched, throat tightening. “But don’t forget… leaving it behind will already be hard enough for me.”

Her voice cracked raw, controlled, but finally real. “The least you can do… is not treat my child like a business deal.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Irrefutable. For the first time since they met, Jungkook didn’t have an immediate, calculated reply.

The CEO mask slipped not entirely but enough for her to see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes.

For a long, loaded moment, they stood there quiet fury meeting cold control.

Then, softly almost reluctant he spoke. “It’s not… just a business deal.”

Not warmth. Not an apology. But a quiet, reluctant admission.

Y/N’s shoulders eased fractionally. She didn’t thank him. Didn’t soften. But for the first time… He saw her. Not the contract. Her.

The argument lingered long after the words had faded. Y/N had gone back to the guesthouse that night, her heartbeat steady but her chest tight, her mind replaying every sharp syllable, every flicker of surprise in Jungkook’s eyes.

She hadn’t expected him to apologize. He didn’t seem like the type to apologize. Not to anyone. But the small, reluctant admission It’s not just a business deal circled in her head like quiet thunder.

The next morning, nothing looked different. The same sleek villa. The same perfectly arranged breakfast. The same watchful staff. But… something was different.

Jungkook wasn’t hovering. That wasn’t his style. But during the doctor’s morning visit, she noticed him standing farther down the hall pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes drifting toward her every few minutes.

When the doctor mentioned her recent fatigue, his posture stiffened. When the nurse commented on her low appetite, his jaw tightened.

Not possessiveness. Not warmth. But… attention. Precise. Sharp. Quietly unsettling.

Later that afternoon, as Y/N walked through the villa gardens the only part of this cold fortress that didn’t feel like a boardroom she caught him watching her again from the patio.

His gaze wasn’t soft. But it wasn’t unreadable anymore either. It held calculation, yes. But also… awareness.

He wasn’t just seeing a contract. He was seeing her. The stubborn girl who’d snapped at him. The woman carrying his child. The one person in his perfectly controlled world who refused to stay silent.

Y/N stopped by the fountain, resting her hand on the gentle curve of her stomach, exhaling slowly. Behind her, footsteps approached. She didn’t turn.

“I’m not in the mood to argue again.”

Jungkook’s voice came steady, low. “I wasn’t going to argue.”

A pause. The faintest trace of discomfort in his voice almost like uncertainty. “The nursery… I told them to change it.”

Y/N blinked, surprised, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Change it how?”

“Less… corporate.” A pause. “It should feel like a home.”

The words were simple. Businesslike. But beneath them… a quiet, reluctant shift.

Y/N’s heart twisted not with hope. Not yet. But with the faintest, undeniable crack in his ice.

She didn’t thank him. She didn’t have to.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t cold this time. It was… unfinished. A thread pulled taut.

And for the first time… neither of them rushed to cut it.

Y/N stepped closer, heart steady but uncertain. “Can I say something?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders shifted slightly. “You always say what you want.”

She exhaled, ignoring the faint bite in his voice. “I know I’m… not in a position to ask anything from you.”

A pause. “I signed the contract. I agreed to this. I’ll leave when it’s done.”

The words settled between them like fog.

“But…” Her voice wavered, soft but steady. “The child… it’s not a deal. It’s not just part of your legacy.”

Jungkook’s grip on the glass tightened faintly.

Y/N swallowed, pressing on. “I know you’ll take care of baby.” Her eyes dropped briefly to her small but visible bump. “You’ll provide everything. Security. Education. Opportunities most kids could only dream of.”

A pause. Her voice dropped lower. “But… please, Jungkook…”

A breath. “Take care of them not like a businessman… but like a father.”

The words cracked with quiet vulnerability, raw and unguarded. She hesitated, forcing herself to meet his gaze as he finally turned.

His expression was unreadable at first eyes cool, face composed. But beneath it… something flickered. Sharp. Unsettled.

“I know you,” Y/N continued, voice soft but certain. “You’ll be a good father.”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, weary but real. “Because no one protects what’s theirs the way you do.”

Another pause. “But this child… it’s part of you. Not your company. Not your empire. Just… yours.”

The silence stretched long, heavy. Jungkook didn’t reply immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, sharp and thoughtful not dismissive, but processing. Quietly unsettled by the simplicity of her words.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Controlled. But… different. “I don’t know how to be anything other than… this.”

A small gesture to himself the sharp edges, the CEO mask.

Y/N’s lips curved, just barely. “Then figure it out. You’re smart enough.”

For a moment… the faintest twitch ghosted at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t warmth. But it wasn’t dismissal either.

The thread between them pulled taut again quiet. Frayed. But undeniably there.

Y/N didn’t wait for him to agree. She turned and left him standing there with her words soft, raw, unfinished and the first real glimpse of his own unknown future.

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309

[cleverquaketrace]

CHAPTER 4 drops in an hour!! 😭🔥 It’s emotional, messy, and maybe a little unhinged so get ready 👀

Also!! If you’ve been enjoying the story, I’d love your support on YouTube too 💗 www.youtube.com/@fic_flare

Reblog, scream, tag your bestie see you in an hour!! 💋✨

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 3

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen glowed under soft morning light, sunlight pouring through wide windows like warm honey over polished marble counters and sleek cabinets. Despite the brightness, a chill lingered in the air.

The only sounds were the faint clink of a spoon and the low hum of high-end appliances.

At the long breakfast table, tension sat heavy, an uninvited presence.

Y/N sat at one end, spooning cereal slowly, her gaze drifting to the untouched eggs and toast beside her.

Across the table, Jeon Jungkook scrolled through a tablet, his coffee steaming but ignored.

The sting of their argument from the day before lingered, his words cutting like ice.

“Love is leverage. A weakness I can’t afford.”

The memory tightened Y/N’s chest, but she kept her face neutral, a practiced calm.

She wasn’t here for love she’d signed a contract for a medical procedure, this sprawling villa, and a deal that felt more transactional than human.

Yet the maid’s words from earlier echoed in her mind.

“People aren’t born cold. They’re made that way. And sometimes… they can be unmade.”

Y/N didn’t believe she could change someone like Jungkook.

But she noticed things: the restless shift of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw when she pushed back, the heavy silences that spoke louder than words. Beneath his polished exterior, something human flickered, and it stirred her curiosity.

She set her spoon down and slid her plate aside. The silence thickened.

Jungkook glanced up, his dark eyes unreadable. “Eat more.”

Her brow arched, voice soft but edged. “Monitoring my diet now?”

“It’s part of the deal,” he replied, tone flat.

She smirked faintly, teasing. “Protecting your investment?”

His lips twitched almost a smile. He set the tablet down and leaned back. “Did the staff give you your schedule?”

She nodded. “Doctor tonight. Bloodwork tomorrow.”

“Good.” He tapped the table once, a deliberate gesture. “If you need anything, talk to Mrs kang.”

“She’s been with my family forever,” Jungkook said curtly. “She knows how things work.”

The word *family* carried weight, hinting at secrets. Y/N didn’t press, noting the stiffness in his posture. She stood, murmured a quiet goodbye, and padded to her room, her bare feet soft against the cold stone floor.

The villa was vast, all sharp lines and meticulous design, yet it felt hollow.

Y/N wandered restlessly, the silence pressing against her. She passed a sunlit lounge with unused chairs, a music room with a dusty piano, and an office stacked with orderly books and files.

Everything screamed control, but the house felt like it was waiting for life to stir it.

Near the back patio, she paused. Tall hedges concealed a garden she’d been told was off-limits.

Through the leaves, she glimpsed stone paths, lush greenery, and white lilies swaying gently. Her fingers grazed the glass door’s handle, curiosity tugging at her.

She wasn’t here to break rules, but the garden felt like a piece of Jungkook’s hidden world she wanted to understand.

“It’s locked for a reason.”

Y/N turned, breath catching. Jungkook stood a few steps away, sleeves rolled up, dark pants crisp, his eyes calm but firm. Not angry—just watchful.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” she said softly.

“I notice everything here,” he replied, voice low and steady.

She crossed her arms, feigning ease. “What’s in there?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “A reminder.”

“Of what?”

“Boundaries.” The word was quiet but final. “Don’t test them.”

The silence wasn’t harsh, just heavy. Y/N tilted her head, studying him. The lilies reminded her of her mother’s old garden, where she’d buried a box of childhood dreams freedom, love. She pushed the memory down, but it left an ache.

“Doctor’s at seven,” Jungkook said, turning to leave.

She exhaled, watching him go. The garden remained locked, its secrets untouched. For now.

---

Night cloaked the villa, the doctor’s visit routine vitals checked, questions answered, the procedure on track. But sleep eluded Y/N, her mind caught on Jungkook’s guarded eyes and the day’s heavy silences.

Restless, she wandered barefoot to a small courtyard, a simple space with stone benches and ivy climbing the walls. It wasn’t the forbidden garden, just a quiet spot where the air felt lighter. The night was cool, stars sharp in the sky.

To her surprise, Jungkook was there.

He sat on a bench, holding a glass of dark liquor, his posture relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen. No suit, just a plain white shirt, his face softened by lantern light. He looked… human, staring into the dark, lost in thought.

Y/N hesitated, then sat beside him, leaving space. He didn’t look at her, didn’t ask her to leave. The silence felt soft, almost intimate, the night holding them close.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke, voice rough. “My sister’s buried back there.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she stayed still, letting him continue.

“She was six,” he said, eyes fixed on the shadows. “When it… happened.”

Her heart ached, but she didn’t speak, feeling the weight of his words.

She waited, then asked gently, “What happened to her? If you don’t want to answer, it’s okay.”

“She was playing by the pool… my parents were too busy, as always… she slipped… and fell in.” The words hung raw and jagged.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting to the stars. Y/N thought he might shut down, retreat behind his armor. But he stayed, fingers gripping the glass.

“She was scared of water,” he added, voice frayed. “But no one was watching. Not even me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. The guarded eyes, the cold control it all made sense now, wrapped in grief like a shield.

“You were a kid,” she said softly.

His lips twisted bitterly. “Old enough to know better.”

She wanted to argue, but she knew that kind of guilt unyielding, deaf to reason. So she sat quietly, the silence steady, not cold.

“The Verstappen “The garden… it’s hers, isn’t it?”

He nodded once. “My mother had it built after… It was the only time she cared about anything but her image.”

Y/N traced the bench’s edge with her fingers. “Why keep it locked?”

He sipped his drink, ice clinking. “It’s easier to bury things than face them.”

They sat in silence, the words heavy but honest. The night felt like a fragile bridge between them.

“Do you ever… want to open it?” she asked carefully.

His eyes flicked to her, sharp but not cold. Something raw pain, maybe longing flashed briefly. “Wanting and doing are different things.”

Y/N nodded, understanding more than she expected.

The night deepened, stars bright like quiet promises. For once, Jungkook didn’t feel untouchable. He felt human, worn and guarded, but real.

He stood, adjusting his shirt, the mask slipping back on. “Get some rest.”

She smiled faintly, standing too. “You too… Jungkook.”

His gaze lingered, her use of his name catching him off guard. But he didn’t correct her, just nodded and walked into the shadows.

For the first time, Y/N felt the villa’s walls weren’t impenetrable. Cracks were forming, letting light slip through.

---

The next morning, the villa was hushed, wrapped in its manicured silence. Y/N woke early, sleep fragmented by thoughts of Jungkook’s confession. She padded to the kitchen, expecting it empty, but found Mrs kang arranging fruit in delicate glass bowls.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Mrs kang asked, her smile kind.

Y/N shook her head, grabbing a glass of water. “Just… thinking.”

Mrs kang slid a fruit bowl toward her. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Y/N took it, picking at the fruit. After a pause, she asked, “The garden… it was for his sister?”

Mrs kang’s face flickered with sadness. “Miss Hana. A sweet girl. The only softness in that family.”

Y/N stirred the fruit. “And Jungkook?”

Mrs kang’s expression warmed. “He loved her more than anything. Still does. But grief changes how love lives.”

Y/N nodded, a quiet understanding settling in. She wasn’t here to fix him, but maybe she could see him.

The day passed in routine bloodwork at noon, the sting of needles fading against thoughts of locked gardens and a man carrying ghosts in sharp suits.

By evening, pink clouds stretched across the sky. Y/N wandered to the music room, drawn to the dusty piano. She brushed the keys, their cool smoothness grounding her. Pressing a note, she let its soft hum fill the stillness.

“You play?”

She jumped, turning to find Jungkook in the doorway, tie gone, sleeves rolled up. Less the CEO, more the man tonight.

“Not well,” she admitted, tucking her hair back. “My mom taught me a little. She was… better.”

His eyes drifted over the piano, distant. “Hana used to play. I hated it. Too loud.” His lips twitched faintly. “Now I’d give anything to hear it again.”

Y/N shifted, patting the bench beside her. He hesitated, then sat, their shoulders barely touching.

She played a few clumsy notes, soft and warm. “You should hire someone tune this thing,” she teased.

He smirked faintly. “Didn’t think anyone would touch it.”

She played more, slower. “Sometimes… things deserve a second chance.”

Their eyes met, the words heavier than the notes. His gaze cracked, just a fraction, revealing something raw.

“You believe that?” he asked, voice low and curious.

She shrugged, fingers stilling. “I have to.”

The silence wasn’t sharp now, but alive, waiting. Like the villa, heavy with secrets, was starting to breathe.

---

Days passed in a careful, suffocating rhythm. Check-ups, bloodwork, doctors murmuring about embryo viability. But the villa’s air was shifting. Jungkook lingered in the kitchen some mornings, his gaze softening in passing glances, their silences stretching longer, charged with unspoken words.

The tension broke one evening, sharp and sudden.

Y/N sat in the lounge, pretending to read, the soft patter of rain against the windows filling the quiet. Jungkook’s voice—low, furious cut through from his office.

“I said no… I don’t care what the board thinks. This is my family’s company—tell them they’ll regret pushing me.”

A pause, then colder: “Remind them who buried their scandals last year.”

Y/N stiffened, gripping her book. She knew he was ruthless, a whispered name in a world of power. But hearing it chilled her, a reminder of the world she’d entered.

The office door opened, his footsteps sharp. He stopped, seeing her.

Silence stretched.

“You heard that,” he said, his voice flat, jaw tight, eyes dark. The vulnerable man from the courtyard was gone, replaced by the CEO who crushed empires.

“I wasn’t trying to,” she replied, setting her book down.

He stood still, assessing her.

She stood, voice calm. “You don’t owe me an explanation. It’s not my place.”

His eyes flickered surprise, maybe. His shoulders tightened. “You’re right. It’s not.”

The words were sharp, not cruel. Defensive. A wall slamming back into place.

Y/N nodded, stepping past him toward the stairs.

But his voice stopped her. “I’m not the good guy here,” he said, low and clear. “Don’t mistake… whatever this is—” he gestured between them “ for more than our deal.”

Her heart tugged, but her voice stayed steady. “I haven’t.”

The silence was heavy, honest.

She climbed the stairs, leaving him in the shadows, his sharp frame cloaked in reinforced walls but not untouchable.

In her room, she stared at the rain-streaked window, her reflection faint.

She hadn’t mistaken anything.

But the lines between them were blurring, whether he admitted it or not.

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreator@khadeeeeej@a21100

[cleverquaketrace]

Heyy I've been reading ur work ..it's so good .

can I know how often do u post the next chapters .

hey thanks for reading...i post alternate days❤️

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 2

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sterile chill of the clinic pressed against Y/N’s skin as she lay on the medical bed, fingers curling loosely over the crisp white sheet beneath her.

The room was quiet, save for the muted beeping of a monitor and the faint, rhythmic hum of equipment. The overhead lights were harsh, but she barely registered them. Her focus stayed steady, anchored to her breathing.

In. Out. Controlled. Like everything else about this process.

The doctor stood beside her, explaining the final steps of the embryo transfer — the medical terms filtering in and out of focus. She already knew the details. She’d read them. Signed the paperwork. Rehearsed the risks, the statistics, the protocol.

None of that unnerved her.

But the quiet presence near the doorway did.

Jeon Jungkook stood just inside the room. Not hovering, not intrusive — simply there. Dark suit. Impeccable posture. Eyes cool and unreadable.

He hadn’t spoken much since they arrived. A nod to the doctor. A glance toward Y/N. That was it.

But his presence filled the room like gravity.

“Ready?” the doctor asked.

Y/N nodded. Her throat was dry, but her voice held.

“Yes.”

The procedure itself was swift. Painless. Clinical. A thin catheter, gentle guidance, the transfer complete within minutes. The doctor explained it again, his tone steady and practiced.

“Rest for fifteen minutes. Then you’re free to go.”

She nodded, shifting her gaze toward the ceiling.

It wasn’t nerves that coiled beneath her ribs. It was something harder to name. A quiet, sharp awareness that her life had just tilted on its axis not with fanfare, not with grand declarations but with sterile gloves and clinical precision.

The doctor stepped away, reviewing charts with a nurse.

And then… a pause.

Y/N turned her head slightly, eyes meeting Jungkook’s.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

He wasn’t looking at her like a man who’d just entrusted her with carrying his child. There was no tenderness. No gratitude. Only that same unreadable calculation.

But buried beneath it so faint it was almost deniable was something else.

A flicker of consideration.

A recognition of the quiet, complicated reality binding them now.

“It’s done,” she said softly. Not a question. A fact.

He nodded once.

“You’ll move into the villa tonight. Full-time medical monitoring starts immediately.”

“I know.”

Another beat of silence. The kind that felt heavier than words.

His gaze lingered a fraction longer, then drifted away as he checked his watch.

“Rest. I’ll wait outside.”

The door clicked softly behind him.

Y/N exhaled, slow and steady, her heart quiet but alert.

No promises. Just business.

But somewhere beneath the clinical terms and cold contracts…

The first roots of something unfamiliar had been planted.

The villa was quieter at night.

Y/N stood in the guesthouse bedroom, her small suitcase unpacked, the edges of her belongings barely filling the cavernous wardrobe space. The walls were a muted, expensive shade of grey. The bed king-sized, pristine looked untouched, like no one had ever truly lived here.

The doctors had already come by earlier. Vitals checked. Medications explained. Diet charts delivered. Everything clinical. Efficient.

Like her.

Or at least, like she was trying to be.

She showered, changed into plain cotton sleepwear, and sat by the window, staring out at the dark hillside beyond the glass. The city lights shimmered in the distance, cold and distant, much like everything else in this house.

Everything except the garden.

Her eyes drifted toward the far side of the villa grounds. Even at night, the outline of it was visible tall hedges, faint shadows of trees, soft garden lights illuminating narrow stone paths.

Off-limits, he'd said.

She didn't question rules easily, but curiosity had its own quiet weight.

A soft knock at the guesthouse door broke her thoughts.

She stood, cautious but composed, opening it to find one of the villa's staff a woman in a crisp uniform holding a tray.

“Mr. Jeon requested this be brought to you,” the woman explained, setting the tray on the side table.

A bowl of warm soup. Fresh bread. Tea.

Y/N blinked.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

The woman smiled politely, unbothered.

“He didn’t say you did.”

Before she could respond, the woman left, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

For a long moment, Y/N simply stood there, staring at the tray.

It wasn’t kindness. She knew that. It was part of the arrangement nutrition, health, medical monitoring. Ensuring the investment was protected.

Still… it unsettled something small in her chest.

She ate quietly, the warm food softening the edges of her nerves.

Later that night, restless, she stepped outside for air.

The villa grounds were still. The faint sound of distant water—the pool, maybe. Crickets in the hedges. The stars above, half-veiled by the hillside.

And then… a figure on the patio.

Jeon Jungkook.

Leaning against the stone railing, dark slacks, dress shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, his posture loose but his presence unmistakable. A phone in one hand. A glass of what looked like whiskey in the other.

For a brief second, he didn’t notice her.

The CEO mask was… different when he wasn’t performing. His jaw unclenched, eyes distant, brows furrowed faintly in thought.

Human.

Real.

Then his gaze flicked toward her.

The mask settled back into place.

“You should be resting.”

Her pulse kicked up, but she held her ground.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

A pause. His eyes scanned her plain clothes, bare feet on the cool stone floor, guarded expression.

“The doctors will monitor everything.” His voice remained steady. “Your health is a priority now.”

Y/N nodded once, folding her arms loosely.

“I know.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Neither of them moved.

It wasn’t a conversation. It wasn’t connection. But it wasn’t complete silence either.

It was… something in between.

Finally, he tipped his glass toward the house.

“Try to sleep.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Y/N lingered a moment longer, watching him retreat back inside—the cool, unreadable billionaire in his fortress of glass and stone.

She returned to the guesthouse.

The villa was unnaturally quiet in the mornings.

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting pale golden light across the polished marble floors. Y/N sat at the long breakfast table, untouched food neatly arranged in front of her fruit, toast, eggs, everything perfectly prepared by the staff.

Her appetite wasn’t the problem.

The man sitting at the head of the table was.

Jeon Jungkook, in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a glimpse of an expensive watch, sat reading through something on his tablet. Coffee steam curled in the air beside him. His expression was unreadable, as always.

The quiet clink of cutlery echoed faintly.

The doctor had already come by earlier for her routine vitals. Everything was progressing normally. The embryo transfer had gone smoothly. Now, it was just… waiting. Monitoring. Medical care. Silence.

But the silence clawed at her today.

She hesitated, fingers brushing over the rim of her coffee cup. The question had been circling her mind since yesterday since the deal, the clinic, the quiet night on the patio.

Most people wouldn’t dare ask him.

But she wasn’t most people. She had nothing to lose but her pride and she’d left most of that behind the day she signed the contract.

“Can I ask you something?” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady.

Jungkook didn’t look up immediately. He finished reading whatever was on his screen, then set the tablet down with calculated precision.

“You can.”

She met his gaze across the table.

“Why… IVF?” A pause. “I mean, you’re… you. You could’ve married someone, had a happy family. The conventional way.”

The air shifted.

For a moment, nothing in his expression changed.

But the silence… deepened.

His eyes held hers, cool and steady, but something flickered beneath the surface. Not offense. Not anger. Something colder. Sharper.

“Happy families,” he repeated, as if testing the words.

Y/N didn’t flinch, but she stayed quiet. Let him answer how he chose.

Finally, he leaned back slightly, elbows resting on the armrests, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“Marriage is a merger. Feelings complicate mergers.”

A beat.

“Heirs secure legacies. I don’t need a wife to achieve that.”

Blunt. Detached. Precisely what she expected.

But still… that wasn’t all of it. She could feel it. The faintest fracture beneath the surface.

She tilted her head slightly.

“You don’t believe in… love?”

His lips twitched not a smile. Something closer to quiet disdain.

“Love is leverage.”

The words dropped like ice between them.

“And leverage,” he added, eyes narrowing faintly, “is a weakness I can’t afford.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Y/N absorbed his answer, the cold logic of it, the ruthless clarity.

But there was something else in his gaze now. Something wary. Like her question had brushed too close to a place even he didn’t like to acknowledge.

“That’s… sad,” she said softly. Not in pity. Just quiet truth.

His jaw tightened. But he didn’t correct her.

Instead, he stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with practiced ease.

“Eat,” was all he said, his voice cool, measured. “The doctor will be back this evening.”

He walked away without another word, footsteps disappearing down the long, empty hall.

Y/N watched him go.

No warmth.

No closeness.

But for the first time…

The ice didn’t feel impenetrable.

The echo of Jungkook’s footsteps faded down the long marble corridor, swallowed by the stillness of the villa.

Y/N sat unmoving at the breakfast table, fingers curling around her lukewarm coffee cup. The untouched food in front of her blurred at the edges of her vision, her thoughts lingering on the conversation that had just unfolded.

Marriage is a merger.

Love is leverage.

Weakness I can’t afford.

The words clung to the air, sharp as glass.

A quiet sound broke her thoughts the faintest rustle of fabric near the doorway. She turned slightly, expecting to see another member of the staff passing through, but the older woman standing by the wall wasn’t moving. She lingered there, hands clasped neatly in front of her, gaze steady but unreadable.

Y/N recognized her. The maid from last night the same one who’d delivered the tray of soup and tea. She hadn’t spoken beyond polite necessity then. Now, her presence carried something else. An unspoken pause. A quiet consideration.

Y/N straightened, not sure if she was supposed to acknowledge her or pretend she hadn’t noticed.

But the woman spoke first.

“He inherits all of that,” the maid said softly, nodding faintly in the direction Jungkook had gone. “The way he talks. The way he thinks. It didn’t start with him.”

Y/N blinked, surprised at the quiet intrusion. It wasn’t unprofessional, but it was… unexpected. Staff here had been polished, distant. Efficient. Not conversational.

Still, curiosity won out. Her voice stayed soft. “What do you mean?”

The maid stepped in, her movements unhurried. There was no fear of being overheard the villa was too large, and Jungkook had long since disappeared into whatever cold, cavernous office the house held.

“He grew up in this world,” the woman explained, her eyes thoughtful, but not unkind. “Contracts. Mergers. Legacy. It’s all they ever taught him to value.”

Y/N frowned faintly. “His parents?”

The maid nodded, beginning to clear the untouched plates with quiet efficiency. But her words continued, low and steady, like they’d been waiting a long time to be spoken.

“His father built this empire from the ground up. Ruthless. Calculated. Every choice measured for advantage. And his mother…” A pause. The woman’s eyes softened slightly, the faintest edge of something like regret brushing her features. “She was… loyal to the structure. Never questioned the rules. Love wasn’t part of the equation. It never is, not in families like theirs.”

Y/N absorbed that, watching the older woman’s hands move gracefully over the table, collecting silverware with practiced ease. It was easy to picture it now the grand, gleaming house filled with sharp edges and colder expectations. Parents who valued heirs over affection. Achievements over joy.

It explained the cracks she’d seen. The exhausted stillness when Jungkook thought no one was looking. The flicker beneath his cold words. A man raised to believe vulnerability was dangerous.

“That’s why he thinks that way,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than to the maid. “That love is leverage.”

The woman gave a quiet hum of agreement, stacking plates with gentle precision. “He learned early that emotions were currency. That showing them… only makes you weak. His parents never made space for anything softer.”

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the empty hallway. The gleaming floors, the towering ceilings, the perfect, polished emptiness of it all.

“And now he’s the same,” she said quietly. “Cold. Detached.”

The maid paused, a faint smile touching the edges of her mouth not cruel, not pitiful. Just… knowing.

“Not entirely,” she said, glancing toward the large window where sunlight poured across the marble. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Y/N tilted her head, uncertain. “This… isn’t exactly romantic.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled faintly with quiet amusement. “Maybe not. But it’s not just business either. Not entirely.” A small shrug. “He didn’t have to pick you. Didn’t have to move you here. Didn’t have to send tea to your room or stand outside a clinic like he cared.”

Y/N’s lips parted in protest, but the words faltered before they could form. Because… maybe, deep down, some part of her had noticed those things too. The quiet gestures buried beneath all that cold professionalism.

Still, caution clung to her ribs. “He doesn’t care. Not like that.”

The maid’s expression softened. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to. But… habits aren’t the same as fate.” She gathered the last of the plates, her gaze steady but kind. “People aren’t born cold. They’re made that way. And sometimes… with enough time… they can be unmade too.”

Y/N stared after her, the quiet echo of the words settling into the air between them.

Unmade.

Could a man like Jeon Jungkook built from legacy and sharp edges ever be softened?

The woman left without waiting for a response, disappearing down the hall with practiced grace, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and the lingering ghost of history.

She turned her gaze back to the untouched coffee, the faint steam now gone. The bitter chill at her fingertips somehow felt… different.

Jungkook’s walls were high. His rules, rigid. But cracks existed. Small, quiet, human fractures. And now, for better or worse… she was standing in the fault line.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreator

[cleverquaketrace]

✧ JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 1

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook, Age 31

The ticking of the antique clock echoed in the room like a slow, deliberate heartbeat mocking him. Steady. Predictable. Unlike people.

Jungkook stood in the center of his penthouse office, the skyline stretching behind him like a kingdom he no longer cared to rule. The room around him was silent. Expensive. Controlled. Just like every other piece of his life.

Behind him, a report lay open on his desk a recommendation from his legal team:

Alternate paths to fatherhood. Options: Private surrogacy. International adoption. Egg donor programs.

He didn’t sit. He rarely did when thinking.

He had no interest in love. Never had, not really.

His own parents’ marriage had been forged in boardrooms, not bedrooms. His mother, brilliant and brittle. His father, distant and disappointed. Jungkook was born not out of affection, but necessity the next heir, the next CEO, the next pawn in the lineage game.

For years, he played his part. Schools with crests on their gates. Business partners with smiles like daggers. Relationships timed and curated, with women who liked his face more than his silence.

But now, at thirty-two, with no remaining family and an empire larger than he could even care about there was only one thing left that still mattered.

Legacy.

Someone to leave it to. Someone who wouldn’t be raised in fear or expectation. Someone who could be his blood… but not his burden.

A child. On his terms.

No strings. No scandals. No affection demanded of him. Just something someone  that would outlast him.

He wasn’t trying to build a family. He was trying to build a future.

His assistant knocked lightly and stepped in. “Chef Na… mentioned someone.”

Jungkook turned slightly. “Someone?”

“A girl. Early twenties. No higher education, but smart. Works at a bakery. Her name is Y/N.”

He raised a brow. “And?”

“She’s healthy. Clean record. Supports her family alone. When asked why she was interested, she didn’t mention the money first. She said, ‘I need to get my life back.’”

That made him pause.

Desperation. Honesty. No illusions. Maybe that was better than ambition.

“Set up a meeting,” he said after a beat. “Make sure she understands the terms.”

The assistant nodded and slipped out.

Jungkook turned back to the glass, watching the city below like a man on top of the world and yet entirely alone in it.

He didn’t want love. He didn’t believe in it.

But maybe, just maybe… He still wanted something to leave behind.

Jeon Jungkook built his empire on discipline, fear, and control. At thirty-one, he had everything the world measured as success power, wealth, an untouchable reputation. But beneath the sharp suits and colder stare lay a simple truth:

Emotions are weakness. Love was a lie.

Family? Family was a legacy to secure, not a bond to nurture.

He didn’t want a wife. He wanted an heir. And like every other aspect of his life, that too would be handled with ruthless precision.

No complications. No attachments. No room for softness.

You, at twenty-five, were an afterthought in a world like his. Working long hours at a small bakery tucked in the quieter part of the city, your life revolved around survival. After your father’s death, holding your family together was the only thing that mattered. Your mother’s hospital bills, your younger sister’s education they were weights you carried with quiet endurance.

So when Jungkook’s private chef your neighbor, who’d watched you come home exhausted night after night offered a solution, you didn’t hesitate.

Not because you were desperate.

But because you had no choice.

The contract was simple: Live in the house of his estate for medical monitoring.No closeness.No contact.Just cold professionalism.

  But nothing about this arrangement stayed simple for long.

You weren’t what he expected. And despite everything he claimed despite the walls of ice around his heart he wasn’t untouched by emotion.

Your quiet strength, your steady resolve, they started to chip away at his control.In between sterile clinics, silent dinners, and guarded conversations… something began to shift.Not with grand declarations.But with moments.

Lingering gazes. Unexpected protection. Small cracks in the facade of a man who vowed never to feel.

This isn’t a love story.

It’s the slow thaw of two people who were never supposed to feel anything at all.

The hum of the old ceiling fan was the only sound in the room, spinning with a lazy rhythm that matched the heaviness in Y/N’s chest.

Her mother slept fitfully in the hospital bed, the IV line trembling slightly every time her hand twitched. The beeping of the monitor was steady but sharp, cutting through the stillness like a quiet reminder: time was running out.

Y/N sat by the window, legs curled up on the hard plastic chair, a medical bill folder open in her lap. Numbers swam in front of her eyes—too many zeros, too few ways out. She’d already sold what she could. Picked up extra shifts. Skipped meals. Cried in stairwells. And still, it was never enough.

In the corner of the room, her little sister sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a textbook borrowed from the school library. The pages were torn, taped at the edges. Her pencil was chewed nearly to the eraser.

“You’re gonna ace that science exam,” Y/N murmured, forcing a smile.

Her sister didn’t look up. “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”

Y/N blinked. Her throat went tight. “Don’t be. I’ve got it handled.”

A lie. But spoken gently. Hopefully.

That night, when the hospital cafeteria had closed and the nurse shift changed, she stepped outside to the vending machine for a cheap cup of coffee. Her phone buzzed.

A name she didn’t recognize. A message she almost ignored.

Jeon Group.

“You are expected to meet Mr. Jeon this weekend.” from his secretary.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the delete button.

But something in her chest shifted. Not hope she didn’t believe in that anymore. But desperation? That was something she understood. Something she could use.

She opened the message.

That’s how it began.

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The silence in the room was velvet. Y/N sat stiffly at the far end of the long, obsidian-glass table, her palms pressed flat against her lap to keep them from trembling. The chair beneath her felt wrong too soft, too expensive, too out of place for someone like her. Much like the towering walls, the marble floors, the panoramic windows that offered a view of the city she could barely afford to live in. She hadn’t even dared to touch the glass of water the butler had placed in front of her.

Across from her, seated with the posture of a man who never needed to prove himself, was Jeon Jungkook. He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t. Smiling wasn’t part of his brand. Clad in a tailored three-piece charcoal suit, the subtle sheen of the fabric whispering its obscene price, and a wristwatch that probably cost more than her entire apartment building, Jungkook exuded the quiet, calculated power of someone who owned rooms like this and the people who entered them.

For the first thirty seconds, he said nothing. He simply watched her. Legs crossed. Fingers steepled. Expression unreadable. It wasn’t the silence of a man unsure of what to say. It was the silence of someone deciding whether or not she was worth speaking to. The only sound in the room was the faint ticking of his watch.

Finally, his voice cut through the quiet. Smooth. Precise. Like glass just before it cracks. “You’re younger than I expected.”

Y/N blinked once, steadying her breathing. “I’m twenty-five,” she replied, her voice quiet but not weak.

He nodded once. “No medical conditions. No addictions. You’ve passed all screenings.” A pause. His gaze sharpened, clinical. “Why are you really here?”

She hesitated but not because she didn’t know the answer. Because she wasn’t sure if the truth would be considered acceptable in this world. But lying wouldn’t help her here. “For the money,” she said plainly, lifting her chin. “To pay my mother’s hospital bills. And my sister’s school fees.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not emotion. Something colder. Calculation, maybe. “Honest.” He leaned back slightly. “That’s rare.”

She swallowed. “I figured lying would waste your time.”

A small, barely-there crease appeared between his brows. A shift so faint most people would’ve missed it. But she was watching him too closely. “Living arrangements will be provided,” he continued, his voice crisp now, all business. “Doctors. Nutritionists. Full medical support. But I expect cooperation. Discretion. No drama.” “I understand.” “And no expectation of... attachment.”

Her lips parted, caught slightly off guard by the bluntness. But only for a second. “I wasn’t planning on falling in love with the father of the baby, if that’s what you mean.”

That... did something. Not a smile. But the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. The ghost of an expression gone before she could be certain it was ever there. For the first time, his gaze shifted fractionally less like he was assessing a transaction, and more like he was considering a possibility.

Then he stood. Effortless. Commanding. She followed, awkwardly, her legs unsteady but her spine straight. The deal wasn’t sealed yet. Not officially. But both of them knew. She’d just stepped into a world colder than winter. Ruthless. Controlled. His world. And yet, something about the way he looked at her calm, unreadable, calculating didn’t make her shrink back.

The Agreement The contract was twenty-two pages long. Neatly printed. Bound in matte black. Heavy in her hands, heavier still in its implications. It didn’t read like something that would change two lives. It read like a transaction. Cold. Efficient. Legal.

Y/N sat in the quiet of a private law office, her thumb grazing the edge of the last page. A silver pen rested beside the signature line, its weight matching the one lodged in her chest.

Across from her, the lawyer spoke again, voice smooth and rehearsed. “As stated, upon confirmation of pregnancy, you will receive the first installment. Full compensation will be granted upon delivery. You will be provided medical care, a private residence, and full confidentiality protection.”

Y/N nodded. She’d read it all. More than once. Clause 5.2: Emotional involvement is discouraged. Clause 7.4: No parental rights retained by the biological mother. Clause 8.1: Contact post-delivery is neither guaranteed nor expected.

It was all so… sterile. Like the child was an investment. Like she was a vessel. And yet it made sense. It was honest. Brutal, but honest. He didn’t want love. She didn’t expect it. He needed an heir. She needed a way out.

At the bottom of the page, his name was already signed. Jeon Jungkook. Inked in dark, precise handwriting. She stared at it for a moment. The signature of a man she hadn’t even met yet. Only seen from a distance in tabloids, whispered about on her neighborhood��s TV at night. The youngest CEO of his company. A man with ice in his eyes and legacy in his blood. A man who wanted a child but not a family. A man willing to pay for silence, compliance, and a clean break.

She picked up the pen. Her fingers didn’t tremble. Because she wasn’t doing this for him. She was doing it for her mother, hooked up to machines in a hospital room that smelled like bleach and loss. For her sister, too young to understand that growing up poor meant trading dreams for survival.

The pen moved. One signature. One date. And just like that, her life split cleanly in two. Before the contract. After.

Next day: The villa was too quiet. Y/N stood just inside the marble-floored foyer, her suitcase by her side, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. The air smelled faintly of expensive wood polish and something citrusy clean, sharp, unfamiliar.

A butler had let her in, offered a brief, formal welcome, then disappeared down a corridor with quiet efficiency. She’d been left to stand alone, absorbing the space that would now, technically, be home. If home could ever feel this cold.

The villa wasn’t just large. It was sprawling. All sharp edges and sleek modern design, as if warmth was deliberately excluded from the blueprint. Glass walls framed a panoramic view of the hillside and the distant glitter of the city skyline below. Every surface gleamed. Every corner whispered wealth.

And somewhere beyond those glass walls, Jeon Jungkook resided. Not that she expected to see him today. Their agreement had been strictly transactional her presence here was for medical monitoring, routine check-ups, and ensuring the pregnancy proceeded as planned. Their paths didn’t need to cross beyond that.

Still, her pulse quickened when the faintest sound of footsteps echoed from the far hallway. She didn’t turn immediately. Let him come to her. The footsteps stopped just behind her. “You're early.” His voice. Cool. Smooth. As unreadable as ever.

Y/N turned, meeting his gaze. Jungkook stood there in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, no tie today but even without the suit, he carried himself with the same distant authority. Hands in his pockets, jaw sharp, eyes darker than they’d seemed yesterday across the negotiating table.

“The hospital discharged my mother sooner than expected,” she explained quietly. “I thought it would be easier to settle in now.”

A pause. Not awkward, but weighted. His gaze lingered a moment too long before shifting away. “The guestroom is ready. Full staff at your disposal. Doctors will begin routine checks tomorrow.”

She nodded. He didn’t offer pleasantries. No small talk. Just precise information, like reading terms off a contract. But then, as she reached for the suitcase, his voice stopped her. “Someone will show you to the guestroom.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. His footsteps echoed down the hall, disappearing into the vast, empty quiet of the villa.

Y/N exhaled slowly. This wasn’t a love story. That much remained clear. But as she rolled her suitcase toward the waiting staff member.

In Evening, In hospital: The clinic was quiet. Immaculate. Sterile in a way that made Y/N's skin itch beneath her sleeves. White walls. Glass partitions. The faint, clinical scent of antiseptic. Everything here was expensive not just in design, but in the subtle way the nurses moved, efficient and unbothered, as though they were used to handling the private affairs of the world's elite.

She sat on the edge of the consultation bed, fingers curled loosely in her lap, wearing a soft cotton gown the nurse had handed her. Her clothes were folded neatly on a chair nearby. Her heart beat steady faster than normal, but not panicked. This was what she signed up for.

Still, the door opening made her spine straighten involuntarily. Jeon Jungkook entered, trailed by a doctor in a sharp white coat and a clipboard. His presence was as commanding here as it had been in the villa even without the suit, even beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting, he looked completely, infuriatingly in control.

His eyes skimmed over her, briefly, unreadably. No words. Just a quiet assessment.

The doctor spoke first. “Good morning, Miss Y/N.” A professional smile. “We’ll be conducting the final assessments today before the embryo transfer.”

Y/N nodded. Her voice came steady, despite the faint knot in her chest. “Okay.”

The doctor’s explanation was thorough blood work, ultrasounds, final screenings to ensure compatibility. She listened carefully, her expression composed. Duty. That’s what this was. Not desperation duty.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jungkook leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. His gaze wasn’t on her it was fixed on the medical files on the table. But even from across the room, his presence coiled through the air like a quiet storm.

The procedure itself would be handled in private. He didn’t need to be here not for this part. “You don’t have to stay,” she said finally, eyes on the doctor, but the words directed at him.

There was a pause. Then Jungkook spoke, low and flat. “I’m not here for your comfort.”

She turned to meet his gaze. He wasn’t being cruel just honest. Neither of them spoke after that.

The assessments went on. Blood pressure. Ultrasound. Measurements. The doctor’s voice steady, clinical. Y/N answered questions, signed forms, endured tests in silence. And all the while, Jungkook stayed in the corner. Watching. Not interfering. But present. Not for her comfort. Not for sentiment. For control. For certainty.

When it was done, she changed back into her clothes, stepping out into the polished hallway where Jungkook waited, phone in hand. “The transfer is scheduled for next week,” he informed her, his tone strictly business. “A car will pick you up. After that, you stay at the villa full-time until delivery.”

She nodded. Simple. Clear. But as she turned to leave, his voice stopped her again. “You handled that better than most.”

Y/N glanced back, surprised. “Most?” “We’ve had… candidates before.” His eyes held no warmth. Just cool calculation. “They weren’t as composed.”

She absorbed that silently. A small part of her wondered what happened to those candidates. But she didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. “I’m not here to fall apart,” she replied instead. “Good,” he said, already turning away.

“Neither am I.”

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface @yungies

[cleverquaketrace]

✧ JK — HEIR OF ICE — TEASER!

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader status — ongoing release — chapter one: 8th July

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

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You need the money. He needs an heir.

Jungkook, a 31-year-old billionaire CEO, built his empire on discipline, fear, and control. To him, emotions are weaknesses. Love is a lie. Family is a legacy to secure, not a bond to nurture. He wants an heir not a wife.

You’re 25, working long hours in a small bakery, doing your best to hold together what’s left of your family after your father’s death. With your mother unwell and your younger sister depending on you, sacrifice has become your second skin.

When Jungkook’s private chef your neighbor quietly offers a solution, you agree to the contract. Not because you’re desperate. But because you have no choice. You move into the guesthouse of his estate for medical monitoring. No closeness. No contact. Just cold professionalism.

But you aren’t what he expected. And he isn’t as untouched by emotion as he claims.

Your quiet strength begins to challenge the ice in him. And in between sterile halls, silent dinners, and guarded conversations… something begins to shift. No grand declarations. Just moments. Lingering gazes. Unexpected protection. A bond that grows not in the light, but in the dark slow, quiet, and deeply rooted.

This isn’t a love story. This is the slow thaw of two people who were never supposed to feel anything at all.

[cleverquaketrace]

✧ JK — HEIR OF ICE — Contract Heir AU!

He wanted an heir. She needed a way out. The contract promised detachment— But something colder than love is starting to thaw.

Release Date: First chapter on 8th July

Summery: contract Heir, cold/dominant CEO!Jungkook, power imbalance, emotional repression, forced proximity (guesthouse monitoring), corporate luxury meets quiet poverty, caretaking disguised as control, one-sided vulnerability (then not-so-one-sided), grief themes, accidental intimacy, soft domestic moments under hard emotional layers, slowest of slow burns, silences that say too much, possession without permission, lingering touches, contract clauses with emotional consequences, control vs connection, internal push-pull, gazes held too long across cold marble floors, reluctant protectiveness, sleeping under the same roof but feeling oceans apart, and the question neither of them dares to speak: What if we were never supposed to be just this?