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dreamersparacosm · 3 days ago

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jeon jungkook - loves me, loves me not (part two)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, oral (f recieving), fingering, unprotected sex

request ; linked here

prompt ; in which two childhood best friends fake a relationship for the public eye, but after one rule-breaking kiss, neither of them can pretend anymore.

note ; eeeeek part two!!! i love this duo sm so sad to see them go but this part was so fun to write, enjoy my loves!

part one

You’re not entirely sure when the liquor started betraying you this bad. When you were 20, during a night where apple soju tasted like water, you had hooked up with a friend just for the plot. When you were 22, tipsy off wine that only your parents could afford, you made out with one of your other friends to prove that you could. Now… well, now, the champagne you’re sporting has you lowering all your inhibitions and every last shred of dignity. The night continues in a haze of bubbles and warm laughter, the glow of the gala casting everything in golden light. You should be at ease—your parents are beaming, the public adores you and Jungkook together, and everything is going exactly as planned.

Except for the fact that his hand has been on you all night, and you’re not handling it as well as you should.

At first, it was subtle—his fingers grazing the back of your palm as he handed you a glass of wine, the press of his knee against yours under the table. But then he started running his palm down the curve of your spine absentmindedly, his touch featherlight yet burning, his fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles on your lower back as he spoke to his father. And you? You were fighting for your life trying to act unaffected.

“You know,” you murmur as you lean into his side, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm, “you’re actually pretty decent at this whole ‘pretend boyfriend’ thing.”

Jungkook chuckles, low and smooth, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Decent?” he repeats, feigning offense. “I’d say I’m excelling. You haven’t been able to keep your hands off me all night.”

You scoff, but your grip on his bicep betrays you. “That’s the champagne talking.”

“Mm.” He hums in amusement, his free hand landing on the small of your back, fingers barely pressing against the fabric of your gown. “Or maybe you just like touching me.”

You shoot him a glare, but the warmth pooling in your stomach tells another story.

Before you can formulate a sharp retort, the sound of a spoon clinking against glass silences the room. All eyes turn toward your parents, standing at the front of the ballroom with glowing smiles.

Your mother beams. “We just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being here tonight. It means the world to us to see so many familiar faces supporting such a wonderful cause.”

Your father nods, lifting his glass. “And, of course, we can’t let the night go by without acknowledging how proud we are of our daughter and her soon-to-be—” He pauses for dramatic effect, eyes twinkling. “Well, let’s just say, we couldn’t be happier.”

Your stomach drops.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, his fingers flexing against your back. You freeze, heat rushing to your face. Soon-to-be what? No, no, no. They can’t be implying—

“Oh?” Jungkook murmurs, clearly entertained. His voice is teasing, but there’s something beneath it, something quieter. “Didn’t realize we were making things official-official.”

You force a laugh, heart hammering. “They’re just getting ahead of themselves.”

“Right,” he drawls, but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he tugs you closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “You’re not running, though.”

You should be. You should be laughing this off, shoving him away, rolling your eyes like you always do. But you don’t. You can’t. Because some ridiculous, champagne-drunk part of you isn’t completely horrified at the idea.

And the worst part? Jungkook doesn’t look horrified either. In fact, he looks like he finds this quite comical.

He turns his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he leans in. “Didn’t realize you wanted to marry me so bad,” he murmurs, his voice all teasing silk.

You turn to glare at him, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks. “Shut up.”

He grins, entirely too pleased with himself, but the way he’s holding you feels different now—less for show, more like he’s testing the waters. He doesn’t let go, even as the evening carries on, even as you find yourself more hyper-aware of every touch, every brush of his fingers, every lingering glance.

At some point, it becomes too much. You need air.

You excuse yourself quietly, slipping away from the ballroom and stepping onto the terrace, where the cool night air greets you in a much-needed embrace. You rest your hands on the railing, inhaling deeply, willing your heartbeat to settle.

“Running away from me?”

You close your eyes briefly before turning to find Jungkook leaning against the doorway, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. He’s loosened his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white button down, showing off his array of tattoos (which you swear he’s doing on purpose.)

“Just needed a moment,” you reply.

He steps closer, and you don’t move away. “Big night,” he muses. “Lots of champagne.”

“And unwanted proposals, apparently.”

He smirks. “Come on, you’re not completely horrified by the idea.”

You scoff. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his smirk widening as he takes another step toward you. “Then why are you blushing?”

You open your mouth to retort, but he lifts a hand before you can, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. His touch is featherlight as he fixes the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his gaze flickering to yours as he smooths it back into place.

The air between you shifts, thickening with something you’re not ready to name.

You should step back. You should break the moment before it spirals. But you don’t.

Instead, you watch him, heart in your throat, as his fingers linger just a second too long, his eyes searching yours for something. And for the first time, you don’t know if you’d stop him if he decided to close the distance between you.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he lets his hand drop, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “Better?”

You swallow hard. “Fine.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers over your face, as if committing this moment to memory. And then, finally, he steps back.

“Good,” he says. But the way he looks at you before he turns to head back inside tells you this is far from over.

You watch his silhouette disappear back into the ballroom, and an exhale you didn’t know you were holding frees itself from your mouth. Normally, you’re the composed one, the golden child, the girl boss. Now you’ve just dwindled yourself down to some lovesick girl who can’t even handle a simple fixing of a dress strap. It’s all too much, really.

All this to say: you need another drink.

You waltz back inside, beelining. You don’t even look for Jungkook, no use in continuing your torture for the night. Maybe a break is what you need, you’re entitled to one.

It’s no surprise to anyone you get approached by some man within a few minutes, who under normal circumstances, you would say is your type. You’re standing near the bar, champagne glass in hand, listening—at least trying to listen—to whatever the man in front of you is saying. He’s charming, effortlessly smooth, the kind of man your mother would nudge you toward with an encouraging smile. But you’re barely hearing a word.

Because once you finally do a quick scan across the room, Jungkook is smiling at her.

Ara.

She’s always been around, floating within your circles like a perfectly poised ghost. She’s beautiful in that effortless, delicate way, the kind that makes men want to lean in, to hear her every word. She’s got a hand on Jungkook’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails resting there like they belong, and worst of all—he isn’t pulling away.

Your grip tightens around the stem of your glass, your nails pressing into your palm.

You’ve seen him with girls before. You’ve watched him charm, flirt, entertain. And it never mattered. It never made your stomach curl like this, never made your skin prickle with something dangerous and hot.

But this?

You take a sip of your champagne, trying to drown out the feeling, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you. The man—Seojun, maybe?—says something that makes you laugh politely, and yet, even as you force the sound out, your gaze flickers back to Jungkook like a magnet.

And that’s when it happens.

Ara tilts her head, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she leans in closer. Jungkook says something that makes her laugh, and then—then she touches him, a light, lingering brush over his forearm.

Your stomach drops.

It’s irrational. You know it is. This isn’t real. None of it is real. And yet your body betrays you, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape the confines of your ribs.

"Are you even listening to me?" Seojun—yes, that’s his name—tilts his head at you, amused.

You blink, pulling yourself back into the present, forcing a practiced smile. "Of course," you lie.

But your eyes betray you, flickering back to Jungkook.

And that’s when you catch him looking.

He isn’t focused on Ara anymore. No, his gaze is locked onto you, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand.

You swallow.

He knows.

And the worst part?

He smirks.

Your champagne glass is empty before you even realize it. The bubbles fizz down your throat, but they do nothing to cool the simmering heat curling in your stomach.

You barely hear Seojun’s next words. You barely feel the polite, empty smile you throw in his direction. All you can focus on is Jungkook and the way he’s still standing there with Ara, letting her touch him, letting her laugh in that perfectly practiced way that’s just a little too sweet.

And that smirk. That damn smirk he gave you when he caught you staring.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you set your empty glass down on the nearest table, murmur something that vaguely sounds like an excuse to Seojun, and turn on your heel. Your steps aren’t exactly steady—whether from the champagne or the heat in your veins, you’re not sure—but you don’t care.

Because Jungkook needs to be reminded of something.

He is yours. Even if it’s pretend. Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s just for the public.

You reach them just as Ara tilts her chin, her glossy lips parting, ready to say something that you really don’t care to hear. But she never gets the chance.

Because you step between them, seamlessly sliding into Jungkook’s space as if you belong there—which, you do. Your hands find his lapels, smoothing over the fabric of his suit with a familiarity that feels as natural as breathing. Your body presses against his side, your fingers sliding down his chest like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Jungkook tenses slightly, his hand instinctively coming to rest on your waist.

“Baby,” you purr, loud enough for Ara to hear, your voice dripping with lazy affection. “Are you done entertaining?”

Jungkook blinks, startled, before his lips curl into something amused. You can feel the chuckle rumble in his chest before he even speaks. “Was I entertaining?”

You tilt your head, fingers idly playing with the collar of his shirt. “Not really,” you say, scrunching your nose. “It was getting boring, so I came to save you.”

Ara shifts beside you, her gaze flickering between you and Jungkook. “I was just catching up with—”

“Hmm?” You hum distractedly, finally turning your gaze to her, blinking like you hadn’t noticed her standing there this whole time. “Oh. Sorry, Ara, what were you saying?”

Ara falters, eyes narrowing slightly, but you’re already nuzzling your cheek against Jungkook’s shoulder, a deliberate, intimate movement that makes his grip on your waist tighten.

“Nothing important,” Ara finally says, her voice a touch too tight.

“Didn’t think so,” you say sweetly, letting your fingers trail down Jungkook’s arm before lacing them with his.

“Anyway, we should go. Right, baby?” You blink up at him through your lashes, giving his fingers a light squeeze.

Jungkook is silent for a moment, as if processing what the hell just happened. And then, to your surprise, his smirk softens into something darker, something more interested. He looks down at you, his grip on your waist tightening for just a second before his free hand lifts, his knuckles brushing along your jaw in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, meant only for you.

Your breath hitches. Just for a second. Just enough for his smirk to return.

Ara clears her throat, clearly unimpressed. “Well. It was nice seeing you, Jungkook.”

“You too,” he says absently, but his gaze never leaves yours.

You tug at his hand, ready to make a grand exit, but Jungkook resists just long enough to lean in and murmur against the shell of your ear, “That was hot.”

You scoff, ignoring the way your stomach flips at the warmth of his breath. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, following you without hesitation. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

“I was not jealous.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, a little too soft, a little too real. “Whatever you say.”

You should let go. You should be irritated. But you don’t.

And he definitely notices.

You shake off the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s touch, pushing away the ridiculous notion that you had anything to be jealous about. This isn’t real. It never was. And if he wants to flirt with Ara, or any other perfectly poised socialite, then what does it matter to you?

“Come on,” you say briskly, tugging at his wrist as you weave through the ballroom. “We have a reputation to maintain.”

Jungkook allows himself to be dragged, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Oh? So now you care about appearances?”

You ignore him, leading him toward the grander part of the hall where familiar laughter rings out. And then, just as you expected, you stumble upon your family members—drunk, loud, and far too comfortable in the lavish setting. Some elders are seated, glasses of wine half-empty, while a few uncles and aunts chatter excitedly, their faces flushed with warmth and liquor.

“Ah! Look who it is!” your uncle exclaims, eyes twinkling as he waves you over. “Our beautiful couple. The stars of the night.”

You offer a polite smile, but Jungkook, ever the charmer, leans in and bows his head slightly. “Always a pleasure.”

One of the elders, an older gentleman with decades of power woven into the deep lines of his face, chuckles as he swirls his drink. “You two certainly look the part,” he muses, raising a brow. “But tell me, have any of us actually seen you kiss?”

The air shifts.

You feel it immediately, the way Jungkook stiffens beside you, the way your breath catches mid-inhale. A sudden, sinking feeling pools in your stomach, a flush creeping up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Oh, we don’t—” you start, forcing out a laugh, but your aunt cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“Ah, come now, it’s just a little kiss! Nothing we haven’t all done in our youth,” she teases, nudging the woman beside her. “You two are in love, aren’t you?”

Jungkook clears his throat, his fingers tightening slightly where they rest at your lower back. “Of course,” he says smoothly, his voice composed, but you can feel the tension humming beneath it. “But you know how it is—she’s a little shy.”

Your head whips toward him, eyes narrowing. Shy?

The elders laugh, clearly entertained. “A little kiss won’t hurt, dear,” one of the women chimes in. “Give the people what they want!”

Your palms grow clammy. The entire table is watching, eyes alight with expectation, and your heartbeat drums a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This was never part of the deal. A public kiss? In front of your entire family?

Jungkook turns to you slightly, reading your expression in an instant. And for once, he doesn’t tease. He doesn’t smirk or provoke. Instead, he leans in ever so slightly, dropping his voice so that only you can hear.

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs. “Just say the word.”

The warmth of his breath ghosts over your cheek, and suddenly, you’re aware of how close he is, how his fingers are still splayed protectively along your spine. It’s the gentleness in his voice that almost undoes you, the unspoken question lingering between you.

You swallow hard, mind racing for an escape. Then, in a last-ditch effort, you tilt your chin, feigning exasperation as you lightly pat his chest. “Please. If they want a show, they’re going to have to wait until we’re somewhere more private.”

And when you dare to glance up at him, his gaze is already on you, something lurking, simmering behind those dark eyes.

You don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you almost let him kiss you, or the fact that, for a split second, you wanted him to.

The table erupts in hoots and laughter, satisfied with your answer, taking it as a cheeky refusal rather than outright rejection.

Jungkook chuckles, playing along effortlessly. “You heard her,” he drawls, eyes dancing with amusement. “Guess you’ll just have to keep wondering.”

The laughter at the table settles, but the teasing doesn’t.

“Come on now, just one little kiss,” an older woman coos, her wine glass swaying in her hand. “We’re old, humor us.”

“Exactly,” your uncle chimes in, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “A quick peck, and we’ll let you two lovebirds go.”

You feel your stomach twist, your fingers clenching against the fabric of your dress. The whole table is watching, waiting, their amused smiles only making your pulse quicken. You glance at Jungkook, hoping he’ll throw out another clever remark to dodge the situation, but to your horror—

He turns to you.

Your breath catches in your throat as his hand, warm and steady, slides from your back to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. Your heart is hammering now, and you barely have time to process what’s happening before his lips press against yours.

It’s soft at first. Barely there. A gentle, careful touch, like he’s giving you time to pull away. But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because the second your body realizes what’s happening, a spark ignites, and everything tilts. The warmth of his mouth melts into yours, his fingers tightening slightly at your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek as he deepens the kiss just enough to make the world around you disappear.

Your breath stutters, and for a split second, you let yourself lean in. You let yourself taste the champagne on his lips, let yourself drown in the scent of him—warm spice and something inherently Jungkook.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulls away.

The entire table erupts in cheers and teasing whistles, but you barely hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your lips still tingle, your breath uneven, your entire body still caught in the aftershocks of what just happened.

Jungkook, meanwhile, is completely unbothered.

He leans back into his chair, stretching one arm over the backrest, a smug, lazy smile curving his lips. “Happy now?” he drawls, glancing at the elders, who are positively delighted.

You can barely look at him. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, your heart still racing in your chest. Rule number one—no kissing—just shattered like glass, and he’s sitting there looking as if he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down.

You grab your glass of champagne and down the rest in one go, ignoring the way Jungkook chuckles beside you.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he murmurs, just low enough for you to hear.

You turn to him sharply, your voice quieter but sharp. “What the hell was that?”

He raises a brow, feigning innocence. “What? They asked for a kiss.”

“That was not just a kiss,” you hiss, leaning in slightly, your hands gripping your dress so hard it might tear. “You—”

“Relax.” His fingers toy with the stem of his wine glass, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “It’s all for show, right?”

You hate him. You hate him so much.

And worse, you hate how badly you want to kiss him again.

The night drags on, an endless cycle of goodbyes, firm handshakes, and air kisses. You stand near the grand entrance of the venue, your parents beside you, Jungkook effortlessly charming the last lingering guests. His hand is in his pocket, his posture relaxed, but you know him well enough to notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drum idly against his thigh.

You haven't spoken since the kiss.

The moment lingers in your mind like a brand, burning at the edges of your composure. Every time you glance at Jungkook, your lips tingle with the phantom memory of his, and it infuriates you. Because this was never supposed to happen. Because he’s acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

Finally, the last of the guests trickle out. Your parents squeeze your shoulder, still beaming, oblivious to the storm raging beneath your skin. Then, at last, you and Jungkook step outside, your car already waiting.

The ride is silent.

The chauffeur drives smoothly through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, but neither of you speaks. There’s no teasing remark from Jungkook, no smug grin, no sideways glances. He’s staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping idly against his knee.

You should let it go. You should leave it be.

But you can’t.

“You broke rule number one.”

Your voice is quiet but firm, slicing through the stillness.

Jungkook’s head tilts slightly in your direction, his brows raising. “Excuse me?”

You grip the edge of your dress, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “Rule number one,” you repeat. “No kissing. And you—”

You exhale sharply, staring out the window, shaking your head. “You just did it, like it was nothing.”

Jungkook shifts slightly, turning his body toward you. “What else was I supposed to do?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something unreadable in his tone. “They weren’t going to let it go. It was the easiest way out.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Anything but that.”

Jungkook frowns, clearly not understanding your reaction. “Why does it matter? It was just a kiss.”

Your heart twists violently in your chest. Just a kiss.

“It wasn’t part of the contract,” you snap, finally turning to face him. “We had rules. We agreed on them. And you—”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “You don’t get to just change them whenever you feel like it.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re overthinking this.”

You let out a humorless laugh, your fingers curling into fists on your lap. “Overthinking?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperation creeping into his voice now. “It was one kiss, in front of a crowd, to keep up appearances. You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be.”

Something inside you snaps.

“Stop it,” you burst out, your voice cracking slightly. “Stop acting like this is nothing. Stop acting like we can just go back to how things were before.”

Jungkook stares at you, caught off guard. The air between you is thick, heavy, pulsing with something unsaid, something neither of you are willing to dissect.

Two weeks. That’s all that’s left. Two weeks before this ends, before you both walk away, before everything you’ve built—fake or not—disappears.

And it’s killing you.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to look away. “Just—” Your voice lowers, shoulders sagging slightly. “Just stop.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Doesn’t fight back. He only watches you, his expression unreadable, his hands curling into fists against his lap.

The car slows to a stop in front of his house. Without another word, you unlock the door, waiting.

Jungkook hesitates for just a moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he steps out.

The second the door closes behind him, you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your fingers against your temples. Your heart is still racing, your skin still burning.

Rule number one is broken. And you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fallout.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next two weeks pass in a blur of long workdays and sleepless nights. You throw yourself into your job, burying yourself in meetings, in paperwork, in anything that keeps your mind from wandering back to him. You ignore his texts, let his calls go to voicemail, pretend you don’t notice when he lingers outside family events you used to attend together.

But no matter how much distance you try to put between you, it doesn’t change the fact that the stupid kiss is all you can think about. It’s there when you wake up, a phantom sensation lingering on your lips. It’s there when you try to eat, when you push food around your plate without appetite. It’s there when you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep because every time you close your eyes, you see him. The way he looked at you right before he kissed you. The way he played it off like it was nothing.

And then, just like that, you get your wish.

You’re standing in Jungkook’s mother’s office, the air thick with finality. Your parents are there, seated beside you, their expressions unreadable. Across from you, Jungkook sits with his back straight, his hands clasped together as he listens. He looks composed—calm, even—but you know him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch slightly against his knee.

His mother folds her hands neatly on the desk, her expression warm but firm. “[Y/N], thank you so much, darling. You both did great. And honestly, these three months flew by. The press reaction from this was pristine, both of you sold it,” she praises, her voice smooth, unwavering. “Effective immediately, you’re both free.”

Free.

The word lands like a stone in your stomach.

Your wish has been granted. The contract is voided. No more appearances, no more pretending.

You should feel relieved. You should feel victorious.

So why does it feel like the ground has just disappeared beneath your feet?

Jungkook is silent beside you, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t say a word. Not when your mother thanks his. Not when the papers are slid across the desk. Not when the pens are handed to you both, waiting for signatures to make it official.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the pen, hovering over the paper. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for.

Then why do you feel like you’re about to sign away something you can’t ever get back?

The moment the ink dries on the contract, you push back your chair and stand. The silence in the room is suffocating, pressing down on your chest, on your throat, making it impossible to breathe. Your heart is pounding, your hands feel cold, and you hate it—hate that this feels more like a loss than a victory.

“Thank god,” you mutter, voice sharp, controlled. Then, without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out.

No one stops you. Not your parents. Not Jungkook’s mother. Not Jungkook.

You don’t slow down until you reach the crisp night air. It bites at your skin, cool and fresh, grounding you just enough to keep your expression neutral. You march toward your car, heels clicking against the pavement, jaw locked so tightly you might break it.

This is good. This is what you wanted.

So why does it feel like you’re falling apart, like your body is crumbling into itty bitty pieces, and someone will have to come pick up your residue tomorrow?

Your fingers fumble with the car keys, desperate to get inside before anyone can question the way your breath is unsteady, the way your chest is too tight, the way everything—everything—feels wrong.

But before you can open the door, you hear it—

“Wait.”

Jungkook.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a fraction of a second before turning around. He’s jogging toward you, his shirt slightly rumpled, his expression unreadable but determined.

“What?” you say, forcing a sigh, keeping your voice cold, distant.

He stops just a few feet away, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks. His chest rises and falls with the weight of whatever he’s about to say, and you hate that you already know it’s going to hurt.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?” His voice isn’t accusing—it’s raw, strained, almost desperate. “You cut me off like I was nothing. I—I don’t understand.”

You clench your jaw, turning back to your car. “There was nothing left to say.”

Jungkook takes a step closer. “Bullshit.”

You flinch. He never speaks to you like that.

“I miss you,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s a confession. “I miss my best friend. I miss you calling me at midnight just to complain about a meeting you have the next day. I miss you showing up at my house and stealing my food like you own the place. I miss you annoying me, because even when you were driving me insane, you were still there.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry about the kiss. If that’s what ruined this, then—I don’t know—let’s just forget it happened. I’ll do anything to go back.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him, your hands gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping you standing. And then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, like vomit that splatters on the driveway. You know it’s coming out before you can even halt it.

“It’s not the kiss.”

Jungkook’s brows knit together. “Then what is it?”

You exhale shakily, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s me.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “What?”

“I’m losing my mind,” you admit, shaking your head, a breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“At some point along the way, something changed, and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.” You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “I wanted it to be real.”

The words hang between you, heavy, irreversible. Jungkook’s lips part slightly, but no words come out. And that silence—that hesitation—it’s all the confirmation you need.

You let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, dropping your gaze. “But you don’t. And I already knew that.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches, his jaw clenching, but he says nothing.

So you nod once, as if settling something within yourself. Like telling yourself it’s done, that’s enough now. Then you turn, open the car door, and slide inside.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you.

The moment you step inside your apartment, the weight of everything crashes down on you like a tidal wave. You barely make it past the front door before your vision blurs, your breath hitching as the sobs come hard and fast.

You don’t cry over guys. You never have. You’re the one who walks away first, the one who keeps her heart locked away behind sharp wit and an untouchable exterior. You make men cry, not the other way around.

But this—this is different.

Because it’s Jungkook. And somewhere along the way, between fake dates and stolen moments, between the teasing smirks and the way he looked at you when no one else was watching, you fell. Hard.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will away the ache in your chest, but it’s no use. The tears won’t stop. They pour down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, until your shoulders shake and your knees threaten to give out beneath you.

Desperate for anything to calm yourself, you stumble into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine. Your hands are trembling so badly that some of it spills onto the counter, but you don’t care. You take a deep sip, your throat burning, but the warmth does nothing to dull the pain lodged deep in your ribs.

A choked sob slips from your lips as you sink onto the couch, curling in on yourself, your glass clutched between shaking fingers. The world outside is quiet, but inside, your heart is a storm, unraveling piece by piece.

And then—

A knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, you consider ignoring it. Maybe it’s your neighbor, maybe they heard you, maybe—

Another knock, louder this time.

You groan, wiping at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand before stumbling toward the door. You swing it open, expecting concern, expecting pity—

But instead, you find Jungkook.

He’s breathless, his chest rising and falling like he just ran all the way from his parents’ house to your apartment. Sweat beads at his forehead, shirt sleeves crumpled, his hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes—god, his eyes—are filled with something you don’t have the strength to decipher.

Your heart lurches, but you shove the feeling down, force the pain into anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse, uneven, but you steel yourself, gripping the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut.

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering, and just as you move to close the door, his hand flies out, palm flat against the wood, stopping you.

“Do you really think this was ever fake for me?”

The air between you shifts, crackling like a live wire.

Your fingers tighten around the doorframe. Your throat feels impossibly tight.

“What?” you whisper.

Jungkook swallows hard, his jaw clenching for a brief moment before he exhales sharply.

“Tell me you didn’t feel it, too,” he says, his voice rough, almost pleading. “Tell me you didn’t fall for this—for us— just as hard as I did.”

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, Jungkook’s words ringing in your ears like a deafening echo.

Do you really think this was ever fake for me?

Your grip on the doorframe tightens, knuckles white. Your breath is uneven, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. But you don’t move, and neither does he. He just stares at you, eyes burning with something that makes your stomach twist painfully.

Finally, you find your voice. “Don’t do this, Jungkook.”

His brows furrow. “Do what?”

You shake your head, stepping back. “Say things you don’t mean. Try to make this something it’s not.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Are you serious? You think I don’t mean it?”

His voice is taut, disbelief etched into every syllable. “You think I came all the way here just to lie to you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is too big, too terrifying.

Jungkook steps forward, into your space, refusing to let you shut him out. “I meant it,” he says, voice lower now, steadier. “Every second of it. Every touch, every look. It wasn’t fake for me. It was never fake.”

Your breath shudders, hands trembling at your sides. “That’s not fair.”

His eyes search yours, desperate. “What’s not fair?”

“That you get to say this now,” you whisper, the words raw and broken. “After everything. After I’ve spent weeks convincing myself that you never felt the same.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit. You know I felt it. You know I wanted this just as much as you did.”

You let out a sharp laugh, but it’s laced with something heart-wrenching. “If you wanted this, Jungkook, you wouldn’t have played it off like it was nothing. You wouldn’t have acted like that kiss meant nothing to you.”

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. And god, it hurts.

“I was scared,” he admits, voice quiet now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I made it a joke, it would be easier. That maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, you wouldn’t walk away.”

Your throat tightens. “I had to walk away.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with everything unsaid. The space between you is small, but it feels like an entire universe.

Jungkook reaches for you then, his fingers grazing your wrist, hesitant but wanting. “I miss you,” he murmurs, like it’s the only thing he knows for sure. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know how to fix this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threaten to spill. “You can’t.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his grip tightening slightly. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to go back to being just your best friend.

His breath hitches. And then, so softly, like he’s afraid of breaking you completely—

“What if we don’t… go back to that?”

Your eyes snap open, your pulse skittering wildly. But Jungkook is just looking at you, waiting, his heart in his hands, waiting to see if you’ll take it.

Jungkook pushes past you before you can stop him, stepping inside your apartment with a forcefulness you’re not used to. You barely register the door closing behind you, your fingers tightening around your wine glass as you turn to face him, heart pounding.

“You don’t get to just walk in here like you own the place,” you snap, voice sharp to mask the tremor beneath.

He turns, his expression wild with frustration, his chest still rising and falling from the run. “I don’t? I don’t get to fight for you? Because that’s what I’m doing, in case you haven’t noticed.

Your pulse stutters. “Fight for what, Jungkook? A fantasy? We’re being delusional. You and me—we’ll never work.”

His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Why the hell not?”

“Because we’re different.” You take a step back, gesturing vaguely, as if that could encompass all the reasons why this is impossible. “Because I have my life figured out. Because I have a career, responsibilities—”

“And what?” Jungkook cuts you off, stepping closer. “I don’t? Just because I’m not working twenty-hour days, just because I don’t run around like I have to control everything? That means I don’t have my life together?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean,” he challenges, voice lower now, rougher.

You swallow, looking away. “You don’t take things seriously. You never have.”

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. You think I don’t take this seriously?”

He gestures between you, eyes burning. “You think I don’t—” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you, raw and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. “You want to know when I fell in love with you?”

You freeze.

“I was eleven,” he continues, voice softer now, but no less intense. “We were at some stupid family event. I was the only other kid there, and I remember looking at you—this girl who was already so sure of herself. And I asked who you were, ready to say something cocky, and you just looked at me and said, ‘Your worst nightmare if you get in my way.’” He lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just something aching, something real. “And I thought, God, I’m done for.”

Your fingers tremble around the stem of your wine glass. You remember that day, vaguely. You remember thinking Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, that he talked too much. Even at his young age, he was pissing you off. You never thought that, all this time, that moment meant something to him. That you meant something to him.

“I’ve loved you since then,” he admits, voice raw. “I accepted being your best friend just to have you in my life. Even when it killed me. Even when I had to watch you pretend like none of this mattered.”

He shakes his head, his throat working. “But it does. You do.”

The silence between you is suffocating. Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, the weight of his words pressing down on you like an avalanche.

“You act like I’m some reckless idiot who doesn’t care,” Jungkook continues, voice quieter now. “Like I don’t think about the future, about where I fit into your life. But the truth is, I’ve been fitting myself into your life since the day I met you. I’ve been waiting. Hoping. And maybe that was stupid of me.”

Your heart twists painfully, your walls cracking in a way you never thought possible. He’s right. He’s always been there, no matter what. He let you push him away, let you pull him back, let you dictate the terms of your relationship because he thought that’s all you would give him.

But that’s not true. That’s never been true.

You set your wine glass down on the counter with a shaky breath. “I put you in my life because I want you in it.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap to yours, something unreadable flashing through them.

You take a step toward him, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “Fine, maybe I haven’t always been in love with you. Maybe I didn’t wake up one day knowing like you did. But you’ve changed. You’ve grown up. And I don’t know if it’s because of me or not, but I love who you are growing into.”

His breath stutters.

“And I love you,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “I love you, Jungkook.”

For the first time since this argument started, the fight leaves his body. His shoulders sag, his breath shudders, and then suddenly—

He’s kissing you.

Not tentative, not hesitant—desperate. A collision of everything left unsaid, of years of wanting and waiting, of stubbornness and frustration and aching affection. His hands cup your face, his fingers threading through your hair, and you melt into him, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

But he won’t. Not anymore.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his lips brushing against your skin as he murmurs, “Say it again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “I love you.”

Jungkook kisses you again like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s spent years holding himself back and now he never wants to stop. His pink, luscious lips are firm and urgent, his hands threading into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You lose yourself in it, in him, in the way he tastes like longing and desperation and something entirely his.

And then, between breathless kisses, he murmurs, “Jump.”

Your eyes flutter open, breath hitching. “What?”

His smirk is pure mischief, his hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips like a promise. “Jump,” he repeats, voice low and rough. “I’ve got you.”

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. You push up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and as soon as you do, his strong hands lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He holds you up like you weigh nothing, his grip firm and unshaking.

“Damn,” you murmur against his jaw, letting your lips trail along his skin. “Since when did you get so strong?”

Jungkook chuckles, shifting his hold on you as he starts walking, each step confident, controlled. “Have you seen me?” he teases. “I practically live in the gym.”

You hum, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Mmm. So you’ve been working out just to impress me?”

He scoffs, turning the corner toward your bedroom with ease. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to impress you, I’d be carrying you with one arm.”

You laugh, breathless, pressing a teasing kiss to the shell of his ear. “Show off.”

Jungkook grins, his fingers flexing against your thighs as he kicks open the bedroom door. “Only for you.”

The air shifts when he steps inside, the teasing moment fading into something deeper, heavier. He lowers you gently onto the bed, his body following, hovering above you. His gaze is dark, his hands framing your face, and for the first time tonight, he hesitates, as if soaking in the moment, as if memorizing every detail of you beneath him.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice soft but certain.

“Am I?” You tease, and he gives you a look that makes you squirm and regret your words.

Before he can say anything, you press your lips to his again, pulling him in as much as you physically can. His hands frame your body, propping himself up. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to feel as much of him as you need, ache for.

With his body pressing into yours, heat radiating from him like a fire you never want to put out, you’re on cloud nine. His fingers move down and grip your waist, firm and possessive, as if grounding himself in the reality of this moment, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You barely have time to respond before his lips trail down your jaw, your neck, leaving a searing path of heat in their wake. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans—a low, deep sound that sends a shiver straight through you.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, your head tilting back as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, his hands roaming, exploring, claiming.

He pushes your body back, lets your head rest on the pillows. He figures he’ll need it for what he’s about to do to you. He reaches up, sits you up a little so he can take off your top. His eyes rest on your chest for a few good seconds, mesmerized by it, by the fact he’s seeing you, all of you. “Are you just gonna stare all night?” You taunt him.

He narrows his eyes at you before diving back in, kissing down your neck, to your collarbones, in between the valley of your breasts, unclipping your bra with one hand as the other reaches up to knead your tit. A low whimper exits you, and you’re almost embarrassed at how open, how willing you are for his touch. The bra gets flung somewhere in the room; you don’t even care.

Jungkook cups your breasts together, groans into your warm skin, smells so angelic and divine and unreal. You can feel his erection grind against your thigh. The idea that he’s craving you the way you’ve been craving him as your legs shaking in anticipation, mouth watering for him.

His lips move down your stomach, peppering light kisses. You barely have time to realize where he’s going before your pants are getting unzipped, thrown across the room hastily, revealing your light pink panties that have a bow on it. He’s sure this must be his present. You prop your elbows up to look at him, to watch his next move, his eyes glazed over with something you can’t recognize.

He presses a light kiss to your core, and you bite your lip to suppress some pathetic noise that threatens to leave you. “Tell me what you want,” He whispers against you, breath hot against your soaking wet cunt, waiting, begging for you.

“You,” Your voice is submissive. It almost makes him cream his pants. “Please, Kook. Your mouth..”

He does not have to be told twice. In fact, he barely needed to be told once. The panties are ripped off your body, and you gasp at the force but you barely have time to register it before he’s on you in seconds.

His tongue flattens out against your folds, and it has you jolting up, your hands reaching out to clutch onto his dark hair. He doesn’t move much, just lets his tongue roam around, lets you get a taste of what’s to come.

You writher underneath him, needing, craving more. His arms come around your thighs, spreading your legs widely in front of him, hands snugly holding on.

He becomes a man who’s starving, like he hasn’t eaten in days and this is his first meal. His tongue runs over your clit, flicks up and down repeatedly with a level of expertise you know is from his partying days. It has you screaming, moaning, nearly convulsing into him.

“Fuck—ah, Jungkook!” Your head lulls back, eyes squeezed so tight, as he continues with the same consistency. He pulls back for a moment, looks up at you, but you’re already looking down at him as if to question why he stopped. And when you look at him, really look at him, and see your juices on him, the way his lips are coated with your slick, you feel weak.

Maintaining eye contact, he inserts two fingers, letting the wetness get all around you. You feel it everywhere, dripping down your legs onto the bed. “Baby, you are so wet, god,” He’s in disbelief, like he can’t believe you’re this needy for him.

“Yeah?” Is all you can gather as his fingers pump in and out of you. There’s not many coherent thoughts you can muster right now.

“Been wanting this for years,” He murmurs, dangerously close again to your clit, like he’s speaking to it. “Been needing you.”

His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, sucking and slurping and it’s all too much for you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you want to scream at whoever has had him like this before you. You hear your pussy squelch with each movement of his fingers, his tongue there to collect every last drop. You feel it lingering, feel your impending orgasm. You’re tugging on his hair so hard you’re certain you are going to pull it clean off, moving your hips in line with his mouth, riding him just a tad. “F-fuck, oh, just like that, I’m so fucking close, ah,” And you’re really just a mess of words.

Desperation washes over you, legs shaking in his firm grasp, hand running through his hair and grinding your hips up against his mouth. His eyes are hazy as he looks up at you and moans around your clit, the vibration alone enough to push you over.

He’s never seen you like this, the composed businesswoman who never lets herself falter for more than two seconds. And now you’re here, in front of him, crumbling piece by piece. “Want you to cum for me,” He replaces his mouth with his other hand rubbing circles on your clit.

“Want to taste you when you finish,” He’s looking up at you with a gaze that makes you nearly cream yourself.

“You gonna clean up my mess?” You ask, bottom lip tucked under your top teeth, biting so hard you think you’re bleeding.

“Fuck, gonna lick you clean, baby,” He curls his fingers up inside you, and that just about triggers the floodgates and you’re convulsing, moaning, tugging his hair, screaming his name over and over like you don’t know how to say anything else.

His fingers slow, feeling your walls clench around him. His cock is so hard in his pants he thinks he might combust. And you knew he would be good, but not this good. You’re still recovering, still trying to stop breathing manually, while he removes his fingers from you and replaces it with his tongue to swallow your cum.

“Oh!—ah,” You lay your head on the pillows, chest heaving. You need him inside of you so bad it’s not even a question. But he seems to have the same thought as you, rushing to unzip his pants, fling his shirt across the room.

You look up at him, hazy, as you watch him pump his cock a few times, dangerously close to your entrance. You’re a bit in awe of what you see, of how big he really is, and it makes so much sense why he’s so cocky. “I need you inside of me right now,” You whine.

“I know, baby,” He moves on top of you, hovering, his bicep flexing. You run a hand down his chest, feel his abs that you’ve seen before once or twice.

“Please, Kook,” The nickname you called him since you were 11 rolls off your tongue with ease. “Please fill me up.”

And he does just that — his cock slides into you with such ease it’s laughable. There’s a collective gasp from both of you, him reacting to the feeling of your tight, warm walls, and you feeling like you’re being split in half. You feel every inch, every vein stretch you out, and for a second you think you’ll have to tap out, still stimulated from your orgasm. “You’re so big—ah!—feels so fucking good, Kook.”

Your moans are obnoxious, breathy. You’re taking him so well, better than he thought, with the lubrication from your slick covering his cock from the base to his tip. He buries himself in you, trying to feel every crevice, every wall sucking him in.

“Taking me so well, baby,” He kisses your forehead, then your lips, “Look at me.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed, so focused on regaining your strength. When you open them, you look right into his dark brown eyes, catch his gaze. He thrusts, slowly, agonizingly slow, in and out of you, feeling every inch of him before he slides back in. Your hands latch onto his biceps, gripping the flex of his muscle. “So fucking big,” You moan out.

“God, you are so tight,” His hand moves down to push your leg back higher, loop it around his waist. “When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?”

“N-not since before we started t-the contract,” You look up at him, struggling to keep it together as your fingernails dig into his bicep. “Haven’t wanted anyone but you.”

“Gonna cum so quick with the way you feel,” He mutters, probably mostly to himself but it sends a shiver down your spine. He starts to pick it up, starts to push your leg even higher.

“Right there,” You say, hand traveling down to play with your clit, just a mess of him and you. You can’t stop looking at him, making eye contact as he fucks you so good, so well, enough to make you forget your name, just that you’re his.

“Never gonna let you fuck anyone else again,” He babbles, clearly pussydrunk. “Fuck, this is all mine.”

And you have nothing else to really say to that besides yesyesyesbabyplease, because before you know it, he’s propping one of your legs in his shoulder and the stretch has you screaming so loud your neighbors are going to call the police. The headboard slams repeatedly against the wall, bed creaking with each thrust. He throws his head back, and you watch as he lets out an animalistic moan, “Feels so good, so fucking good,” His thrusts are speeding up even more, chasing a release he’s been waiting on for so long.

“Yeah?” You ask, fingernails scratching down his arms as your walls familiarly begin to clench around with him, stomach coiling and heat bubbles within you.

Just when you think it can’t get any better, can’t feel any better, he props your other leg on his shoulder, holding them tight to his broad chest, and at that point you’re really just putty in his hands. “O-ohmygod, yes,” You claw at the bedsheets, feel him so deep in your stomach you think he might be fucking your lungs.

“So close, baby,” His breaths are coming out fast, body shaking a little. “Where can I cum?”

You’re not even thinking when you’re speaking, just words tumbling, trying to sound coherent, “Fuck, cum inside of me, baby, pleaseplease, need you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” He asks, “That’s what you need?”

“Please,” You look up at him, pleading, begging for all of it and that’s all it really takes for him.

And when you fall, he’s right there with you, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, his seed coating your walls, his own breathless curses mingling with yours in the dimly lit room.

Afterward, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you pressed against him, his fingers drawing slow, lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing lingering kisses to your temple.

The room is draped in the golden hush of post-midnight, the air thick with the remnants of heat and whispers. You lie tangled in the sheets, your body still thrumming from him, from the way he knows you now in ways no one else ever has. His fingertips trace lines on your body, the warmth of his touch lulling you into a blissful haze.

“You know,” Jungkook muses, his voice low and teasing, “you really stood no chance after that kiss at the charity gala.”

You scoff softly, dragging your fingers along the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. “Oh, please. If I recall, you were the one looking at me like I hung the stars that night.”

His laugh is quiet but rich, the sound vibrating beneath your touch. “I looked at you like that because I’ve always looked at you like that.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with a smirk, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “So what you’re saying is, you were down bad for me way before I even noticed?”

Jungkook grins, flipping onto his side so he can properly look at you, his fingers never ceasing their movement on your skin. “Down horrendously,” he admits, no hesitation. “It was honestly kind of tragic.”

You laugh, the sound warm and free, tracing slow, deliberate patterns across his collarbone. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you murmur, letting your nails lightly scratch his skin, “I think I fell for you somewhere along the way, too.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkens slightly, his smirk shifting into something deeper, something laced with promise. “Somewhere along the way?” he echoes. “Not when I kissed you breathless in front of all of our elders?”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness. “That was… persuasive, I’ll admit.”

His fingers dip lower, trailing along the curve of your spine, and your breath stutters just slightly. “Persuasive enough to make you fall in love with me?”

You tilt your chin up defiantly, but your voice is softer now, your body already reacting to him. “Maybe.”

Jungkook leans in, lips ghosting along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “I think I can be more persuasive,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mischief and intent.

You shiver, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his. “Is that so?”

His fingers tighten slightly on your waist as he shifts above you, a smirk playing at his lips. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

In this moment, with his warmth pressed against you, his fingers (and mouth) traveling down to where you need him most, you have never felt lighter. None of the accolades, the titles, the deals sealed in glass towers ever felt this monumental. For years, you built a life of power, of accomplishment, of certainty—but none of it ever made your heart feel like this. Full. Whole. Right. Your stupid heart had been right all along. And for the first time, you surrender to it completely.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

epilogue!

You never thought loving Jungkook would feel this easy, this effortless, like something you were always meant to do. He is a fire and a comfort all at once—challenging you in ways no one else can while grounding you in the kind of love that feels like home. And God, does he know how to pleasure a woman. He worships you in ways you never even knew you needed, unraveling you with his hands, his lips, the hushed words he murmurs against your skin late into the night. You had always been in control, always the one calling the shots, but with him, you find yourself melting, yielding, letting go in the best way possible.

But, sometimes, under all his nonchalance, he really is exactly like you.

Jungkook is pacing. Pacing. Like a man about to face a firing squad. You sit on the couch, watching him with mild amusement, sipping your coffee as he mutters to himself, hands running through his already-messy hair.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles. “This is insane. They’re going to kill me. Your dad’s probably got a security team on standby.”

You snort. “My dad loves you.”

“That’s because he thinks I’m your best friend,” Jungkook hisses, spinning on his heel to face you. “This is different. This is me telling him that I’ve been secretly in love with his daughter since I was a kid and that I have, in fact, touched her in very non-friendly ways.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. That’s a way to phrase it.”

He groans, throwing himself down onto the couch beside you, burying his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

You roll your eyes, setting your coffee down. “Jungkook, you are not doomed. Our parents are going to be thrilled.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.”

And you do. Because, thirty minutes later, when you both sit across from both of your parents in the grand dining room, hands intertwined under the table, your mother and his mother barely let you finish saying we’re dating before they clap their hands together in delight, hugging each other.

“Well, finally,” your mother sighs, sipping her wine. “I was wondering when you two would get it together.”

Jungkook blinks. “Excuse me?”

Your father chuckles, shaking his head. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open slightly. “You—what?”

Your mother waves a hand. “Oh, sweetheart, please. We planned this since you were eleven.”

There is a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook looks at you, then back at them, completely shell-shocked. “You what?!”

His father leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, not planned exactly. But we knew.”

Your mother nods sagely. “It was inevitable.”

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, and you—oh, you are relishing this. You squeeze his hand under the table, biting back a grin.

“So let me get this straight,” Jungkook says slowly. “This whole time I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you, how to break the news, and you already knew?”

His father pats his shoulder. “We were just waiting for you to catch up, son.”

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face, while you dissolve into laughter beside him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite in his words. Just the kind of exasperated acceptance that comes with realizing his fate had been sealed long before he even knew it.

And when you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “Told you so,” he simply sighs, defeated. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips, because as much as he protests—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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