#jungkook X you

[dreamersparacosm]

𐙚₊˚⊹ flustered!jk and cheeky!reader 𐙚₊˚⊹

warnings ; jk losing his marbles, reader is a menace to society, oral (male recieving), car/public sex, jk is big af, he’s also a head pusher oop

prompt ; in which he takes you up on your offer.

part one!

Jungkook has had better days.

He’s had better weeks, actually. Ones where his brain wasn’t halting every neuron firing each time someone said your name. Ones where he could focus on normal things, like work and video games and whatever ramen packet was closest to expiration, without flashing back to you in his car, looking like a problem and sounding like a promise.

God.

It’s been exactly six days, and you’re still living rent-free in his head like you own the place, feet up on the furniture, eating snacks in his subconscious like it’s a sleepover. It’s not even sexy anymore, it’s embarrassing. He’s replayed that moment so many times it’s starting to feel like trauma. His brain shortens it into TikTok-length flashbacks like some deranged highlight reel.

And now it’s Friday night again. Another weekend. Another group outing. And he knows you’ll be there, laughing too loud, leaning too close to other guys, dressed like sin in some crop top. He thinks he’s doing himself a massive favor by telling the boys he’s too tired to go out, that he’s better off staying home so not to ruin the mood. Yet, somehow he knows his peace will be disturbed.

Despite all of his better judgment, despite the five pep talks he’s given himself today, despite Googling “how to stop thinking about someone you can’t bone for moral reasons,” he’s caving.

All because you’re texting him again. One simple message.

You: can you give me a ride home :( <3

That’s it. That’s his villain origin story.

He shouldn’t say yes. He should say you can Uber. He should say he’s busy. He should say he’s out of town, in a coma, legally dead. But instead, he just texts back.

Jungkook : on my way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You slide into the passenger seat like you own it. Like you belong there. (Which you do — the man broke traffic laws to get to you.)

Your top, if it can even be called that, is doing absolutely no work. It’s sheer, shimmery, strapless, and defies the laws of physics and fabric. Your skin is warm from the bar, and you smell like perfume and trouble and something fruity with a hint of Casamigos. You’re tipsy, giggly, legs crossed like a Bond girl, and your hand lands on his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“Hi, driver,” you sing-song, smiling at him as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. “Miss me?”

He almost drives into a parked car.

You click your seatbelt with a soft snap and stretch, lifting your arms over your head in a way that should be illegal. Your shirt rides up an inch. His sanity drops ten.

“Where to?” he asks, voice already tight.

“Wherever you wanna take me,” you hum, then glance sideways at him. “As long as there’s room for me to get on my knees.”

He actually chokes. Like physically this time. Coughs. Slams a hand against the wheel. Regains composure only to lose it again.

You grin like the Cheshire Cat.

He starts driving, but barely. His eyes are glued to the road with soldier-like discipline, hands clenched at ten and two, just like last time. Except this time he’s thinking about your mouth. And your legs. And that last damn thing you said.

Every five seconds you keep touching him. A hand on his thigh, fingers tracing his bicep. At one point you lean forward to grab a sip of his water bottle from the cupholder and your boobs brush his arm and he lets out a sound like a dying animal.

He’s going to hell. You’re sending him there personally.

“You’re quiet,” you pout, turning to face him. “Are you nervous again, Jungkookie?”

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, adjusting the air-conditioning and absolutely not touching anything else.

“Why not?” you ask, tilting your head. “You don’t like it when I’m cute?”

“You’re never just cute,” he snaps, then freezes, realizes what he just said.

Your grin stretches slow and dangerous. “Oh?”

He exhales hard through his nose. His fingers twitch. That’s enough. Fucking enough.

He pulls over. Hard turn, sharp brake, slams the car into park like he’s punishing it. The air goes silent except for the faint hum of the engine and both of your breathing.

“You want to keep playing this game?” he asks, voice low and rough. “Fine. But you better be ready to lose.”

You blink, startled by the shift. “What..”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about it?” he interrupts. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing every time you get in this car looking like that?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower. It makes your skin erupt in heat.

“You have been nervous,” You whisper, a little breathless.

“I’ve been trying not to crash the car,” he says sharply. “Because all I do is imagine what would happen if I just pulled over. And now I have.”

Your heart’s going feral in your chest. Your thighs press together. You stare at him, stunned into silence for once in your life.

“Well,” you finally murmur, licking your lips. “Better make sure my seatbelt is on.”

He leans closer, eyes glued to yours.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ay, ay captain. You do double-check to make sure your seatbelt is on.

Mostly because Jungkook is staring at you like a man on the edge and if this goes where you think it’s going, you’d like your insurance to cover it.

He hasn’t moved yet. Just sitting there, parked in the dark near some empty lot, one hand still on the steering wheel like it’s his emotional support item. He licks his lips, exhales deeply within his chest. And you can see the exact moment he loses the fight with himself.

His hand drops from the wheel. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m saying okay.”

..Okay what? Okay you can shut up now? Okay let’s never speak of this again? Okay go ahead and ruin my life with your mouth?

You lean in slightly, your voice low and wicked. “You want me to suck you off, Jungkook?”

He nods slowly . You swear he passes away in real time when you unclick your seatbelt.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, palms up like he’s calling a timeout. “Hold on. Are we… this is really happening?”

You smile all wicked. “Unless you want me to stop?”

He stares at you, mouth slightly open. “No! I mean… yes. I mean, wait. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Just— God, I sound like a virgin.”

“You kinda do,” you whisper, sliding closer to the drivers seat.

“I’m not, by the way,” he says quickly, then winces. “Not that it matters. I mean, it does. But not like that. I’ve just never.. not in a car—”

You press your finger gently to his lips. “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And then your hand slides up his thigh.

Somewhere, above the clouds, there is a higher power that has been praying on his come-up, he swears.

He makes a noise. An animal dying in the zoo kind of noise. His head thunks lightly against the headrest and he closes his eyes like he’s making peace with God.

Jungkook is already half hard and you haven’t even done anything yet. You watch his chest rise and fall like he’s sprinted a mile, and you swear you can see the moment his brain physically leaves his body.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, fingers brushing higher. “Told you.”

“I’m trying so hard not to die right now,” he says, voice ragged.

You giggle, leaning over the console to kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate. “Poor baby.”

He swallows like it’s painful. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“And I hate it.”

“No, you don’t,” You smile against his skin.

His hands hover awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with them; should he touch you? Is that allowed? Is this a trap? Will he be smited? You reach over and gently guide one of his hands to the back of your neck.

“There,” you whisper. “See? Not so hard.”

He mutters under his breath, “Speak for yourself.”

You burst out laughing, and he groans, closing his eyes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half-laughing, half-dying. “I’m trying to be smooth. But you.. God, you’re just—”

“I’m what?”

He looks at you, eyes wild. “You’re.. you. You know? Just.. every guy in our friend group wants to fuck you. ”

“Is that a compliment?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is. It is a huge compliment. Please continue.”

He should be arrested. No, seriously. Somebody should call the police. He should be handcuffed and tossed directly into horny jail because there is no way what you’re doing right now is allowed under the laws of God or man.

Your hand is still on his thigh, lingering dangerously close to his button. Your mouth — your actual, real-life mouth — is somewhere in the vicinity of his zipper. And Jungkook is trying so hard to play it cool but his brain is firing blank slides like a broken projector.

He grips the seat. The wheel. Himself. The back of your neck like you told him to.

You’re too calm. Too confident. Like you’ve done this before. Like you know exactly what kind of damage you’re about to inflict on his very mortal soul (which is rude, honestly.)

You drag the zipper down slow. Partly for dramatic effect. Mostly because your hands are suddenly shaky (not that you’d ever admit that out loud.)

You’ve been teasing him for far too long, riding the high of his nervous little stares and fumbling responses like it’s your favorite roller coaster. And up until now? You were untouchable, confident, the seductress in the passenger seat of his car.

You drag his jeans down, take a look at his black Calvin Klein boxers that you’re a little surprised he owns. You finally get your hand past the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down painfully slow.

You pause.

Gulp.

Because, um. That’s a lot.

Not in a humble, oh he’s hard kind of way. No. You mean that is a full-blown situation. A legitimate problem. Something you should’ve been briefed on ahead of time with a PowerPoint and maybe a warning label.

You glance up at him.

He’s already flushed and pink-lipped, panting like he just ran laps. Doesn’t even realize you’ve frozen mid-mission. Poor guy probably thinks you’re being seductive. He’s looking down at you with the dazed trust of a man who has no idea you’ve just had a spiritual crisis.

The driver’s console presses up against your boobs a little more as you wiggle closer to him, taking his length in your hand. It’s big. He’s big. Why is he not more smug about this? Why is he always so shy when he’s walking around with a whole weapon under there?

You feel a full-on identity shift coming. Like you might start paying for his gas. Or offering to make him soup. Like this might change the entire dynamic, and you’re suddenly the one nervously blinking up at him.

You look back down at his cock in your hand, observing the way every vein curves, the way his pink tip is wet with precum. It’s curved slightly, and is thick enough that you’re starting to question if it’ll even fit in your mouth.

Your fingertips give him one long stroke and he shudders, which makes your stomach flip. Okay, this is fine. You’re strong. You do Pilates. You’ve read Harry Styles fanfiction.

You steady yourself, take a breath, and blink again. One last internal scream for good measure. Then you smile up at him, all soft lips and fake confidence, and whisper, “You’re lucky I like a challenge.”

You watch the words hit him like a punch to the gut. His whole body tightens; shoulders, thighs, jaw, everything. He stares down at you like you just offered him his first taste of oxygen after being underwater for weeks.

He reaches out, slow but sure, and gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one trembling hand. His fingers flex at the base of your neck, and the move is so unexpectedly possessive that it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

His other hand drops to his thigh, clenched in a fist. His breathing’s all wrong, shallow and desperate. He bites his lip ring so hard you swear it might split skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Then take your time,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just lower your mouth and give him one single, kitten-soft lick from the base of his cock to tip, your eyes locked on his the entire time. No pressure, no rhythm. Just a soft, teasing taste. His skin is slightly salty with a tinge of sweetness, also some familiar soap you’ve smelled on him before.

His hips jerk violently, a sharp moan escaping his mouth before he can even try to swallow it. His grip in your hair tightens like a reflex with a choked, “F-fuck—”

You inhale once, deep and steady, and then slide your mouth over him in one slow, devastating stroke, past your lips and over your tongue. Until your nose brushes against his pubic bone and your throat stretches to accommodate every inch.

Jungkook lets out a deep, desperate groan that vibrates from somewhere low in his chest liike he wasn’t ready. Like he thought he knew what this would be and now he’s realizing, Oh no. Oh no, no, no, I was wrong. I’m in danger.

You don’t really give him time to recover. You set a rhythm until the obscene sound of gagging fills up the car, mingling with his panting and the slick noises of your mouth.

His hips jerk like they want to move but don’t dare. He’s panting your name between gasps, muttering nonsense, sentences with no real structure. “Oh my fuck — so good, I can’t —“

You hollow your cheeks just slightly. The effect is instant and he lets out this helpless whimper, one hand gripping the headrest behind him like he’s trying not to ascend, other one knotted in your hair.

You come up for air for one brief second, spit stringing between your lips and his cock, and before he can even look at you, you’re going right back down even faster this time.

His voice pitches. “Wait, wait, slow down, I’m—”

You don’t. Because you like the way his voice sounds right now, shaky and too high, like you’ve rewired every synapse in his body. You like how big he is, how heavy in your mouth. You also like the fact that he’s so obviously been thinking about this for as long as you have.

Your mascara’s already smudging, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

He’s still unraveling above you and every single moan you wring out of him feels like a prize. His hand is fisted in your hair still, this time tighter, bolder, and he’s using it to push your head down even further.

Your throat’s raw, your lungs are burning, your jaw aches and none of it matters. Because you’ve got both hands working the rest of him, twisting and stroking whatever your mouth can’t reach, and every time you swirl your tongue over his tip, he lets out a new sound that makes you wetter.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, fuck,” He begs.

And you don’t. Of course you don’t. Because you’re evil. Beautiful and focused and slightly too good at this, and now he’s seconds from becoming a cautionary tale on Reddit.

You hum around him, the vibrations dizzying his brain. “I’m gonna crash the car without even moving it if you do that again, I swear,” He moans out.

Okay. So. You’re currently giving a blowjob in the front seat of Jungkook’s sad little car, and he’s moaning like it’s the rapture.

Cool, cool, cool.

You didn’t plan this, exactly. You were just trying to be hot and flirty and maybe mess with his head a little and now here you are.

His breaths are so shaky you think he’ll need an inhaler. He’s whispering please like you’ve got divine powers, which, honestly, right now? You do.

You pop your mouth off his cock for one second, glance up, and whisper, “You still breathing, Jungkookie?”

He looks down at you like he’s in love.

Another tear slips down your cheek from the sheer force of how you’re swallowing his cock whole. You used to doodle his name in your diary. Now you’re deepthroating him in a car like it’s your full-time job. What is wrong with you (Everything. And you don’t care.)

You used to wonder what he was like underneath all that quiet nervousness. Well. Now you know. He’s like this. Loud, sweaty, so responsive, and squirming under your touch like he’s never felt anything like this in his life.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, you’re — shit, you’re perfect,” he gasps, eyes wide, voice cracking on every other word. “I can’t, baby, you’re gonna make me — fuck — cum.”

Baby? That’s new. That, you can work with.

You moan around him just to be cruel, and the reaction is instant: his thighs jerk, his head falls back, and he wails, hips twitching like his body’s trying to chase the high before it’s even hit. “I’m so fucking close, shit.”

You’re faring no better. You’re crying and choking and gagging and soaked between the legs and still going because the way he sounds when he falls apart? It’s addicting.

You circle your tongue once more around his tip, drag your hand faster up the base, and glance up through your wet lashes, eyes locking with his just long enough to see the moment he snaps. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, yesyesyesyes.”

His whole body seizes, abs tightening, lips parted around a strangled moan. He doesn’t even say your name, just gasps it, offers it up like a sacrifice. Warm and overwhelming, spilling past your tongue in slow pulses, you swallow his entire load. It doesn’t taste bad at all, it’s salty and warm and oddly satisfying. Tastes a little like success.

You sit up, all dainty and slow, like you didn’t just dismantle a grown man in a semi-legal parking lot. You stretch like you’re easing out of a yoga pose, then swipe your fingers across your bottom lip to wipe away the last trace of his cum. You look like you just got out of a Sephora, not off his cock.

Poor Jungkook is catatonic.He’s melted into the seat, completely slack, one hand limp against the window and the other cradling his own thigh like he needs emotional support. His chest is rising like he just ran a marathon and lost by a landslide. His dark hair is messily strewn over his eyes.

Because you’re heartless and delightful, you twist toward him and ask all cutesy: “Sooo… how long do you think it’ll take to get to my place from here?”

His head lolls in your direction. “What?”

You blink innocently. “You are still driving me home, right?”

“I-I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Not my problem,” you sing, clicking your seatbelt on again. “You said months ago I could ask you for a ride whenever, remember? That’s a verbal contract.”

He’s staring at you like you just kicked a puppy and then kissed it on the nose. “You’re… evil.”

You grin. “Flattered.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“You didn’t let me,” you hum. “I begged you until you cracked.”

He groans again, louder this time. The sound vibrates through the car pathetically. His head drops against the steering wheel with a dull thud and stays there.

You glance out the windshield,“Anyway, if you take the expressway, I think we can make it to mine in like… fifteen minutes?”

“You’re insane,” He tuts against the steering wheel.

“True. But I’m also your ride-or-die now, apparently.”

He lifts his head with effort. Looks at you with the wide, shellshocked eyes of a man who knows he’ll never recover from this.

You smile at him sweetly, reaching over to squeeze his thigh again. He flinches at the comtact.

You bite your lip. “Still sensitive?”

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, voice high and fragile.

You giggle like the monster you are. “Alright, alright,” you say, settling back in your seat as any law-abiding citizen. “Let’s go. Home sweet home.”

He starts the car with shaking hands. And as he pulls back onto the road, vision blurry, soul permanently altered he swears to himself he will never respond to your texts past midnight again.

(But he will.)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

note ; ok…. so this is no longer a blurb, i fear. i feel like this needs a title now but i also have no desire bc then it’ll be a thing. and i cannot have it be a thing bc i have 2039339 wip’s. but also them. jk spiraling over this blowjob, the friend group going crazy over it.. why is it giving toxic situationship with you not ready to commit and him being a mess? literally remove the pen from my hand. anyways this is all your guys’ fault (and also mine bc this is inspired by how my ex from 4 years ago and i started dating)

masterlist + request

[youthguk]

Parasocial | jjk (m)

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, best friends with benefits, a little bit toxic, jungkook and reader are a little messy and ruin life’s of people around them

words: 2,3k

summary: Everyone in your circle knew that where there was you, Jungkook wasn't far behind. It was just your natural state of being - together. Your relationship had this beautiful, messy way of coloring outside the lines of typical friendship. But somewhere between algebra homework and growing pains, his protective streak went from "adorably concerned" to "intensely involved in literally everything."

"You're being dramatic," you sighed, feeling the weight of another argument settling on your shoulders.

"The cake should be brought out by someone who is the closest," Ren huffed, his voice dripping with barely concealed venom. "Not just some... friend."

Your birthday evening had started like a scene from a dream - a cherished midnight surprise from Jungkook (your ride-or-die since the awkward days of braces and bad haircuts), heartfelt wishes from your uni squad, and what should have been a perfect dinner surrounded by your favorite humans.

But of course, Ren had to be that guy. The one who couldn't wrap his head around the radical concept that guys and girls could actually be friends without ulterior motives. Revolutionary, right?

And yeah, okay, maybe you'd spent years defending your friendship with Jungkook like it was your dissertation. Maybe you'd drawn lines in the sand that said "this friendship isn't negotiable." But here's the tea - maybe, just maybe, Ren wasn't totally off base with his jealousy.

There were... reasons. Complicated, messy, beautiful reasons why your friendship with Jungkook was slightly more than your average childhood bestie situation.

Reason #1: Lose of virginity

"This is a bad idea," Jungkook loomed over you, blocking your path. His gaze was dark, almost threatening.

"Why?" you whined, genuinely confused. "Eric and I have been dating for six months now, everyone else had their first time at sixteen, and I'm literally the only seventeen-year-old virgin in our friend group!"

You bit your lower lip in frustration, wondering why you were even discussing your potential first time with Jungkook of all people.

But that's just how your friendship had always been - joined at the hip, consulting each other on every little decision. You'd even helped him pick out protection for his sixteenth birthday when he decided Sarah from the neighboring school would be the one. Of course, this was only after your thorough background check on Sarah's credentials.

Everyone in your circle knew that where there was you, Jungkook wasn't far behind. It was just your natural state of being - together.

And honestly? You lived for it - having someone who knew you better than you knew yourself, who loved you fiercely, looked out for you relentlessly, and accepted every messy inch of who you were... that was the real definition of blessed.

He always said you two were like parts of a whole - if one missed something, the other would catch it. Your relationship had this beautiful, messy way of coloring outside the lines of typical friendship. But somewhere between algebra homework and growing pains, his protective streak went from "adorably concerned" to "intensely involved in literally everything."

Take your first kiss, for instance. There you were, thirteen and dreamy-eyed about Matt from Bio class, when Jungkook swooped in with his "I can't let your first kiss be terrible" campaign. And you? Sweet, trusting you? You bought it hook, line, and sinker.

"These moments stay with you forever," he'd insisted, eyes burning with something you couldn't quite name. "What if he's awful and ruins kissing for you forever?"

So there you were, letting your best friend cradle your face like you were made of porcelain, his lips soft against yours. And because Jungkook never did anything halfway, it wasn't just a peck - oh no. He kissed you like he was teaching you a language only he knew, and god help you, you were fluent by the end.

You floated on cloud nine afterward, convinced everyone must kiss like that. (Narrator voice: They did not.)

"You've already had sex," you challenged now, hands on hips, chin tilted in defiance as you tried to make your point.

His eyes traveled over you like a caress—taking in the way your black dress hugged every curve, how it whispered secrets about your waist, how the neckline played peek-a-boo with your cleavage. His gaze dropped to your stockinged legs, and something in the air shifted, grew heavier.

In truth, those stockings weren’t just a fashion statement—they were a secret pact between you and Jungkook, a whispered promise of wild desire. You both knew they ignited something raw in him, and if he got excited, then so would every other man who caught sight.

“So you’re doing this just to spite me?” he teased, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he licked his lower lip with playful intent.

“What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind? Snap out of it,” you shot back, dramatically snapping your fingers right before his eyes. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

A self-assured grin curved his lips as Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced a gleaming condom wrapper. Today was too significant to be marred by embarrassment—too important a day for you to be caught buying them yourself or relying on Eric to even remember. When you asked Jungkook to buy it for you, his response had been effortlessly clear: “Consider it done.”

You knew Jungkook grasped everything when you asked that favor, even though you knew how much he couldn’t stand Eric.

Eric was nothing special. You might have ignored him otherwise, but among all the boys at school, he was the only one bold enough to make a move on you, while everyone else cowered, intimidated by Jungkook’s very presence.

Reaching out for the coveted wrapper, your hand barely brushed the air before Jungkook pulled it just out of reach. Frowning, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Don’t be childish,” you chided. This wasn’t the time for games on such an important day.

“With all due respect, I’m not a child anymore,” he grinned, the mischief dancing in his eyes. “Let me help you,” he said, teasingly waving the condom before you.

Incredulous laughter bubbled from you. “This isn’t funny, Jungkook,” you warned, making yet another feeble attempt to grab the wrapper as he deftly dodged, slipping further into your room like a shadow.

A heavy exhale marked your moment alone as you closed the door behind him—a familiar habit in moments like these.

“I’m not joking,” he murmured with unexpected seriousness, his hand gripping your waist with the firm tenderness of someone who knew your secrets. Guiding you onto your desk, he sat you down as your heart pounded in equal measure to your rising anticipation. Slowly, he eased your legs apart, positioning himself precisely between them.

“What are you doing, Jungkook?” you asked, your voice laced with disapproving wonder even as your heart thundered. An unfamiliar ache began to bloom between your legs, a desire both new and unwelcome in its intensity. What was it about him, simply standing there, that set your body ablaze? Damn.

In a hushed whisper, he replied, “I’m your best friend.” Leaning in closer, his presence made you arch your back, compelling you to lean into his tender gravity. You bit your lower lip in silent acknowledgment. He truly knew you better than anyone. “No one ever understands you like I do,” he murmured, his tongue etching a tantalizing, wet trail from your collarbone to your earlobe.

Your hips responded before your mind could catch up, arching in invitation as you yearned to feel him even closer. What was happening to you? Why did your body betray you with such raw, unbridled passion? Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing the promise of more—so much more.

“Jungkook, this isn’t right,” you murmured as you closed your eyes, throwing your head back to grant him more of your soft, exposed neck for his kisses.

“But the first time has to be unforgettable—a memory that lasts a lifetime,” he insisted, his strong hand tightening around your waist to pull you closer. As his arousal spoke its own language, you couldn’t help but notice the growing evidence of his desire, intensifying the ache that pulsed beneath you. “I won’t let that pathetic jerk spoil what should be your perfect moment.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, you opened your eyes, biting your lower lip to hide the undeniable excitement coursing through you. Jungkook, with a mix of care and audacity, lifted you and laid you gently on the bed. You watched your chest rise and fall in rapid, fervent rhythm as he stood over you, a vision of raw, impossible beauty.

He had always been attractive, undeniably so - every girl at school secretly wishing for just a taste of his world. You learned to duck your eyes back then, knowing one look in those mesmerizing orbs could unravel you completely. And now, with a slow, deliberately teasing reveal, he slips off his shirt to expose broad shoulders and chiseled abs that practically whisper seduction. Seriously, the guy is ridiculously gorgeous.

You lean back into the bed’s soft embrace, eyes glued to him as he unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans off until only his boxers remain. The desire radiating from him is almost a silent dare you simply can’t resist.

“Like what you see?” he asks with a cocky grin, edging closer until you can feel the heat rising between you. You gulp, nerves mixing with that undeniable pull. “Are we really gonna do this?” you ask, your voice laced with a mix of uncertainty and raw, undeniable longing.

“Chill, Y/N,” Jungkook murmurs, drawing you deeper into his orbit. “This is gonna be unforgettable, and you’ll never look back. I’m not just passing through—unlike that clueless high school guy.”

His nearly bare body presses you deeper into the mattress as you shift just enough to let him settle perfectly between your thighs. He leans in close and whispers, “I can stop anytime, just say the word,” sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Without hesitation, you loop your leg around his waist, pulling him even closer. His smirk tells you he’s enjoying every moment. “Good girl,” he rasps, eyes sparkling with mischief as his fingers begin to toy with the hem of your dress. You arch your back, eager for the barrier between you to disappear.

“Jungkook…” you moan as he wastes no time moving to your most sensitive spot, his tongue expertly exploring every curve as it nudges your black thong aside. Wild thoughts swirl through your head—friendship lines blurred, jealousy simmering, and an overwhelming craving for more. Who cared if he was your best friend? You tilt your head back, watching him with hungry eyes as your hips squeeze around his head, silently pleading for another taste.

He had everything you needed, and if anyone could deliver it, it was Jungkook.

You breathe out his name, your cheeks burning either from the confession or the heat of the moment.

“Jungkook, I want you… inside me.” Your admission hangs in the air as he keeps lavishing attention on your most sensitive spot, his tongue relentless. “Please…” you whimper.

But with a teasing glint in his eye, he responds, “Not so fast—think you can handle me right off the bat?”

Rising slightly, he hovers above you, and you catch sight of his arousal straining against his boxers. How could you even know if you were ready when everything felt so deliciously wet?

He chuckles, clearly amused by your unabashed stare, then leans in to kiss you, his lips still carrying the remnants of your shared desire. Your tongues tangle in a messy, passionate dance—your first real kiss as an adult. Your fingers dig into his hair like you can’t get enough. Breaking away briefly, he trails a string of kisses down your neck, and you arch into him instinctively. One hand massaged your breast, playfully tugging at your nipple, while his mouth worships the other, licking and nibbling in just the right way. Soft, stuttering moans escape you—damn, he was so good.

You simply can’t hold back any longer. Sensing your impatience, Jungkook lets a hand slip into your panties, teasing you with one finger before inviting a second in. You’re dripping with desire, teetering on the brink.

“Please…” you moan again, lightly tugging at his boxers, marveling at your own newfound boldness.

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, his warm breath mingling with yours as he skillfully opens a foil packet with his teeth. You watch, captivated, as he unrolls the condom along his length, and you instinctively spread your legs wider, signaling that you’re all in.

Jungkook slides his body onto yours, aligning himself perfectly with your entrance. “Mine,” he growls with a note of satisfaction, and you nod silently. In that charged moment, nothing else exists—you’re completely his, as if you always have been.

He enters you slowly, each movement smooth and deliberate, and you can hear his soft moan echo your own rising pleasure. Knowing you excite him as much as he excites you fills you with a satisfying warmth. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him in close as his rhythm quickens, filling the room with the wet, symphonic sounds of your passion—a duet of shared moans and intimate moves propelling you both to the edge.

Eventually, Jungkook collapses against your chest, both of you catching your breath in the aftermath. Rather than pulling away, you linger together in those blissful moments. Finally, propping himself up on his elbows, he looks down at you with a teasing glint.

“So, how was that?” he asks, running his thumb over your still-sensitive, swollen lips, inviting your answer.

“Not bad,” you manage a casual reply.

“Little liar,” he chuckles, sitting up, then adds, “But if you ever need a hand—or a friend, you know where to find me.”

Now you were painfully aware that you couldn’t meet Eric’s eyes after this. With Eric, things never went all the way, despite his half-hearted attempts when Jungkook wasn’t around to intervene. You’d always held back—just a touch here, a flirtatious finger there. Sure, there was a twinge of guilt, but with Jungkook, it never felt like cheating; it was him, your Jungkook. And the truth was evident: Eric was a terrible lover, each touch reminding you just how much better Jungkook made you feel.

That night sealed the deal. Far from any awkward afterglow, you and Jungkook grew even closer—if that was even possible. Hugging, cheek kisses, having him casually plop on your lap during movie nights, or simply cuddling in bed became your new normal. It drove Eric mad, as any boyfriend in his position would be. You broke up with Eric right after graduation, that summer before heading off to university with Jungkook by your side. A bold new life was on the horizon, and you stepped into it together, united by your little, delicious secret.

[writesvani]

Dear Me | 04

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS (for this chapter): anxiety, guilt, discomfort, emotional distress, self-sabotage, past trauma, relationship tension, self-doubt, jealousy, awkwardness, manipulation, abandonment, social anxiety

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 6,4k // date: 28th of March 2025

CHAPTER FOUR — The House; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey hey hey!!! okay, so, like, i am OBSESSED with this chapter. like, truly. i love it SO MUCH and i really hope you all love it too because i’m freaking out over here!!

now, listen up, i’m setting a NOTE GOAL for this chapter—250 notes because YOU GUYS LITERALLY SMASHED THE LAST ONE IN 2 DAYS and that’s just like... UNREAL! i'm over here losing my mind. i can’t even. you guys are LEGENDS. so, yeah, let’s hit that 250 and guess what? I’LL BE POSTING CHAPTER 5 ASAP once we get there. i HAVE to make the note goal higher because if i keep it at 200—i'll literally post everyday and i DO NOT have the strength to do that. i am sorry (not sorry at all).

—love, vani

To be quite honest, you’d rather switch places with Sisyphus right now.

Yeah, you’d probably be drenched in sweat, rolling that massive boulder up a hill over and over again, failing endlessly, panting like a feral raccoon on the verge of collapse.

And yet? You’d take it. Gladly.

You’d throw yourself into the depths of the underworld’s worst punishments if it meant being anywhere else but here. If it meant doing anything else but sitting through this.

If it meant not having to hear, for the hundredth time, just how great Jungkook’s proposal to Nina was. How wholesome and romantic and perfect it had been. How your childhood best friend—the one you once knew like the back of your hand—is, apparently, the most lovable, charming, sweet, and overall best boyfriend-turned-fiancé in existence.

You grit your teeth as Nina’s voice pulls you back to the present, each of her words like a tiny, invisible shock to your system. Her joy is undeniable, written all over her face in bright, delicate excitement. Her hands move animatedly through the air, cutting through the thick atmosphere of the coffee shop, mimicking the way Jungkook had taken her hand in his, the way he had slipped that ring onto her finger.

And you?

You just sit there, nodding along, pretending that every detail doesn’t feel like a stone being added to the weight already crushing your chest.

Yoongi is nodding along, gasping at all the right moments—but you see through him. His fingers tap lightly against his cup, and his lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a grimace every time Nina gets a little too animated. He loves her, adores her even, but Yoongi—despite being a massive book nerd with an unspoken love for romance in fiction—is allergic to real-life romance talk.

So the fact that he’s enduring this? Says a lot.

You, on the other hand, sit stiffly, your fingers curled around the handle of your cup, the ceramic warm against your skin. You don’t tense. You don’t flinch. You just… exist in the moment, pretending this conversation isn’t making you want to pour your espresso straight into your eyes. Your smiles are perfectly timed, your little laughs polite—just enough to make it seem like you’re engaged. But inside, every word feels like an iron weight pressing on your chest.

“And I swear, I was shocked,” Nina exclaims, eyes wide, hands flying through the air as if she’s physically reliving the moment.

Yoongi leans back slightly, expression unreadable. “No way you didn’t see it coming at all.”

Nina scoffs, placing a hand over her heart as if personally offended. “I didn’t! Look!”

Before anyone can react, she shoves her phone into Yoongi’s face so fast he physically jerks back, blinking like she just hit him with a flashlight. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know what it is.

“My friends and YOU, my sweet brother, knew and didn’t even tell me to get my nails done,” she groans dramatically, shaking her head.

Across the table, Jungkook, who’s been suspiciously quiet during this entire reenactment of his own damn proposal, finally speaks.

“They didn’t wanna ruin the surprise for you, baby.”

His voice is soft, steady, but there’s something in the way his hand lightly rubs Nina’s back that makes your stomach churn.

You tilt your head, forcing out a light laugh. “Wow. Talk about friendly sabotage.”

It’s an attempt at humor—something, anything—but your fingers twitch against your cup, and when Jungkook glances at you, just for a second, his expression unreadable, you feel it.

The weight of it.

Of everything.

Jungkook looks away first.

The moment is fleeting—just a quick glance, a second of hesitation—but it lingers in the air like a truth neither of you dares to acknowledge. The weight of years apart, of missed conversations and things left unsaid, sits between you, thick and unmovable.

And then, Nina speaks again, blissfully unaware of the silent war happening right in front of her.

“But they could’ve at least hinted at it,” she whines, but her eyes shine, a soft glow of happiness radiating from her features. “Like, I dunno—‘Oh, your nails are getting long, maybe book an appointment?’” She sighs, shaking her head. “Now my engagement pics are lowkey ugly.”

You let out a small, amused scoff. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”

She doesn’t hesitate to show you her phone, flipping the screen toward you. You lean in slightly, eyes scanning the image. And yeah, okay—you get it. Her nails are a bit grown out, the perfect white tips slightly out of place, but it’s nothing dramatic. Still, if it were your hands in that picture, with a ring that big and nails that unpolished, you’d probably throw a tiny fit too.

You tilt your head, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. You kinda do have a point, girl.”

“Right?” Nina huffs, crossing her arms, but there’s laughter laced in her voice now.

Your gaze flickers to her hand, fingers curled around her coffee cup, the diamond on her finger catching the light just right. “At least your nails are on point now,” you remark, nodding toward them.

She grins, wiggling her fingers in front of you. “Duh. No way I was letting that happen again.”

Yoongi snorts. “I swear, you’re the only person who could turn a proposal into a nail horror story.”

“Hey! It’s a valid concern,” Nina shoots back, tossing a sugar packet at him. “A girl’s gotta have her priorities straight.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Babe, you literally cried when I got down on one knee. You didn’t even notice your nails until, like, an hour later.”

“Yeah, because I was overwhelmed!” She points an accusing finger at him before turning to you. “Do you know how rude it is to just casually propose out of nowhere? No warning, no heads-up—just ‘boom, life-changing moment, now deal with it.’”

You press your lips together, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn, how dare he propose to you without a PowerPoint presentation and a six-week prep course?”

“Thank you!” Nina exclaims, dramatically placing a hand over her chest. “Finally, someone who understands my suffering.”

Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Next time, I’ll send out a calendar invite first.”

“Yeah, maybe you could even send it to us too—so we can all prepare for the big day.”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp-edged, bitter. You’re an adult. You know better than to let something so petty slip out. It’s not like you. It’s childish. Spiteful. But restraint is impossible when the truth is gnawing at you from the inside out—when the person who once felt like an extension of yourself didn’t even tell you he was getting married.

Didn’t give you the chance to be there. To help pick the perfect ring. To witness his excitement, his nerves, the way he used to come to you with every major life decision. You were robbed. Of a moment. Of a friendship. Of him.

Nina, oblivious, just laughs at your remark, too caught up in the glow of her engagement to notice the venom laced in your voice. She keeps swiping through her phone, showing video after video of the proposal—footage taken by the friends who did know, who were there, because Jungkook, ever the romantic, wanted to pop the question in front of the people she loved.

Yoongi wasn’t there. He had been overseas for a project. That’s the only reason. But it’s funny, isn’t it? How he never even mentioned the proposal to you until the invites were sent out. How that makes you question so many things.

Funnier still is the way he reacts.

Jungkook blinks. Slowly. His expression barely shifts, but you see it. The subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his tongue darts out to press against his cheek. His brows furrow, just slightly, like your words bother him. Like they’re an itch he can’t quite scratch.

And Yoongi—he catches it too. His shoulders flinch, his breath stutters for just a fraction of a second, but his gaze never leaves Nina’s phone. Like he’s pretending he didn’t hear. Like he doesn’t want to hear.

“Mhm.” Jungkook hums, tapping his fingers against his cup. “Didn’t wanna tell too many people. Didn’t want it getting out too soon.” His lips pull into a smirk, eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. Something close to a challenge. “You know how it is—I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

You force a nod, shifting in your seat. “Yeah,” you say, voice a little too smooth, a little too controlled. “Good thing you only told the people you trust.”

His smirk falters—just for a second. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

“Well, you know me,” he finally says, leaning back with a casual shrug. “Always thinking ahead.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Genius.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something tight in the way his jaw moves, something lingering in the air between you that neither of you dares to name.

“Sooo,” Nina drawls, turning to you with a sly look, her eyebrow raised like she’s putting you on trial. “What’s going on with that boyfriend of yours?”

You blink at her, momentarily lost. “Which boyfriend?”

She scoffs. “Come on, you know—the guy you were talking about last time I saw you.”

You tilt your head, giving her a flat look. “Nina, that was two years ago.”

“So what?” She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink like that’s not a ridiculous amount of time to be out of the loop.

You exhale sharply, pressing your lips together. “We broke up over a year ago.”

Her brows furrow. “Why?”

You pause, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup. “Ehh… We just—drifted apart, I guess. Fell out of love.”

Nina hums, eyes flickering over you like she’s assessing if that’s the whole truth. You hold her gaze, daring her to dig deeper. She doesn’t—but the air still feels a little heavier.

You don’t notice the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup, how his grip falters just enough for the ceramic to shift in his hands. You don’t catch the subtle squint of his eyes when you mutter “drifted apart.”

But Yoongi does.

His gaze flickers to Jungkook, studying him like he’s reading between the lines of an unfinished story. Their eyes meet for the briefest second—silent, heavy. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, clears his throat, like the moment never happened. Like Yoongi hadn’t just told him something without saying a single word.

But the message is loud and clear.

Dude, you’re an asshole.

But Jungkook—he doesn’t feel like an asshole. He doesn’t feel like he did something wrong.

Because he was the one who tried.

He was the one sending Facebook messages every damn day that summer while you were in Europe, just so you could reply—maybe three times a week, at best—because you were just so busy.

He was the one staying up all night, his textbooks blurred at the edges from exhaustion, only to set his alarm too early just so he could call you before your day started.

He was the one skipping lectures, missing out on life around him, just to sit in his tiny dorm room and listen to you talk—because that’s how much he wanted to hold onto you.

And when he finally stopped—when he silenced his alarm, when he went to class, when he decided to just wait and see if you’d reach out first—there was nothing.

No new calls.

No desperate messages.

Just silence.

And that silence? It was deafening. It was humiliating. It rang louder than any ‘I don’t love you anymore’ ever could.

So, no. Jungkook doesn’t feel like an asshole. He just feels like someone who learned the hard way that loving someone more than they love you is its own kind of heartbreak. He’s the one who learned when to stop trying.

When to stop holding onto the ties already cut.

“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” Nina asks, her gaze flicking between you and Yoongi as she swirls the last of her coffee in her cup. There’s a glint in her eye—curious, maybe even a little mischievous.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Nothing much. Gotta finish a chapter I’m reviewing for that author I told you about,” he says, voice casual, though you can tell he’s already dreading it.

You glance at him before taking a slow sip of your coffee, the bitterness settling on your tongue. “Same. Just… getting mentally prepared for work tomorrow.”

Technically, it’s not a lie. You do have work tomorrow. But beneath the surface, there’s a flicker of something else, something you try to ignore—a spark of unease picking at your subconscious.

Because it’s Wednesday.

And that means an email is coming.

An email you don’t want to read. An email you’ll tell yourself to ignore. An email you know you’ll end up opening anyway, your fingers hovering over words that feel like ghosts of your past self, haunting you in black and white.

Yoongi, oblivious to the shift in your mind, tilts his head toward Nina. “Why?” he asks, tone easy but laced with mild suspicion.

Nina taps her fingers against the table, her lips twitching as if she’s debating something. Then, she shrugs, but it’s far too casual to be genuine.

“I was just thinking…” she starts, letting the words linger, dangling in the air like bait.

You're hooked, despite yourself. Nina’s dramatic pause stretches, her fingers absently twirling a lock of her black hair as she builds the suspense.

"Since Kook and I took a few days off..." she starts, her tone almost too careful. Then, before either of you can react, she holds up a hand. "Look—before you call me crazy, I know it’s the middle of the week," she adds quickly, eyes locking onto Yoongi like she already expects his disapproval.

Yoongi exhales sharply, his patience wearing thin. "Just spit it out, for fuck’s sake."

Nina grins, as if this is exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

"Okay, so—I saw there’s a gig at The House tonight, and I thought, maybe we could all go. Check it out. You know, like we used to in high school."

Her words land heavy in the air. Nostalgia. A double-edged sword. You feel it settle into your chest, an old, familiar ache.

The House is a relic of your teen years, a place that holds too much history to ever feel neutral. By day, it was a quiet coffee shop, hidden from the general crowd—only those who truly knew TH even realized it was open before sunset.

But at night? It transformed. Gigs, live music, bands clawing their way into existence, hoping to be something more than just a name on a dimly lit flyer. The House wasn’t just a venue; it was a second home. A place where dreams felt tangible, where friendships were solidified over cheap drinks and lyrics screamed into the air.

And if you go tonight, you already know exactly how it’ll go. The moment you step through those doors, Alex will spot you. His signature flirty smirk will stretch across his lips, the same one he’s been sending your way since you were a teenager. He’s only two years older, but he’s been working at The House since your very first time there—and somehow, he never left. A fixture. A piece of that place, just like the worn-out stage and the dim, flickering neon sign above the entrance.

Alex was always a walking contradiction. Despite his shameless attempts to charm anything with two legs and a vagina, he was also something else to you. To all of you. Like an older brother who saw too much, who knew more than he let on. Who watched you fall in love—watched you get hurt—and never said a damn thing.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? If you go tonight, it won’t just be a night out. It’ll be a collision with your past, a forced confrontation with the version of yourself that once walked those same floors, heart bare and reckless.

So, no. Thank you, but no. You’d rather spend the night wallowing in your misery, drowning in thar email, than risk stepping back into a place that remembers too much.

“Ugh, I don’t know…” Yoongi scratches the back of his head, clearly torn between his usual routine and Nina’s relentless pleading.

You lean back in your chair, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “I have work tomorrow, girl,” you remind her, hoping she’ll get the hint.

Nina’s eyes widen, and she immediately pouts, sticking out her bottom lip like she’s trying to win a contest for the most dramatic face. “Please,” she begs, “we haven’t gone out since high school. Just one night. Please?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the weight of her stare. “One night? Yeah, right. You’ll be the first to tell me how much I regret it tomorrow.”

“Not if you’re with us!” Nina says, flipping her hair dramatically. “It’ll be fun! You, Kook, Yoongi and me—same old crew, just like the good old days.”

Yoongi scoffs, giving her a side-eye. “You act like we were some wild party animals back then.”

Nina grins mischievously. “Whatever, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You stare at her, arms crossed. “Fine. But this is the last time, you hear me? Next time you pull this stunt, I’m throwing you in a broom closet with Alex from The House.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so you're going just to avoid the broom closet?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy torturing myself.”

Jungkook, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally speaks up, his voice a little hesitant but teasing. “You know,” he says, leaning in slightly, “if you really want to make it interesting, we could all take shots and make it a competition. Who can go the longest without regretting it?”

You glance at him, your eyebrow raised. “Oh, you think you’re some kind of expert on not regretting things?”

Jungkook smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, I did just propose, didn’t I? That takes a lot of confidence... and the ability to ignore some regrets.”

You laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. “Good one, Kook. Real subtle.”

Nina claps her hands excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly the spirit we need! It’s settled. We’re going!”

You lean back in your chair, pretending to contemplate. “Fine. But if I hate it, I’m blaming all of you. And I’ll make sure you pay for the coffee tomorrow.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair with a smirk. “If I end up with a hangover tomorrow, I’m blaming you. And I’ll make sure you’re the one buying that coffee.”

Jungkook grins, chiming in, “I think I will need another coffee after Nina’s ‘party planning.’”

Nina gives him a playful glare. “You’re all just jealous you don’t have the same enthusiasm for drinking.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But if I end up regretting this, I’m haunting every single one of you.”

Nina winks. “Deal!”

The weight of reality hits you the moment you step through the door of your apartment. The familiar scent of home isn’t as comforting as it used to be; instead, it hangs in the air like an unwelcome reminder. Why? Why did you agree to this reunion, knowing exactly what it would stir up? Going to The House feels like self-sabotage—it feels like clawing at open wounds that never really healed, just scabbed over. It's a mistake. You know it’s a mistake.

You stare blankly at your surroundings, the space that once felt so much like yours, and now it feels... wrong. The corner of your table catches your eye. Your laptop sits there, silently screaming at you. It’s the email. That email. It’s been sitting there all day, mocking you. “Take me. Read me. You know you want to,” it seems to whisper. But you won’t. Not today. No. You won’t let yourself fall back into that mess—not today, not when you're already feeling like this.

You push the thought away, willing yourself to breathe through the tightness building in your chest. There’s a limit to how much you can take, and you’ve reached it. You will not engage with that stupid email today, no matter how much it calls to you like some kind of irresistible siren. No. Not when you have exactly three hours before you have to face everyone.

Before you have to see Jungkook again.

It’s been so long since you’ve had to look him in the eye. Seeing him earlier today was one thing, but now, after everything, having to face him again—two times in one day—feels like too much. You’re not sure what you expected from today, but you know it wasn’t this.

Not this weight.

You stand there, frozen in the middle of your apartment, knowing you should get ready. But it feels impossible. Every part of you is screaming to run away, to hide from the past that keeps trying to drag you back. But you can’t. You won’t. You have to face it—face them. Even if it feels like you’re suffocating under the pressure of it all.

Your mind drifts back to The House, the one place you’ve avoided for so long. The memories are already flooding back. The laughter, the music, the people you used to know so well. But most of all, it’s the feeling of him—Jungkook. His presence is still a shadow over everything. And you know, deep down, this reunion, this thing Nina’s dragging you into, is just going to make everything worse. You're not ready.

You never will be.

Your phone lights up, the soft ping of a new message breaking the silence of your apartment. You glance down—Yoongi.

Yoon 🤍: ya home?

You: yea, just arrived. u?

Yoon 🤍: same. you sure you wanna go out tonight?

You: no, haha. wby?

Yoon 🤍: same man. but she’s my sis and the bride, gotta make her happy.

You: yeaa

Yoon 🤍: and i guess it would be nice to chill there, like before yk? see alex.

You: yeah, i miss alex, lowkey feel gulity for not visiting him there.

Yoon 🤍: yea me too.

Yoon 🤍: go get ready, we’ll be picking you up later.

Your phone pings again, Yoongi’s name lighting up the screen.

Yoon 🤍: you okay tho?

You: yeah, just... weird.

Yoon 🤍: i get that. but it’ll be fine. i’ll be there.

You: thanks. i guess it’s just… i dunno, feels like a lot of things are gonna come back up.

Yoon 🤍: yeah, i hear you. but sometimes it’s good to face the past, yk?

You: idk if i’m ready for that.

Yoon 🤍: i’ll be there to distract you if it gets too much.

You: appreciate it.

Yoon 🤍: of course. just get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.

You: alright, give me like 20 minutes.

Yoon 🤍: sounds good. see you soon.

You set your phone down, trying to take a deep breath, but then the realization hits. You quickly grab your phone again.

You: wtf dude, aren’t u supposed to pick me up in 3 hrs, not this soon?

Yoon 🤍: 😂 i’m messing with you. we won’t be there for a while. but hurry up, time’s ticking!

You: you’re an asshole, but i’m getting ready.

You roll your eyes, setting the phone down again.

As soon as you slide into the car, a sense of discomfort washes over you. It’s like stepping into a memory you’d rather not revisit, yet here you are. The seating arrangement is completely different from what you expected. Yoongi is at the wheel, his hands lazily draped over the steering wheel, fingers splayed wide. He’s laughing at something Nina’s saying—some ridiculous piece of friendship drama she’s telling him, no doubt embellished for dramatic effect. Nina, as usual, is sitting in the passenger seat, her voice louder than the rest of the car’s noise.

Then there's the seating beside you: Jungkook. It feels strange. Just like before. Yoongi and Nina are up front, gossiping, while you and Jungkook are squeezed into the backseat like it’s high school all over again. You’d imagined Nina and Jungkook sitting next to each other, given the whole engagement thing, but no—Nina missed her brother so much, she had to hog him for herself.

You sit next to Jungkook, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness. The car is small—Yoongi’s car is cramped, and the backseat feels even smaller. Jungkook is practically taking up half of it, his body large and solid, pushing you against the door like a pancake. You can sense the heat radiating off him, and every time he shifts, it’s like you feel it. His leg brushes against yours, making the space feel even more suffocating.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to adjust, but his leg doesn’t budge much.

You chuckle dryly, trying to mask the tension in your chest. “It’s fine. Not like you can really do anything about it,” you say, motioning vaguely at how small the car is with your hand.

He nods, his eyes drifting to the window, as if he’s looking for some kind of escape in the passing scenery. The silence stretches between you, the weight of old, unspoken words hanging in the air.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence, whispering, even though your voice sounds too loud in your head. “I’m glad, you know.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks at you, confusion flickering in his gaze.

“About your engagement,” you clarify, glancing at him. “How your life turned out. It’s... good to see.”

He softens at that, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you. Same goes for you. I’m glad all your dreams came true.”

You offer a small, forced smile. “Yeah, thank you.” The words are polite, but they feel like they belong to someone else.

The words hang in the air for a moment, soft but heavy. Jungkook’s voice barely breaks through the hum of the car, but you catch it, feeling the weight of it settle between you.

“Did you ever regret it?” His words are a whisper, but there's a tremor in his tone, something vulnerable hiding beneath the surface. You glance at him, catching the shift in his expression—there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, like he's waiting for something, anything, from you.

You feel your chest tighten. Regret? The question cuts deeper than you expected. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the cramped space suddenly feeling even smaller.

“Regret what?” You ask, your voice quieter than you intended, your breath catching slightly as you look over at him.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the passing streetlights outside, as if the answer is too difficult to voice. “Following your dreams,” he says again, slower this time, as if testing the words on his tongue.

You breathe in sharply, trying to shake off the heaviness that threatens to settle in your chest. You let the silence stretch for a beat too long before you respond, trying to sound more certain than you feel.

“Never thought about it,” you reply, the words leaving your mouth easily enough. You glance away from him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve as you add, “But no, I don’t think so.”

And yet, even as the words leave your lips, there’s a flicker of doubt. A small part of you wonders if you really don’t regret it—if you don’t regret all the things you left behind in the process, the pieces of yourself that never quite fit after chasing everything else.

The rest of the ride passes in silence between you and Jungkook, the quiet tension almost suffocating. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of his leg pressing against yours, the warmth of it seeping through your jeans, but neither of you speak. The space between you feels like a canyon, and you’re unsure if you’re even capable of bridging it anymore.

Instead, you let Nina's voice fill the car, a steady stream of gossip, her words a distracting, almost absurd relief from the heavy quiet. You listen absently as she recounts her latest drama, her tone increasingly animated.

“So, like,” Nina starts, her voice brimming with excitement, “Ana, you know Ana, right?” Yoongi nods. “Well, apparently, she’s been sleeping with her best friend’s husband. And get this—she’s been doing it right under her nose, for months.”

You blink, glancing at Nina through the rearview mirror, raising your eyebrows. The shock registers slowly. What the hell?

“I mean, what kind of shit is that? You should’ve seen Ana’s face when I called her out on it. She was like, ‘It’s just a fling, Nina. I don’t owe anyone an explanation.’” Nina lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh, “A fling?! With a married man? How do you even get to that point?”

You can feel the tension in the car rise, your stomach sinking as Nina’s story spirals.

"And guess what? The wife knows—she just hasn’t said anything yet. She's playing it cool, waiting to catch them in the act. She’s just letting Ana keep digging her own grave.”

Nina’s eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth as she leans in closer to Yoongi, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Wait,” you interject, not sure if you want to hear any more, “So, what—Ana's sleeping with the guy while his wife is just letting her?”

Nina nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Exactly! And the best part?” She leans forward, her voice dropping dramatically. “She caught them at a party the other night. The husband literally walked right past her, gave Ana this huge kiss on the cheek, and then turned to his wife and said, ‘Babe, I’m going to grab another drink.’ As if nothing was going on!”

You stare at her, blinking in disbelief. “What the hell?”

Nina throws her hands up in mock frustration, her eyes wide as if she's about to lose her mind. “I know! It’s like a fucking soap opera. I swear to God, I can’t keep up with these people anymore.” She shakes her head, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Like, if you’re gonna cheat, at least have the decency to be subtle about it.”

You glance over at Jungkook, who still hasn’t spoken, his eyes focused outside the window, though you can tell he's listening. His profile is unreadable, but you wonder if all lf this is more of a distraction for him than it is for you.

As soon as you step into The House, everything is blurry. The chaos of the night engulfs you—laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the booming bass from the speakers that makes the floor beneath your feet vibrate. There are a lot of faces, some familiar, some new. Thank God for the new ones. For a moment, you let yourself breathe in the energy of the place, the music blaring, the cigarette smoke curling around you, invading your senses.

Then you hear the familiar sound of a voice you didn’t realize you missed.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Behind the bar, a wide grin spreads across Alex’s face, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees the four of you. Without hesitation, he’s moving—practically running—towards Jungkook. The scene is a little bizarre, sure. Alex, a full head shorter than Jungkook, wraps his arms around him like a long-lost mother finally reunited with her child.

“My boy!” Alex beams, patting Jungkook’s back like he’s proud of him for some hidden accomplishment. Jungkook laughs, actually laughs, his shoulders shaking a little with the sound.

“You’ve gotten so big. You’re huge now,” Alex adds, since the last time he saw Jungkook was… Well… Years ago.

Jungkook smirks, chuckling under his breath. “You forgot how to use a razor or something,” Jungkook says, pointing at Alex’s beard.

The comment makes Alex pull back just enough to give him a playful shove. “Hey, don’t start with me. I’m just getting better with age, alright?”

Nina, with a sly grin, steps forward as Alex turns to her. "Pretty girl," Alex motions toward her with a wink, “Look at you. Thinking about giving me a chance already?”

Nina laughs, rolling her eyes but giving him the affectionate hug he’s so eager to receive. “You’re still so lame.”

"You know I’m just being nice,” Alex says, patting her on the back as she pulls away. “But I’ll take the hug. You look good, girl.”

Yoongi, already standing off to the side with his arms crossed, lets out a small sigh. "The nerdy," Alex singsongs, eyes narrowing with the teasing tone. He gives Yoongi a respectful dap, fully aware how Yoongi’s personal space is sacred.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pull away, muttering a quiet, “You’re lucky I don’t have to be nice to you,” but his voice holds no real bite.

And then Alex’s gaze falls on you. His eyes soften immediately, like everything around him just slows down. He leans over the counter, his arms outstretched toward you. “And my lil monster,” he murmurs, his body melting into yours as you wrap your arms around him.

You breathe in, the scent of him enveloping you—cologne, wood smoke, and something you swear smells like the old leather of the barstools. He smells like home. A safe place you didn’t know you needed.

“I missed you too,” you say, your voice surprisingly soft as you bury your face in his shoulder.

Alex chuckles, pulling back just a bit to give you a knowing look. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t start, Alex.”

“Can’t help it,” he grins widely, the energy between you two palpable. “You all still owe me drinks. I’m running a tab tonight. Just like old times, yeah?”

Nina glances at Yoongi with a raised brow. “You know, I don’t think I ever told him no,” she says, half-teasing, half-serious.

Yoongi snorts, his arms still crossed. “We’re still not paying for you. Last time you drank enough for all of us.”

Alex throws his head back, laughing loudly, clearly unbothered by their teasing. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m the one who knows the best drinks, so you’re all stuck with me.”

You settle into the bar stools, the hard, cool surface pressing into your legs, yet it feels oddly comforting. The familiar buzz of The House surrounds you—dim lights, low murmurs of conversation, and the steady hum of the music—but all you can focus on is the figure behind the bar. Alex. His face practically glows as he crosses his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between the four of you with an intensity that feels almost... predatory. It’s like he’s studying you, looking for something, anything, that betrays the carefully constructed walls each of you put up. You can almost feel the weight of his eyes on you, dissecting every movement, every shift.

“So, what’s new?” Alex asks, his voice casual, but his eyes betray an underlying curiosity that you’re not sure you want to indulge.

Surprisingly, it’s Jungkook who answers first. He was always the one who could talk to Alex without hesitation, like the two of them shared some sacred bond. You can almost hear the warmth in his voice when he speaks. “I’m getting married, bro.”

Alex freezes for a moment, and for the briefest second, time seems to halt in its tracks. His brows furrow, and a flicker of recognition crosses his face as he processes Jungkook’s words. Then, his eyes dart to you, and it feels like the world slows down, all noise fading into a dull hum.

“Dang, dude,” Alex says, the words lingering in the air. “So I didn’t only miss you making it official, I missed the whole proposal?”

And just like that, everything shifts. The air in the room turns thick, suffocating. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a second, you think you might choke on your own thoughts. What? The? Fuck? Why would he say something like that? Why would he imply something so... loaded?

Jungkook gulps, his hand instinctively reaching for his drink, but it’s not served yet. There’s nothing to steady the trembling in his fingers. You see the tension in his jaw, the way he clenches his teeth, as if holding himself back from saying something. Yoongi’s eyes shut for a fraction of a second, like he’s trying to block out the uncomfortable atmosphere. Nina just stares, her expression unreadable, caught somewhere between confusion and shock.

And you? You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to feel. All you can hear is the sound of your own pulse thudding in your ears, louder than any of the chatter around you. You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but your words get stuck in your throat.

But then, like a cruel punchline, Alex bursts into laughter. It’s not just a chuckle. It’s manic, almost cackling, like he’s just pulled off the best prank of his life.

“Ha!” he says, his voice ringing with amusement. “Should’ve seen your faces, I’m just kidding.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, but the relief doesn’t last. It doesn’t feel like a joke. Not really. The weight of his words hangs in the air, lingering in a way that makes you feel like you’re being suffocated by something you can’t shake. Because Alex is too good at reading people. He knows. He knows something shifted in the room, something unspoken that’s now hanging between you all. And even though he’s laughing, you can feel the subtle shift in his demeanor. You can feel his gaze flicker toward you, that apologetic look in his eyes—his way of trying to backpedal, to ease the tension he just created.

But it doesn’t feel like an apology. Not when you see how his eyes flick toward Jungkook with that look—a silent understanding passing between them. It’s the kind of look that speaks volumes, and you know exactly what it means: He saw it. He knows.

The air feels colder now, heavier. And no one says a word as Alex wipes the smile off his face, pretending like everything is fine, like nothing just happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that nothing good comes after this.

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[back2bluesidex]

Slippin' Under - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Bully!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: angst, toxic workplace settings, bullying, class difference, haters to lovers au

Word count: 1.6k+

Summary: "You're toxic, I'm slippin' under"

Warnings: workplace bullying, insulting the reader based on her social stature, class difference, Jungkook is a shit.

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

A/N: should there be a part 2? or should I keep it as it is?

Btw, There is a next part that's available in Patreon.

It’s not your fault that you were born to poor parents. It’s not your fault that the roof over your head always leaked. It’s not your fault that you never got to eat in an upscale restaurant, nor the fact that most of your education has been supported by charity and scholarships. 

While you wished for your fate to be otherwise, to be able to afford nice shoes, fancy dresses - you never really cursed your destiny. 

Even from a very young age you understood that everyone lacks something and that’s okay, that’s life. 

But for the very first time in life, you are regretting your fate - yesterday, today and you are going to regret it tomorrow as well. 

You know your skirt doesn’t fit you quite right, it’s loose in places where it should hug your body like a glove and you look more like a clown than like an office goer. 

But your budget was tight, most of your savings went behind the purchase of your new laptop and you had to thrift the clothes. 

As you walk around the break room, you hear giggles behind your back - those are directed towards you. 

“She’s been wearing the same outfit for three days in a row.” one of them states not-so-discreetly, others break into laughter and giggles. 

Your teeth press together as you try to center your focus on the coffee. 

“See how much coffee she’s pouring. Must be because she doesn’t get to drink such expensive ones at home.” another one comments and then again they break into a feat of laughter. 

You clutch your cup tightly, eyes prickling with tears but you are determined to not break down right now. 

The real devil is waiting for you, ready to pounce on you as soon as he steps into the floor. You need to save your energy and will power for then. 

Right now it's not the time. 

The heels of his expensive shoes clink against the marble floor. 

He walks with an aura of power and authority that suits him just perfectly. On his face - the expression of pride, power and sheer obnoxity lingers. 

The sound of his footsteps start ringing louder and louder and you know he is coming towards your cubicle to start with his morning ritual of harassing you, insulting you, making fun of you and making you into a joke material for the entire department. 

As he enters the main working area, a joint harmony of “good morning, Mr. Jeon” ensues. You take part in it too - just like the lowly creature that you are. 

“Morning everyone” He greets with his devilishly sweet voice. When you dare to look up at him from your workstation - you find him already peering over at you. 

As soon as your eyes meet his cruel, cold ones - he looks away. Instead, he scrunches his nose and you know something is coming towards you - another insulting, rude remark to leave traces of unshed tears all over your face. 

“Can you people smell something stinky? Something like sweat? Someone must be wearing yesterday’s set of clothes.” he throws another dirty glare towards you before trudging towards his cabin, leaving a trail of giggles behind him. 

Your eyes prickle with tears for a second time in the day and it’s nothing new. 

It’s been two months since you have become the subject of workplace bullying and there’s nothing - absolutely nothing that you can do about it. 

Jeon Jungkook is the next in line heir of the Jeon and Park empire. He is the kind of entitled rich brats that are defined oh-so-perfectly in TV and movies. He thinks he has the right to do anything and everything he pleases inside the boundaries of the workplace because his mother owns half of the company. 

Is he wrong though? 

Absolutely not. 

Jeon Jungkook, although under training to be the next managing director, is a perfectionist and likes to have everything in the perfect order. And according to him, you being in his team is very much out of order. 

You can see why. His team members, unfortunately your colleagues, are all from affluent families. They wear nice, expensive clothes, spray expensive smelling perfume all over their bodies, use expensive makeup and talk about their equally expensive weekend plans in golf courts or expensive bars. 

On the other hand, you are probably someone who suits more as their attendees or house-helps than their colleagues. 

Is that your fault? No. 

Does Jeon Jungkook even consider that? No. 

But you still don’t understand why he hates you so much, what is it that you have done, why your presence irks him so much to the point that he can’t even look at you without disgust in his eyes. 

“Y/N” one of your teammate slash bullies knocks on your cubicle, abruptly putting a stack of files on the free space beside you, “Mr. Jeon asked you to complete reviewing these files by the end of the day." She conveys the devil’s message. 

Her long, brown hair swings as she starts taking steps away from your vicinity but then she stops, turns her head towards you - eyes cold and mocking, “and just so you know, convenience stores sell really cheap perfume. Your clothes really do stink of sweat.” 

You avoid her eyes, busy yourself in pulling down the first file from the pile. 

If you weren’t under an employment contract - you would have resigned by now. 

You find it hard to believe your own ears but what you are hearing are certainly moans and groans of pleasure. 

Your fingers hover over the blurred glass door of Jungkook’s cabin - not sure if you should knock or not. There’s certainly something controversial going on inside, something you have no interest in prodding in but it’s late. It’s already 9:30 at night, way past your clocking off time but you had to complete the work and now you have to go home. 

You can’t delay anymore. 

You see two silhouettes separating from each other on the other side of the door, there are some quick movements before one of the silhouettes takes quick steps towards the door. 

It opens on your face and the woman, the same one from earlier who suggested you use a convenience store perfume, comes out. She screams in horror upon seeing you standing there. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing here?” she yells at your face. 

You take a deep breath, choosing not to say anything, you point at the files. She walks away with an eye-roll.  

“May I come in?” the knock rings subduedly on the glass door. 

Jungkook groans and you take it as an affirmation. 

As you walk in, you let your eyes wander all around him. 

Jeon Jungkook is obviously handsome and that certainly contributes to his obnoxious behavior. His throat adorns several red and purple marks - proof of pleasure he just claimed. His tie hangs loose, his shirt is messily tucked in. 

If your clothes reek of sweat then his reek of arousal right now. 

“Here, the files. I have reviewed and corrected these as per instruction.” you place carefully, trying not to say something that backfires. 

Jungkook stays in his chair, eyes closed. 

“I will take-” 

“What did you see?” he cuts you off. 

“I haven’t seen anything, sir.” you add wisely. 

“Liar.” a loud laugh rings through Jungkook’s chest. He stands up. 

“Were you enjoying it? The show? I noticed you standing there for quite some time.” he takes a step towards you. 

“Don’t tell me-” Jungkook scoffs, “you weren’t jealous, were you? I bet no one has ever touched you without being disgusted by the way your dress or smell.”

Your eyes close on their own accord. Your eyes prickle again but this time with anger. 

“You have no right to comment on the way I dress unless it’s against the office decorum, which is certainly not the case, Mr. Jeon. I have been silently gulping down every insult you throw at me. I don’t utter a single word even when the others make fun of me following your leads. But that’s enough. If you, so much so, utter a single offensive word regarding my social stature or the way I look, I will have to file a complaint against you.” you turn your heels to leave upon throwing your jab but a hand grabs you, spins you and pins you back against his desk all within a matter of a second. 

“How the fuck such a low creature like you dares to threaten me?” Jungkook’s perfect set of white teeth grits right before your eyes. 

He grabs the back of your neck and pushes your face so close to his that for a second you feared he might do something insane. 

But he doesn’t. 

His body presses onto yours, sharing warmth, sending questionable tingles all over your body. 

“Mr. Jeon..” you croak out.

“I hate you! I fucking you hate you so much.” Jungkook’s voice drips with venom. The nails of his other hand digs on your waist. 

You feel pain with an addition of something you never felt before. 

But with Jungkook’s face so close to yours, with his eyes overflowing with disgust for you, his handsome face contorted in anger - you don’t think you would ever want to find out. 

If Jungkook hates you - you hate him tenfold more.

Read the Next Part

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The Executioner (m)

synopsis. After all he was the only guy who would destroy everyone to protect you.

pairing. yandere jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings: vióléncé ánd gráphíc dépíctíóns óf hárm, psychólógícál ábúsé, mánípúlátíón., dárk thémes óf révéngé ánd páín., déscríptíóns óf ínténsívé cáréss, t��rrór, ánd prófánítý, mátúré lángúágé (prófánítý) ánd viólént áctíóns, YÁNDÈRÈ, RÈVÈNGÈ, 18+, búllyíng.

note. This is heavily heavily inspired by the glory, a.k.a. the Korean drama, which is a masterpiece so everyone should watch it I found this GIF on Pinterest so credit to the real owner and I just want to see on a serious note that if you’re ever being bullied, you have to stand up for yourself and no one deserves that kind of torture. So be kind. And if this flops? that is completely OK I just wrote this because I suddenly felt inspired. ENJOY BUT READ OUT YOUR OWN RISK.

•••

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. It doesn’t look like you anymore.

The girl who used to cry alone at night?

Gone.

The girl who allowed people to walk all over her? Gone. Now, you are something else. Something stronger. Something darker.

They break you. They shatter you, piece by piece.

The mocking laughter, the cruel jokes, the whispered insults— they still echo in your head.

Every memory of their cruelty makes your blood boil.

You promise yourself that one day, you’ll make them pay. But you don’t just want revenge.

No, you want them to suffer. You want to watch them burn.

And Jungkook? He’s been there the entire time. Watching. Waiting. You thought he was just another guy—

Sweet, charming, maybe even caring, but you were wrong.

Jungkook’s darkness runs deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.

It all starts the night you break down.

You can’t take it anymore. You’re ready to end it, to just walk away from the world.

But Jungkook’s there, waiting. He pulls you into his arms, whispers soft promises into your ear.

“I’ll make them pay,” he says, his voice like a knife slicing through the tension. “We’ll make them suffer together.”

And you believe him. You should’ve been scared, but all you feel is relief.

Maybe it’s because you see the darkness in his eyes, the same darkness you’ve buried deep inside yourself. Maybe it’s because he understands.

Together, you’ll take them all down.

The first target is always going to be Minji. She’s the one who started it all.

That fucking bitch will pay.

the one who laughed the loudest when you were at your lowest.

She’s the one who makes you feel like dirt. Jungkook knows exactly how to make her suffer without touching her.

His mind is brilliant, twisted in the best way possible.

“We start with rumors,” he whispers late one night as you both sit together, planning. “Small lies. Just enough to get her paranoid.”

You don’t question it. You just watch as he works.

The first lie isn’t even about her—

it’s about her family. Jungkook makes sure to tell a trusted friend that Minji’s father’s involved in shady business deals.

The seed’s planted, and it spreads quickly. But it doesn’t stop there. Jungkook finds out every little detail about her. The places she goes.

The things she says. The people she talks to. It’s easy to turn them into whispers, into whispers that will ruin her life.

It only takes a few days for Minji to start looking over her shoulder, her confidence slowly eroding as the whispers grow louder.

You see the change in her eyes when she walks past you in the hallway.

The panic. The fear.

She doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Her friends start distancing themselves, not because they think she’s guilty, but because the rumors make them second-guess everything.

You feel the cracks forming. You feel her starting to unravel. And it feels good.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark with satisfaction as he watches her fall apart. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

You don’t even have to respond. You just watch, enjoying every moment of her pain.

“Do you think she’s figured it out?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Jungkook answers, a grin spreading across his face. “But soon. She’ll beg for mercy when it all crashes down on her.”

The next target? Taehyun. That piece of shit who humiliated you in front of the whole school.

The one who laughed while everyone else joined in. Jungkook doesn’t have to say much. You know what needs to be done.

“You want to destroy him?” Jungkook asks, his voice quiet but laced with something dangerous.

“I’ll make him lose everything. We’ll start with his reputation, and then we’ll break him. Piece by piece.”

You can’t help but smile, a dark thrill running through your veins. Taehyun won’t see this coming.

Jungkook’s method is brilliant.

He tells one of Taehyun’s closest friends that Taehyun’s been cheating on his girlfriend.

A small, subtle lie, but enough to set things in motion.

Then, he plants more seeds. He makes sure Taehyun sees a text message from his supposed lover—something that’s carefully worded to stir up doubt.

It isn’t just the girl, though. Jungkook spreads rumors about Taehyun’s family, his past, things that could make anyone question their loyalty.

The next day,

Taehyun’s world comes crashing down. His girlfriend confronts him, furious, demanding answers.

His friends turn on him, unsure if they can trust him. The more Taehyun tries to fight back, the more the whispers grow. It isn’t just about the girl anymore. It’s about his character, his integrity.

Everything he’s worked so hard to build is falling apart, and he can’t stop it.

Taehyun finds you in the hallway, his face red with anger. “You think you can destroy me?” he spits, his eyes wild.

“You and your little boyfriend. You’ll regret this.”

You chuckle darkly, stepping closer. “You’re too late for regrets.”

Jungkook’s hand rests on your shoulder, his presence calming in a way, but also dangerous.

Taehyun looks at him, his eyes widening as he sees the madness in Jungkook’s gaze. Jungkook’s lips curl into a smile, but there’s nothing kind in it.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and full of venom. “Now you’ve made it personal.”

Taehyun backs off, his confidence shattered, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s done.

The third target is Jiwoo. The girl who always thinks she’s better than you.

The girl who humiliated you just for the fun of it. She’s the last one you need to break.

Jungkook’s plan is simple: break her mentally. Make her think she’s being hunted.

He starts small—text messages that make her think someone’s stalking her.

I know what you did. I’m watching you.

At first, it’s nothing more than a few strange messages. But soon, Jiwoo’s paranoia starts to take over.

She can’t leave her house without looking over her shoulder. She can’t sleep without checking her windows.

Jungkook makes sure her fear is constant. Her world is falling apart, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

You watch her crack, and it’s delicious.

She tries to confront you one day in the hallway, shaking with fear. “You think you’re so clever, huh?”

Jiwoo spits, but her voice cracks halfway through. “You think you can just destroy me like you did with the others?”

You laugh softly, stepping forward with a smile. “Oh, honey. You’re already destroyed. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t do this! I’ll make you pay for this!”

You pause for a moment, then laugh again. “I’m sorry, Jiwoo, but this is just the beginning. You really think I’m afraid of you? You should’ve kept your mouth shut when you had the chance.”

Jungkook steps behind you, his eyes burning with a fire that makes Jiwoo back up instinctively.

He doesn’t even look at her, just stares ahead, his presence enough to crush her will.

“Your life’s already over. It’s just… no one’s told you yet.”

Jiwoo’s face turns pale as she stumbles back. Her fight is gone. She has nothing left.

And then comes the final step. The last target is everyone. Every single person who ever made you feel small. Every person who thought they could walk all over you and get away with it.

Jungkook’s plan is grand. He orchestrates everything, using all the pain and darkness to his advantage.

He spreads lies. He creates chaos. He makes sure that every person who has ever wronged you knows what it feels like to lose everything.

Their reputations are torn apart. Their relationships destroyed. Their lives shattered.

And you? You stand by his side. You’re no longer the victim. You’re the one who makes it all happen.

But even as the revenge consumes you, you can’t ignore the way Jungkook looks at you.

His eyes are always on you, his gaze dark and intense.

You can feel his obsession growing, feeding off the chaos you both create. It’s intoxicating. You need it. You need him.

One night, after the last of your enemies is taken down, you find yourself alone with Jungkook.

His eyes are fixed on you, his body close. The air is thick with tension.

“We’ve done it,” he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction. “They’re all gone. It’s just us now.”

You feel the heat between you rise. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you toward him.

His lips hover over yours, and you can feel the weight of the moment, the culmination of everything you’ve done together.

“Just us,” you murmur.

He kisses you then, fierce and consuming.

His hands tangle in your hair as his lips bruise yours, claiming you in a way that feels both like salvation and destruction. It’s everything—the revenge, the passion, the hunger.

You lose yourself in it, in him.

When you pull away, you’re both breathless. But this is just the beginning.

“Together,” Jungkook whispers, his voice raw.

“Forever.”

•••

It had all started when you least expected it.

You were a victim of the world around you—silent, unnoticed, walking the halls of your school with your head down, trying to avoid attention.

The insults, the whispered names, the cold stares from people who didn’t even know you—

they were all part of your daily routine. You had learned to live with it. It was easier than trying to fight it.

But on that day, something shifted. It started with Jungkook.

You didn’t know him. Not really. He was just another guy who’d somehow managed to rise above everyone else.

The guy who seemed to have it all— charisma, popularity, a smile that could charm the world.

He was everything you weren’t. And, to be honest, you hated him for it at first.

Why should someone like him care about someone like you?

The first time he spoke to you, you thought it was just another joke.

It was the kind of thing people did when they wanted to make someone feel awkward, to point out how out of place you were.

But Jungkook didn’t look at you with pity like everyone else did. He looked at you with… understanding.

His eyes were sharp, not soft like those who tried to make you feel better.

No, his gaze was intense, focused. It made your stomach twist.

He had caught you off guard that day in the hallway. His hand had settled on your shoulder so suddenly, you flinched.

Your first instinct was to shrug it off, push him away, tell him to go back to his crowd of popular, perfect friends.

But he didn’t let you. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence like a wall you couldn’t escape.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You alright?”

You weren’t. You were never alright. But you weren’t about to let him see that. You barely knew him. Hell, you didn’t even want to.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice thin.

His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in curiosity. “Are you?”

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth was, you wanted someone to ask. But you also hated the idea of being vulnerable.

It was a weakness.

And weakness, in your world, was something to be exploited.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, with a little more conviction this time, though it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands.

Jungkook didn’t buy it. Of course,

he didn’t.

“You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone not judgmental, but certain.

It wasn’t the accusation that bothered you— it was the fact that he could see right through you, like your facade wasn’t even worth the effort.

His words hit too close to home, but you refused to let him know that.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him to leave you alone, but for some reason, the words caught in your throat.

You couldn’t explain it, but something about him stopped you.

Something in the way he looked at you made you want to tell him everything, to unravel the tightly wound mess inside of you.

But that was insane, wasn’t it?

Why would you trust him? Why would you trust anyone?

“I’m fine,” you said again, almost pleading with yourself to believe it.

He watched you for a beat too long, and then, surprisingly—he smiled. It wasn’t some fake, pitying grin like the others. No, it was a smile that almost seemed… understanding.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said quietly. “I know what it feels like.”

You blinked, thrown off guard. “What?”

Jungkook shrugged, his eyes darkening slightly. “I know what it’s like. To be invisible. To be the one everyone picks on. To be ignored… hurt… because you’re not what people want you to be.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to piece together what he was saying.

Was he messing with you? Was this some twisted joke? You didn’t know.

“I don’t believe you,” you finally said, taking a step back, wanting to put some space between you.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stood there, looking at you with the same steady gaze.

“It’s true,” he said simply, almost like a promise. “I’ve been where you are. I still am. I’m not like the rest of them.”

That… made you pause. You didn’t know what to think. Was he just some rich kid playing at empathy?

Or was there something real in his words?

“I can’t help you,” you said, not because you didn’t want it, but because you were terrified of what it would mean. “You don’t know me.”

“You don’t have to trust me,” Jungkook replied, his voice low but firm. “But I can help you. And I want to. If you’ll let me.”

The doubt you felt was overwhelming. You had been burned too many times, left alone when you thought people cared.

No one had ever really seen you.

No one had ever truly understood what it was like to feel completely alone, to feel like you were nothing more than a shadow in a room full of people.

And yet… Jungkook’s offer felt different. He wasn’t offering to fix you. He wasn’t offering some false comfort. It was something darker, something raw that you couldn’t push away.

He understood the pain.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t push him away, why you didn’t shut him down completely.

But you couldn’t trust him. Not yet.

“So, what do you want from me?” you asked, your voice rough, a sharp edge to it.

Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes still intense. “Nothing, not yet. But I’ve been watching. I’ve seen how they treat you. How they treat people like you. And I won’t stand for it.”

You couldn’t tell if he was serious or if it was just some weird power play.

But there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes that made you pause.

“You want to take them down?” you asked, more to yourself than to him.

He nodded slowly, a glint of something dangerous in his expression. “Yeah. But it’s not just about them. It’s about making them regret ever thinking they could do this to you.”

You looked away, unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. Maybe it was a little bit of both. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like seeing people get crushed under the weight of others. And I think you’ve been crushed long enough.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you.

Maybe it was the fact that he had seen something in you that no one else had.

Maybe it was the darkness in his eyes that mirrored your own pain. You didn’t know.

But you couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but unsure. “I’ll let you help me. But don’t think you’re saving me. I can handle this on my own.”

Jungkook’s smile softened, and for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t playing some game.

“I never said I was saving you. I’m just helping you get what you deserve.”

And that’s when you knew. It wasn’t about saving you—it was about destroying them.

Together.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch19

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chap contents: mentions of drunk driving, jk is hungover, he snaps at like everyone lol, namjoon!! jk is YEARNING. he cries for like 80% of the chap again LOL, he overworks himself at the gym. thats p much it!!

wc: short

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: this is way better compared to the MESS of ch17 and 18 i just had to write this to give me some peace of mind lmao. anyways, enjoy loves.

masterlist , < prev | next >

Jungkook wakes up to the worst fucking headache of his life.

For a second, he doesn’t even register where he is. His body feels heavy, sinking into the couch, the same couch where Nari had shoved him last night before slamming the door shut and telling him to fix things. His mouth is dry, his head is pounding, and when he rubs a hand down his face, his fingers graze over dried tear tracks. There’s an ache behind his eyes—too much crying, too much drinking, too much everything.

He blinks up at the ceiling, exhaling shakily. How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

The bitter taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, and when he pushes himself upright, his phone catches his eye. It’s lying face down on the coffee table. He debates not looking. Just leaving it there and pretending like it doesn’t exist. But, of course, he does.

He expects messages from you. Something. Anything.

But there’s nothing.

His heart sinks.

There’s just the same spam messages he’s been sending for the past two days—the ones you never answer. He doesn’t even know why he was hoping for anything else. He was stupid to think you’d text him. Stupid to think you’d even care to check in. But some pathetic, desperate part of him still thought… maybe. Even just a fuck you. Even just leave me alone.

But you gave him nothing.

And somehow, that hurts even more.

He drags himself off the couch, stretching his sore limbs as he moves through the apartment, the one he hasn’t really been in for the past day. He barely makes it to his bedroom before he regrets it.

Your scent is still in his sheets.

Your hair tie is still on his nightstand.

Your toothbrush is still sitting there in his bathroom, untouched.

His chest tightens. He swallows, willing himself to breathe, but it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. He needs to get out. Right now.

So he does.

His apartments-gym is right there, but it isn’t enough. He needs to be somewhere else, anywhere else. So he heads to the studio gym instead. And then—he destroys himself.

Workout after workout, pushing himself until his muscles scream, until sweat drips down his skin, until his body feels like it’s being torn apart. He lifts until his arms shake, runs until his lungs burn, keeps going and going until the physical pain almost—almost—matches the ache inside his chest.

But it doesn’t.

Not even close.

Jungkook pushes past his limit. Past the burn in his muscles, past the shaking in his arms, past the screaming protest of his body telling him to stop. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to feel anything. But even that doesn’t work—because the second he’s done, the second he’s catching his breath, slumped over on a bench, sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him—he opens his phone.

And there’s still nothing.

His jaw clenches, a sharp exhale leaving his lips. His fingers twitch before he can even think. And then he’s spamming you—pathetically, desperately—like nothing has changed, like if he just pretends hard enough, he can make it real again.

Jungkook [1:43 PM]: just finished at the gym. you’d be proud. didn’t pass out even though i thought i would lol.

Jungkook [1:43 PM]: if i message you like everything’s normal, will you play along?

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: actually, never mind. don’t answer that question.

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: i love you.

Jungkook [1:44 PM]: i miss you.

Jungkook [1:45 PM]: please just call me. text me. anything.

Jungkook [1:46 PM]: i’m otw to another meeting now. love you always.

He stares at the messages. His fingers hover over the keyboard, waiting, waiting, waiting.

For what, he doesn’t even know.

The screen stays empty.

He swallows, locks his phone, shoves it in his pocket like that’ll make a difference. And then, without another thought, he gets up, grabs his bag, and walks out the gym doors, pretending—just like he said—like everything’s okay.

By the time Jungkook finally drags himself into the building, he looks like absolute shit. And he knows it.

The harsh fluorescent lights do nothing to help—if anything, they highlight the deep shadows under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the way his clothes sit just a little looser on him after barely eating the past few days.

He barely makes it three steps inside before his manager spots him. There’s a noticeable double take, followed by a sharp inhale.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” his manager blurts out, eyes scanning him like he’s some kind of walking disaster. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jungkook exhales heavily, rubbing his temples. “Nothing.”

His manager narrows his eyes. “That is not nothing.”

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Jungkook mutters, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off the exhaustion clinging to him.

His manager stares at him for a long, scrutinizing moment before scoffing. “Yeah, no shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t even argue. Just sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for whatever bullshit this day has in store.

He already knows it’s going to be hell.

Jungkook trudges through the building, head low, barely acknowledging anyone who greets him. The place feels suffocating today.

It’s not like he hasn’t walked these halls a million times before, but—fuck.

Today, everything reminds him of you.

The plants by the entrance—tall, leafy, vibrant green. You’d love them. You’d tell him how they make the place feel alive, how you wish the diner had more greenery, how your own apartment is practically a jungle.

Yellow. It’s everywhere. Some in the wallpaper on the walls, the color of the coffee cup in an employee’s hand, the obnoxiously bright sticky notes on a desk. Your favorite color. He can hear your voice so clearly—yellow is the happiest color, Jungkook, don’t you think?

Even the fucking keychains on some staff member’s bag—a lineup of tiny plushies—make his throat tighten.

Your bed is filled with them.

He can’t fucking do this.

His hands shake as he steps into the men’s bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink. His reflection stares back at him, looking as wrecked as he feels. His skin is dull, his eyes are bloodshot.

His breath stutters.

He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his palms against them.

Get it together.

A stall door creaks open behind him. Jungkook stiffens.

Then— “Hey.”

He already knows who it is before he turns. Namjoon.

The one person he doesn’t want to see. Not because he doesn’t trust him—he does. More than almost anyone. But because Taehyung definitely told him everything.

And Jungkook is not ready to hear it.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, trying to keep his composure.

Namjoon studies him carefully. Then, “You okay?”

Jungkook snaps. “No, I’m fucking not.”

His voice cracks.

Namjoon just exhales, unfazed. “Yeah. I figured.”

Jungkook looks away.

There’s a long pause.

And then—Namjoon sighs, walks over, and locks the bathroom door. “What—”

“Sit,” Namjoon says, sliding down against the wall.

Jungkook just stares at him. “What are you—”

“You’re about to explode.” Namjoon pats the floor next to him. “So just do it here before you do it in a meeting.”

Jungkook hesitates. Then—he crumbles. He slides down next to Namjoon, dropping his head back against the cold tile, and talks.

About everything.

The diner. The first time he saw you. How you had no fucking idea who he was.

“The first time I met her, I thought—I don’t know. I just thought she was different. But then she actually treated me like a normal guy, and I—” His voice breaks. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

Namjoon listens quietly. Jungkook keeps going.

The first date.

The way you told him you only saw him, not Jungkook of BTS.

The fucking field.

The dinner with your parents.

How he sat there, lying by omission, watching you laugh, watching your parents love him, knowing damn well he was going to ruin you. He talks. And talks.

Until finally—he just stops. He can’t say any more. His chest is tight. His throat burns. Namjoon exhales. Then, finally— “I told you to tell her.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes. “I know.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Jungkook swallows.

And then—finally—he admits it. “I was selfish.” His voice is hoarse. “I finally had something that made me feel real, and I didn’t want to accept that it was temporary.”

Namjoon stays quiet when Jungkook exhales, voice shaking. “I should’ve told her. I knew that. But every time I looked at her, I just—” He breaks off. “I couldn’t.”

There’s a long silence. Namjoon sighs.

“Look, Jungkook,” he says. “You fucked up. You know that. I know that. And there’s nothing I can say that will change that.”

Jungkook’s shoulders sink.

“But,” Namjoon continues, “what I see is two people who were obviously in love with each other. So now, the question is—what the hell are you going to do about it?”

Jungkook’s breath stutters.

“I don’t know if I can do anything.”

Namjoon looks at him. “You’re Jungkook. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

A beat of silence.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Jungkook?” His manager’s voice. “You’re running late.” Jungkook shuts his eyes. He clenches his fists.

And then, slowly, he pushes himself up. Fixes his clothes. Rubs his face. Namjoon stands with him, pats his back. Jungkook turns to him.

Then—without thinking—he hugs him.

And for the first time in days, he feels just a little bit lighter.

——

Jungkook steps into the meeting room, head low, expression unreadable. His manager barely looks up from his laptop as he starts rattling off numbers.

“The tour was a success,” he says. “Revenue exceeded projections. The engagement was at an all-time high—”

Jungkook tunes it out. He already knows all of this. The shows, the screaming fans, the flashing lights—none of it feels real anymore. Not after you.

Not after he lost you.

His fingers twitch against his phone, lighting up with missed messages. Not from you.

From his members, his staff, his manager—everyone but the person he needs. “Jungkook?”

He blinks, looking up.

His manager eyes him. “Are you listening?”

He nods automatically.

“Good,” his manager exhales. “Anyway—your schedule is packed for the next few weeks. A few shoots, some pre-recorded content before your enlistment—”

Jungkook barely reacts. His manager glances at him.

“When are you cutting your hair shorter?” he asks. “You know it has to be done before—”

Before the military.

Jungkook clenches his jaw. His heart pounds.

He stares at his phone, at the messages he knows he shouldn’t send. His manager sighs. “Jungkook.”

He finally looks up. “You have three weeks,” his manager says plainly. “Three weeks before everything changes.”

Something inside Jungkook snaps.

“I know.” The words are sharp, bitter. His manager startles. The room goes silent. Jungkook realizes what he’s done. He clenches his fists.

Then—he bows.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I have to go.”

Before anyone can stop him, he turns, and storms out.

Three weeks.

Three weeks to make it right.

Three weeks to win you back.

Today— He’s finally going to fucking do something about it.

Jungkook grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he stares at his phone screen.

No messages. Like always.

His chest tightens. He’s been staring at your name for God knows how long, debating.

And then, he calls. Once.

Then twice.

Then again.

By the fifth call, he doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. It’s not like you’ll answer. But then, the ringing stops.

A click.

And suddenly, he hears your voice. He perks up immediately. Surprised.

“Oh my God, Nari, no—”

Laughter. Faint rustling. You’re talking to her.

Jungkook freezes, his breath caught in his throat.

“Hello?” His voice cracks. “Baby—hello?”

You don’t respond.

Then he hears it—

A shuffle, a muttered “Oh, shit—”

And then, beep.

Silence. The call ends. Jungkook stares at his screen. Call failed.

His heart sinks.

You didn’t pick up because you wanted to.

It was an accident. Jungkook exhales shakily, dropping his head against the seat. “Fuck.”

For the first time in days. He has no idea what to do next.

He’s been here for hours. Didn’t go to back to the meeting. Didn’t eat. Didn’t move. Just sat in his car, parked a few feet away from your building, watching the entrance like a lovesick idiot.

It’s pathetic. He knows it’s pathetic. But what else can he do? You’ve blocked his number. Ignored his texts. Avoided him at work. Nari has been actively making his life hell. And still—he waits.

Just in case. Just in case you glance at his car when you walk by. Just in case you hesitate. Just in case you miss him too.

And then, he sees you.

Walking up the sidewalk, head low, arms crossed. Nari is right beside you, talking, gesturing, but Jungkook knows you’re not really listening. You just look tired.

His stomach twists.

You used to light up whenever you saw him. Now you won’t even look around. Jungkook wills you to. He holds his breath, silently begging for you to look up, to notice him—

But then Nari’s eyes flick toward his car. And she does not hesitate.

She grabs your shoulders, turns you away so quickly that you stumble. Then she storms forward, dragging you into the building without so much as a glance in his direction.

Jungkook exhales, forehead falling against the steering wheel. Still nothing.

Still no reaction.

Still just—nothing.

——

Nari slams the door behind her, throwing her bag onto the couch.

“You’re not looking outside, right?” she demands, kicking off her shoes.

You blink, startled. “Uh. No?”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

You sigh. You know exactly what—or rather, who—she’s talking about. You shrug off your jacket, pretending like it doesn’t matter, like the knowledge that Jungkook has been outside all day hasn’t been sitting like a rock in your chest.

“I don’t care,” you mumble, heading to the kitchen.

Nari scoffs. “Yeah. That’s why you’re stirring your coffee like you wanna murder it.”

You glance down.

The spoon is practically scraping the bottom of the mug. You sigh. Loosen your grip. “I don’t care,” you say again.

“Right.” Nari flops onto the couch. “That’s why you didn’t even argue when I yanked you inside like a fucking bodyguard. So chill about it.”

You roll your eyes, but she’s not wrong. The truth is—

You do care.

You care that he was waiting. You care that he looked tired. You care that he’s been outside for hours and yet he still didn’t come up, didn’t force you to see him.

You care too much.

And that’s exactly why you can’t let yourself think about it.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Nari announces, stretching as she gets up.

You frown. “Are you sure? You—”

She waves a hand. “Bitch, I love you, but I also love my bed.”

You snort.

She squeezes your shoulders. “You better call me if you feel like shit. Or if that dumbass does anything extra dumb.”

You smile. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She grins. Then—dead serious—“Block his number again.”

You groan. “Nari—”

“I’M JUST SAYING.” She presses a dramatic kiss to your forehead, grabs her bag, and heads out.

Jungkook is still there when she steps outside.

Still leaning against his steering wheel.

Still waiting. And when Nari walks past his car, she doesn’t even hesitate.

She flips him off.

Then slams her car door and drives off. Jungkook exhales sharply, rubbing his face with both hands. This is going to be a long fucking night.

——

Jungkook watches the lights in your apartment go off one by one. The living room first, a soft glow swallowed by the night. Then the kitchen, where he imagines you standing at the sink, rinsing out a mug, hands moving on autopilot. The hallway next, until the only thing illuminating the building is the neon flicker of the streetlights below and the soft glow of the bedroom window—the last piece of you still awake.

He waits.

Waits for that final flicker, that last sign that you’ve tucked yourself away from the world. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a foolish hope that you’ll come running out last minute, breathless, eyes wide with a feeling you can’t suppress. But you don’t. The bedroom light clicks off, and it’s over.

Jungkook sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He should go. He should have gone hours ago, before the cold set into his bones and the weight of regret made his chest feel like it was caving in. But he had just… waited. Sat there in his car like an idiot, watching your window like it would give him an answer.

But it doesn’t.

So finally, with one last glance up, he starts his car and drives away.

——

His apartment is dark when he steps inside, the air cold and undisturbed, like a place that’s been waiting too long for something to return. The door clicks shut behind him, echoing through the quiet. He exhales sharply and rubs a hand down his face, kicking off his shoes with a little too much force.

It’s too quiet.

The kind of quiet that lets thoughts creep in before you can stop them, filling the space with regrets, should-haves, and a thousand versions of what could have gone differently.

Jungkook groans, flopping onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it holds some divine answer. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, voice hoarse. “Think.”

There has to be something he can do.

His phone screen glows as he lifts it, thumb hesitating over the search bar.

How to get your girlfriend back.

He stares at it for a second before he quickly backspaces the whole thing, ears burning. Cheeks blushing at the word: Girlfriend.

Not my girlfriend.

He tries again.

How to win back someone who hates you.

He glares at the words. How to fix a mistake when you really, really fucked up.

That seems more fitting. He presses enter.

A flood of results appear, as if the internet itself is sighing at him like a disappointed parent. Apologize sincerely. Give her space. Prove you’ve changed.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jungkook mutters, scrolling past the obvious.

Somewhere between Plan a grand romantic gesture! and Write a heartfelt letter, he stops. A different suggestion catches his eye.

Start small. Remind them of what you once were.

Jungkook blinks. Small. Simple.

Flowers.

His lips press together in thought, thumb hovering over the screen. Then, before he can think better of it, he’s searching again.

What flowers say “I’m sorry”?

The first answer makes him scoff. White tulips. Too on the nose. The second option—lilies—feels too funeral-ish, and the third… sunflowers? He huffs a laugh. Too bright.

Roses are too romantic. Orchids too dramatic.

He settles on something softer.

Daisies. Yellow ones.

They’re simple. Uncomplicated. They remind him of you—bright, warm, something that could grow even in the cracks of a sidewalk. And they say, “I’m thinking of you.”

Yeah. That’s enough for now.

Jungkook lets his phone drop onto his chest, staring at the ceiling again. His body feels heavy, but for the first time tonight, there’s a tiny flicker of warmth beneath the guilt.

It’s not enough to fix things. Not yet.

But tomorrow—tomorrow, he starts.

And with that thought, he finally lets sleep take him.

[chrrybbmb]

EQUILIBRIUM

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 7.5K

SUMMARY ... how long can you pretend not to notice you're falling headfirst?

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slow burn. mutual pining. they’re both falling so hard they need a helmet AKSJASK. reader’s acceptance era. they wanna kiss each other so bad but are too stupid to realise it someone please bonk them on the head. implied spidey!jk fight. she’s a lil bit short but that’s okay things are moving forward!!!

playlist : give you the world (steve lacy). i think (tyler the creator). me gustas tu (manu chao). falling for ya (grace phipps). the feels (twice). out of my league (fitz and the tantrums). more than a woman (the beegees). be my baby (the ronettes). rather be (clean bandit). cupid (fifty fifty).

taglist. prev. next.

he’s been staring at the same sentence in his notes for the past five minutes.

it’s not even a hard one. something about limiting reagents and product yield—stuff he could usually recite without blinking, but you’re sitting right there.

curled into the far side of the library booth, legs tucked under you, pen twirling between your fingers like you’ve likely done a hundred times before. there’s a smudge of blue ink on your thumb and a crumpled piece of gum wrapper on the table between you, and jungkook can’t seem to make his brain work long enough to finish a full thought.

you hum under your breath as you copy down the last equation he walked you through. nod a little to yourself when it clicks.

jungkook has never hated a reaction more.

not because he minds teaching. not because he minds being here. but because he wants to kiss you. he’s been thinking about it more than he should. enough that it’s starting to interfere with things, like memory and rational thought and knowing when to look away.

your lips purse as you underline something. your brow furrows. he looks back at his notes and pretends he didn’t notice.

“you okay?” you say after a moment.

your voice is soft. casual, like you haven’t just dragged him out of a thought spiral that involved your lip gloss and his complete and utter lack of self-control.

he glances up too fast, eyes wide. “what?”

you blink at him. “you’ve been on the same line for ages. just wondered if you were, i don’t know... buffering.”

a beat, then you grin.

jungkook exhales through his nose and drops his pen. presses the heel of his palm to his temple like that’ll help short-circuit whatever his brain is doing. “i’m fine,” he mutters.

“uh-huh,” you say, clearly not buying it. you nudge the gum wrapper closer to him with the back of your knuckle. “you sure it’s not the limiting reagent that’s got you in a chokehold?”

“positive,” he says. “limiting reagents are easy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and yet?”

he glares at the sentence in his notebook like it’s personally wronged him, and you laugh under your breath, the sound warm, bright in a way the library doesn’t deserve.

he hates that it makes his stomach flip.

“okay, professor,” you tease. “if you’re done glitching, i have questions.”

he nods slowly, swallowing back everything else he wants to say. “hit me.”

you scoot a little closer, shifting your notebook between you, your leg bumping his under the table. not on purpose, probably, but jungkook flinches anyway. you don’t seem to notice. you’re already flipping back a page and chewing on your bottom lip, scanning your notes.

“this one,” you say, pointing to a messy line halfway down the margin. “the molar ratio part? i think i missed something.”

he leans in before he can stop himself. close enough to see the faint shimmer of your lip balm, the way the library’s overhead lights reflect in your eyes. bad idea. he clears his throat, forcing his eyes back down. “you just have to compare the coefficients from the balanced equation. it’s about how many moles of reactant are required to fully react with the other.”

“right,” you nod, writing as he speaks. “so it’s about proportion?”

“exactly.”

you hum again, more to yourself this time, scribbling in the margin. your handwriting is uneven and fast and a little chaotic, but it makes something in his chest ache anyway.

you’re too close.

he shifts a little, subtly. just enough to give himself space to breathe. because he doesn’t want you to see the way it’s affecting him the way everything you do lately seems to be affecting him. it’s getting bad.

the way you lean into him when you’re focused. the way you smile when you finally understand something. the way you call him ‘professor’ sometimes, like it’s a joke, but he still thinks about it later when he’s brushing his teeth.

you nudge his notebook with your pen. “you’re being quiet again.”

“just thinking.”

you glance at him sideways, a small smile tugging at your lips. “about chemistry?”

he lies. “yeah.”

you laugh. soft and a little disbelieving. “you don’t sound very convincing, you know.”

he shrugs, eyes still on your notes. “i’m not good at this whole… thing.”

“mm. i don’t know.” you twirl your pen again, the ink-stained tip catching a smudge across your palm. “you’ve managed to teach me more in two weeks than i’ve learned all semester. that’s gotta count for something.”

jungkook wants to say thank you. wants to make a dumb joke. wants to reach across the table and take your hand just to see if you’d let him. instead, he stares at the gum wrapper between you. you don’t seem to notice the shift.

“you’re good at it,” you add, quieter this time. “the tutoring thing. i didn’t expect that.”

he raises an eyebrow. “why not?”

you glance at him like it should be obvious. “you don’t really talk. during class, i mean. you kind of just show up, take notes, and disappear.”

he shrugs again. “maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

your smile falters a little, flickering into something softer. more real. “maybe,” you admit. “but i do now.”

and there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heartbeat stutter and his mouth dry.

you shift again, settling back into your seat. “anyway. i think i get it now.”

he nods, pretending like what you said doesn’t matter to him as much as it does. “good.”

“do i get a gold star?”

he finally smiles, small but genuine. “i’ll bring stickers next time.”

you grin. “i’m holding you to that.”

he’s not sure if you mean it. but he will.

you stretch your arms above your head, spine arching just slightly, a soft groan escaping your throat. jungkook looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“we’ve been at this for too long,” you say, voice light, dragging your hands through your hair before letting them fall into your lap. “my brain’s starting to leak out of my ears.”

he huffs a laugh, flipping your notebook closed. “sure. break time.”

“thank god,” you sigh, slumping dramatically against the back of the booth. “i was two problems away from crying.”

“you’ve cried over chemistry before?”

“once,” you say, lifting your fingers to make a tiny gap between your thumb and forefinger. “just a little. like a respectable amount.”

he grins. “respectable tears?”

“very academic,” you nod solemnly. “phd-level sobbing.”

you’re joking, but your smile is tired in a way that makes his chest tug. he wonders how much sleep you’ve been getting. how often you let yourself take breaks when he’s not the one insisting. he doesn’t ask.

instead, he pushes the textbooks aside. “what do you usually do during breaks?” he asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

you blink at him, clearly not expecting him to ask. “usually?” you say. “scroll. draw. steal other people’s snacks. the essentials.”

jungkook hums, amused. “should i be worried?”

“only if you brought anything worth stealing.”

he reaches into his bag, pulls out a granola bar, and slides it across the table.

you gasp. “an offering?”

“a peace treaty,” he says. “in case you cry again.”

you laugh, peeling back the wrapper, and something in his chest unwinds. “this’ll buy you fifteen more minutes of tutoring,” you say through a mouthful of granola. “maybe twenty if you pretend i’m doing better than i am.”

“you’re doing fine,” he says before he can stop himself.

you glance up at him. blink once. then you smile, and it’s not playful—not teasing or smug or exaggerated. it’s quiet. sincere. “thanks,” you say softly. “i’ve been trying.”

jungkook swallows. nods. looks down at his hands just so he doesn’t have to look at you.

you chew slowly, shoulders relaxing against the booth.

“i kind of like studying with you,” you say after a minute, not even realizing what you’re doing to him.

his throat is suddenly too dry. “yeah?”

you nod. “you’re patient. and you explain things better than my professors do. and you always bring snacks.”

“only brought one.”

“you’ve brought others before.”

he snorts under his breath. “you keep track?”

you shrug. “when you’ve got as many things on your mind as i do, it’s nice when something’s consistent.”

and god, he wants to say something. to tell you he’d bring you granola bars every day for the rest of the semester. to ask if he’s allowed to be one of the things you count on. but instead, he picks at the edge of his textbook and says, “i’ll bring two next time.”

you grin. “spoiling me.”

he shrugs, pretending it’s casual. “you deserve it.”

you look at him for a second—really look at him, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly, trying to figure him out. then, just as quickly, the moment shifts. you smile again, all light and teasing. “if you keep saying stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

you say it like a joke, like it’s nothing. like it’s funny.

and maybe it is to you. maybe you’re just playing around. maybe you don’t see the way his hands curl into fists in his lap, or how he forgets how to breathe for half a second.

he laughs. too late, too forced.

“yeah, well,” he says, eyes fixed on a scratch in the table. “can’t have that.”

you don’t respond right away. you just pick at the corner of your granola bar wrapper, folding it neatly in half.

“mm,” you say finally, like you’ve filed that away somewhere. “would ruin the academic integrity of this tutoring relationship.”

he nods. “exactly.”

another beat passes. you lean your cheek against your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your expression. “guess i’ll just have to keep wondering, then.”

and before he can figure out what that means, or if you meant anything at all, you’re reaching for your notes again.

“alright, professor,” you say lightly. “break’s over. teach me something.”

jungkook picks up his pen with shaking fingers. he doesn’t say a word.

you’re already flipped to a fresh page, pen tapping against the paper as you glance at him, waiting. expecting. jungkook clears his throat and tries to focus. tries to remember what you were working on before you smiled at him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

"okay," he says eventually, voice quieter than usual. “uh. equilibrium constants.”

you nod, jotting down the title at the top of the page.

his hands are still shaking. he doesn’t think you notice. you lean in a little, not quite touching, but close enough to make his skin prickle. "so," you murmur, pen at the ready, "what’s the deal with k?”

and god.

you’re doing it on purpose. or maybe you’re not. maybe this is just how you are—curious, warm, bright in a way that doesn’t burn but still somehow sets him on fire.

he exhales slowly through his nose.

"it’s a ratio," he starts, keeping his eyes on your notebook instead of your face. "products over reactants. a way to measure if a reaction favors the left or the right.”

you hum under your breath. “and what if it favors neither?”

he lets himself glance at you then, just briefly. “then it’s balanced,” he says.

you meet his gaze, smile tugging at your lips. “sounds ideal.”

jungkook looks away. he’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss you right now. he doesn’t let the thought linger. it’s dangerous���too loud, too close to the surface. he presses the tip of his pen to your notebook instead, draws a quick diagram, lets the movement steady his hands.

"see how the concentrations shift?" he says, voice even, like his pulse isn’t hammering in his throat.

you lean forward again, shoulder brushing his just barely.

"so when k is greater than one..." you murmur.

"it means the products are favored."

you nod, scribbling it down, brow furrowed in concentration.

and jungkook clings to that. your focus, your curiosity, the way you chew your lip when you're thinking hard. if he lets himself look at you for too long, he knows he won’t be able to look away.

and if he lets himself feel everything he’s feeling, really feel it, he might never stop.

he watches you write, lets the silence stretch just long enough to steady himself. then “okay,” he says softly. “your turn.”

you glance up, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“what does it mean when a reaction is at equilibrium?”

your brow furrows, eyes flicking between his face and the sketch of the reaction chart on your page. he waits.

you tap the end of your pen against the paper, thoughtful. “it means… the rate of the forward reaction equals the rate of the reverse?”

when he nods, you continue, voice more confident now. “that the concentrations stop changing. not because the reaction stops, but because everything’s happening at the same time, in both directions.”

he smiles, and it’s small, but it’s real. “exactly.”

you grin, wide and a little proud, and his heart goes stupid in his chest.

“see?” you say, nudging his elbow with yours. “i am learning.”

“you’re a model student,” he says, just to hear you laugh again.

you do. soft and sudden. the kind of sound that makes him feel weightless.

you go back to your notes, but jungkook doesn’t move right away. he keeps his eyes on the margin of your page, watching your pen move.

equilibrium.

forward and reverse, happening at once. equal effort. equal weight. it sounds simple in theory.

he wishes it were. he wishes he was brave enough to just be honest with you about how he feels, to say it plainly. without stumbling, without second-guessing, without hiding behind chemistry terms and granola bars and excuses that sound a lot like maybe next time.

he wants to tell you that he thinks about you more than he should. that every time you smile at him, it takes him a second too long to recover. but instead he points to the next problem in your textbook. “you wanna try this one on your own?”

you glance at it, then at him, then back at your notes.

“sure,” you say, and your voice is casual, but the corners of your mouth curve just enough to undo him all over again.

you start working through the equation, mumbling under your breath, pen tapping as you go, and jungkook watches. he doesn’t say what he wants to. he doesn’t risk it. not yet.

you furrow your brow at the middle of the problem, chewing on your pen cap while your eyes scan the numbers. “wait,” you mutter, pointing to the molar ratio. “isn’t it supposed to be three to two here?”

“yeah,” he says, quiet. “good catch.”

you grin, triumphant, scribbling something onto the page. he looks away again, smile threatening the edges of his mouth.

god. he’s so gone.

completely, utterly, irreversibly.

you don’t even know. you’re just here, sharing your notebook, offering up pieces of yourself so easily it’s like you don’t think twice. he wishes he could match you in that. be just as open, just as brave.

“what?” you ask suddenly, glancing over at him. “you’re staring.”

“no, i’m not,” he says, and it’s instant, reflexive.

you raise a brow. “you kinda were.”

he clears his throat. “i was just… surprised. you’re getting good at this.”

you smile, a little bashful. “guess i’ve got a decent tutor.”

jungkook looks at your face, the way you’re trying to hide how proud you are. he wants to reach out.

he doesn’t.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” he says instead, voice low.

your eyes linger on him a beat too long. and then you look down again, flipping to a new page.

his heart doesn’t slow down for the rest of the hour.

jungkook winces as jimin dabs at his cheek with a sting-soaked cotton pad.

"jesus," jimin mutters under his breath, voice tight with irritation. "you need to stop letting public transit rearrange your face."

“i’m fine,” jungkook grits out, though the words come slower than he means for them to. his head’s still spinning, just a little. he blinks hard, trying to clear it.

jimin pulls back, eyes narrowing. “uh-huh. and i’m the queen of england.” he swipes at a dried streak of blood along jungkook’s jaw, a little less gently this time.

jungkook flinches, shoulders curling in. “i don’t have a concussion.”

“right.” jimin scoffs, tossing the cotton pad into the trash. “because when a ten-ton hunk of steel smacks you into a goddamn billboard, the first thing you think is thank god my brain’s still in one piece.”

jungkook sighs, leaning back against the couch, one hand dragging down his face. he hates this part, the aftermath. when the adrenaline’s gone and everything hurts and the city’s quiet again and jimin’s looking at him like he’s one bad landing away from being a memory.

“you should’ve gone to the ER,” jimin mutters, disinfectant in one hand, gauze in the other.

“they ask too many questions.”

“they ask questions so you don’t die, genius.”

“you’re patching me up anyway,” jungkook mumbles, gesturing vaguely to the half-open first aid kit on the coffee table. jimin doesn’t answer right away. just presses the gauze to the cut on his temple a little more firmly than necessary.

jungkook hisses.

“you’re an idiot,” jimin says, quiet.

“i know.”

he does. he knows.

jungkook closes his eyes for a second, lets the pressure of jimin’s hand ground him. the sting, the scent of antiseptic, the soft buzz of a heater kicking on somewhere in the apartment.

he’d thought about going to you. when he was dragging himself out of the alley, ribs screaming, blood sticky down the side of his face, your apartment flashed across his mind. a quiet thought, tucked into the corner of the chaos.

she’d open the door.

she’d help.

she always does.

even in his addled state, he knew it was a bad idea. stupid. selfish even.

as much as he’d enjoyed it last time—being there, letting you fuss over him, hearing your voice up close, feeling your fingers skim his cheek like he was something fragile—it wasn’t something he could get used to.

not when you didn’t know who he was. not really.

“you zoning out on me?” jimin asks, tone clipped.

jungkook blinks his eyes open again. “no.”

jimin doesn’t buy it. he never does.

“you sure? ‘cause your pupils look two different sizes and you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”

jungkook exhales a dry laugh. “just thinking.”

“dangerous,” jimin mutters, tossing the bloodied gauze aside and grabbing clean bandages. “next time, don’t think. just duck.”

“tried.”

“try harder.”

he doesn’t mean to sound harsh. jimin never does, not really, but there’s a tremble underneath it. fear, maybe. and jungkook doesn’t have the heart to brush that off. not tonight. not after the way his own legs gave out two blocks from the fight, not after the taste of copper and pavement still lingers in his mouth.

so he just nods and lets jimin tape him back together again in silence.

jimin’s quiet for a while after that. he works the way he always does when he’s trying not to feel something. quick, precise, hands steady even when his breathing isn’t. jungkook watches the ceiling, eyes unfocused. the room spins a little when he turns his head, so he doesn’t.

“you’ve gotta slow down,” jimin says eventually, voice low.

jungkook hums. “can’t.”

jimin’s fingers still against the side of his face.

“why not?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. he could say it’s the city. the people who need help. the guilt that chews at his ribs when he thinks about what would happen if he just stopped.

but none of that is what comes out.

“she was there,” he says quietly.

jimin freezes. “when?”

“before the fight,” jungkook mumbles. “at her mural. painting.” he swallows. “she didn’t see me. i didn’t stay.”

jimin sighs, sits back on his heels, eyeing him carefully. “you shouldn’t keep doing this.”

jungkook blinks. “doing what?”

“using the mask as an excuse to orbit her,” jimin says flatly. “you’re not doing her any favors. and you’re definitely not doing you any favors either.”

jungkook looks away, jaw tight. “i’m not trying to mess with her,” he says. “i just… i don’t know. i miss her.”

“you see her,” jimin says. “you tutor her. you sit across from her in cafes and make a fool of yourself in front of her every week.”

“it’s not the same,” jungkook mutters.

“no,” jimin agrees. “because at least when you’re you, you’re not lying to her face.”

the silence that follows is heavier than anything else.

jimin doesn’t push. just leans back against the couch, pulls his knees up, and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh that sounds way too tired for how young they are. the room is quiet again, save for the low hum of traffic outside and the soft groan of jimin’s air conditioner in the background.

jimin exhales through his nose, slow and tired. he presses the last strip of tape to jungkook’s temple, then drops the empty wrapper onto the table with a quiet crinkle.

“you’re lucky you didn’t black out,” he says. “again.”

jungkook doesn’t respond. just leans back into the couch, arm slung over his eyes. he’s so tired. not just in his body. not just the bruises, or the cuts, or the ache in his shoulder that still hasn’t gone away from last week’s rooftop landing. it’s in his chest.

the constant push and pull of being two people. the version of him who makes you laugh across tables, and the one who swings past your apartment in the middle of the night just to see if your lights are on.

the one you know.

the one you don’t.

“you should tell her,” jimin says eventually. “before it gets worse.”

jungkook drops his arm, looks at him with tired eyes. “tell her what, hyung? hey, i’m your tutor and the idiot who bled on your furniture that one time. surprise?”

jimin just shrugs. “sounds about right.”

“she’ll hate me.”

“she might.” jimin doesn’t sugarcoat it. “but she also might not.”

jungkook swallows hard.

he’s thought about it. a hundred different ways. a thousand different outcomes. and in every one, you look at him differently after. sometimes with betrayal. sometimes with disbelief. sometimes you don’t look at him at all, and that’s the part that scares him most.

he scrubs a hand down his face and groans. “i can’t. not yet.”

jimin watches him for a beat, then nods.

“then don’t wait too long,” he says. “because if she finds out on her own, it’s gonna hurt worse.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, because deep down, he knows jimin’s right. that’s what scares him second most.

you stare down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

here early, grabbed a table near the back x

sent fifteen minutes ago.

you sigh and lock your phone, flipping it face down on the table.

the cafe is warm. quieter than usual, save for the low hum of an indie playlist and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. your untouched drink sits beside your notebook, still steaming. you haven’t taken a sip.

you know jungkook’s probably caught in traffic. or maybe the bus was late. maybe something came up. maybe he’s just having one of those days. but your brain doesn’t care about reason. it cares that he was the one who asked to move the session earlier this week. said he couldn’t do the weekend.

so you cleared your schedule. shifted your plans. you told taehyung no, you told yourself it was fine, you told yourself you weren’t too excited when he sent the text.

and now here you are.

alone in a corner booth with your highlighters lined up in color order and your thoughts spiraling at full speed.

you try not to take it personally, and you fail. your mind jumps straight to that place you hate—what if he forgot? what if he bailed? what if he’s slowly realizing he doesn’t actually like being around you at all? you exhale, sharp and quiet.

then the bell above the door jingles, and jungkook stumbles in, breathless and disheveled, hoodie askew and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. his hair is a mess, and his backpack looks half-zipped, and there’s a coffee stain on the cuff of his sleeve.

he spots you instantly and his shoulders sag in relief. “hey…” he pants as he approaches, breath visible in the air behind him, “sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you blink, and despite every insecure thought you were stewing in two seconds ago, your chest loosens just a little.

“…you okay?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean for it to be.

he nods quickly, dropping his bag onto the seat across from you. “yeah. yeah. just—” he pulls his hood back, raking a hand through his hair, “—bit of a mess getting here. totally my fault. i should’ve texted.”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “you’re here now.”

he meets your eyes, sheepish.

“still,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, “thanks for waiting.”

you shrug, flipping open your notebook. “you owe me a sticker for it.”

he exhales a laugh. “i brought two sheets.”

you lean back in your seat, watching him dig through his bag, fingers fumbling for his notes or maybe a pen or maybe just something to distract from how flustered he is. he finally pulls out his notebook, slaps it onto the table, and exhales like he’s just run a marathon.

“you didn’t have to sprint here,” you murmur, reaching for your drink at last. “i would’ve waited.”

he smiles, boyish, still a little breathless.

“i did make you wait,” he says. “felt bad.”

you’re about to wave it off when you notice just the faintest smudge. barely there, high on the edge of his nostril, a smear of red that’s mostly faded but not invisible. your brows draw together.

“hey.”

he looks up. “hm?”

you reach into your pocket for a tissue and slide it across the table. “you’ve got—” you motion to your own nose, eyes narrowing. “what happened?”

he falters just for a second. his hand lifts instinctively, brushing at the spot with the back of his knuckle before glancing at the tissue and taking it.

“oh. must’ve been from earlier.”

you stare. “earlier?”

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly. “i get nosebleeds sometimes. weather shift, i guess.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. just dabs once, then folds the tissue and tucks it under his notebook like it never existed. you don’t believe him, but you don’t push, either. “…you sure?”

he nods. “promise.”

and it sounds certain enough that you don’t press, even as something unsettles deep in your stomach. instead, you flip open your own notes and reach for a pen.

“fine,” you say softly. “but if you pass out mid-equation, i’m not catching you.”

he huffs a laugh, and it sounds a little more real this time. “deal.”

you pretend to scan your notes, pen tapping idly, but your eyes drift. jungkook’s hunched forward, elbows on the table, scribbling something in the corner of his page. his hair’s a mess, long and black and tangled from either wind or movement or both, curling at the ends where it brushes his hoodie. there’s a little patch that won’t fall the right way, hanging stubbornly across his forehead.

and then there’s the glasses.

you haven’t seen him wear them before. they sit low on his nose, slipping a little every time he shifts, catching the light and reflecting it just enough to make you pause. you don’t mean to stare, but you do until he looks up and catches your gaze head-on.

“…do i have something else on my face?” he asks, cautious.

you blink. hard.

“what? no.” you shake your head, a little too fast. “no. i was just… thinking.”

his brow lifts slightly. “about what?”

you scramble for anything but you look really good like this and i can’t stop looking at you.

you flick your pen toward the table. “i was wondering why we met here instead of the library.”

he blinks, then ducks his head, pushing his glasses up with his knuckle, suddenly shy. “oh. um. the café’s closer to where i live.”

you nod slowly, biting back a smile. “huh.” you tilt your head. “so you dragged me across town for your own convenience?”

“not dragged,” he says, a little defensively. “i picked a place with good coffee.”

you raise your brow and he shrinks just slightly in his seat.

“and you said you didn’t mind,” he adds, quieter.

you don’t. you really don’t. but you’re not about to let him off that easy.

“mm. you’re lucky the coffee is good.”

he grins, soft and crooked.

“i am lucky.”

he doesn’t know what he’s saying. what it’s doing to you.

you don’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you flip to the next page of your notes and hope he can’t hear your heartbeat from across the table.

he, for his part, doesn’t say anything else. just ducks his head again, hair falling even further into his face as he pushes up his glasses with one finger. your eyes follow the movement before you can stop yourself.

it’s almost unfair. how soft he looks like this.

you draw a slow breath, steadying yourself before you speak.

“alright, professor,” you murmur, aiming for light. “you’ve got me at a café. impress me.”

he huffs a laugh, head still bowed.

“no pressure or anything,” he mumbles, flipping to a page of problem sets.

you lean your chin into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “you’re the one who insisted on the earlier session.”

“and i stand by it,” he says, voice warming again. “even if i almost died trying to get here.”

“do you always get nosebleeds when you're rushing to meet girls?”

he pauses mid-scribble. you see the smile tug at the corner of his mouth before he tries to hide it.

“only the pretty ones,” he says, barely above a whisper.

your breath catches. just for a second, just long enough to feel it, sharp and hot in your chest. you glance down at your notebook, heart thudding.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything.

your fingers freeze over the spiral of your notebook, eyes trained on a random line of notes that suddenly means nothing to you.

across from you, jungkook goes still, turning red. not just a faint dusting across his cheeks. full-on, unmistakable, spreading fast across his face and up to the tips of his ears. he ducks his head, hiding behind the curtain of his hair like he’s trying to disappear into it, lips pressing together in a tight, horrified line.

you’re not sure either of you can believe he just said that.

he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty. it plays on loop in your brain, each echo a little more dizzying than the last. your heart skips and stumbles all over itself, half stuck on the words and half on the fact that he meant them. he must’ve meant them.

jungkook coughs into his hand, trying to recover. “i.. uh. sorry,” he mutters, still not looking up. “that was—i was joking.”

“bad joke,” you say quietly, eyes still on your page.

he exhales a shaky breath. “yeah.”

neither of you look up. neither of you move.

the silence stretches. not awkward. not exactly. just charged.

you pretend to read your notes, pen tapping against the margin, heartbeat thudding loud enough that it might as well be on the table between you. jungkook still hasn’t looked up.

you steal a glance at him.

his hair’s fallen further into his face, half hiding the flush that still stains his cheeks. his fingers are clenched around his pen, knuckles pale, foot bouncing under the table in a restless rhythm.

he’s panicking*.*

not outwardly—he’s too quiet for that. too soft. but it’s there. in the way his eyes stay fixed on the same spot in his notebook, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. and for some reason, the realization makes your chest squeeze.

you almost tell him it’s okay. almost say, you don’t have to be sorry. i didn’t mind it. i’m still thinking about it.

but then he shifts, shoulders squaring, and finally meets your eyes.

“can we pretend i didn’t say that?” he asks, voice low. he says it with a forced little smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

and maybe that’s what makes your decision for you. you look at him for a second longer, then nod once. “sure,” you say, and it comes out smoother than you expect. “you didn’t say anything.”

jungkook exhales through his nose, relief barely veiling the disappointment that flickers across his face.

you both go back to your notes, but neither of you turn the page.

the apartment is quiet when jungkook gets in. the door clicks shut behind him, soft in the silence, but it still makes him flinch. he toes off his shoes, drops his bag by the door, jacket halfway off before he even makes it to the couch. when he does he sinks down hard, palms dragging over his face.

“fuck,” he mutters into his hands.

he’s still rattled.

still replaying the way you looked at him right after—head tilted, eyes wide, something unreadable passing over your face like you were trying to decide if you’d actually heard him right.

only the pretty ones.

the words hit like a sucker punch even now.

he hadn’t meant to say it. hadn’t planned to. hadn’t even realized it was hovering on the tip of his tongue until it was already out there between you, hanging in the air, sticky and impossible to ignore.

you went quiet. you let him backpedal. let him pretend it was a joke, let him erase it even though he wanted nothing more for you to know how pretty you are to him. he leans back into the couch, head tipping against the cushions, and he closes his eyes.

the quiet is louder than it should be.

no city noise, no music, no jimin yelling at him to put ice on something or to stop being so obvious whenever your name comes up. just the echo of that one second. that one look.

you didn’t smile, didn’t tease. you looked stunned. and jungkook can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he said it, or the fact that some part of him wants to say it again and again until you believe it, until you say something back.

he exhales, long and shaky, and scrubs a hand through his hair. he’s so far in it he doesn’t know how to claw his way out.

he’s not even sure he wants to.

you’re supposed to be paying attention.

there’s something about classical conditioning echoing through the lecture hall speakers. something about pavlov, about dogs and bells and salivating, but your pen is too busy trailing along the edge of your notebook, filling the margins with half-formed flowers and a lopsided spider.

you try to focus. really, you do. you nod when the professor emphasizes a point, scribble a keyword or two, underline extinction twice. but then your eyes drift. out the window, across the aisle, down to the corner of your desk where you’ve already drawn the same sleepy-looking face three different times.

and somehow, every version of it ends up looking a little like him.

you bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head, as if that’ll snap you out of it.

it’s just been happening more often lately—this thing where your thoughts spiral without warning. one second you’re zoning out mid-lecture, and the next you’re remembering the way his fingers brushed yours last week at least three different times.

your professor clicks to the next slide, and the class collectively shifts to pretend they’re still with him.

you sigh, resting your chin on your hand. you don’t mean to get so distracted. but it’s hard not to, when every other thought seems to circle back to the same person.

stupid.

you draw another web in the corner of the page. smaller this time. neater. you don’t know what you’re waiting for. but something in your chest keeps tugging like you’re supposed to be paying attention to something else entirely.

you tap your pen against the edge of your desk. once, twice. again.

“focus,” you mumble to yourself, but it’s useless.

your mind’s already gone, drifting somewhere else entirely—back to the café, which shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, where jungkook stumbled in late, glasses slipping down his nose, hair a mess, breathless and apologetic and still unfairly handsome. back to the night even further back when spider-man nearly collapsed onto your living room floor.

you press the pen harder.

jungkook, spider-man.

one sitting next to you with messy hair and nervous hands, the other bleeding on your couch with too much weight on your shoulder. neither of them probably thinking about you right now.

you don’t even know why that stings.

you’re not dating jungkook. spider-man’s not your friend. you’re just someone who needs help in chemistry. someone who opened her door because someone looked like they were going to fall apart.

you sigh, draw another line across the page. your flowers are losing their shape.

maybe it’d be easier if your chest didn’t feel so tight every time you thought about either of them. you wonder what that says about you. you wonder what that says about them.

your professor says something about freud. you hear someone snicker near the back. you don’t laugh. you just stare down at the little spider in the corner of your page, and trace the thread it’s dangling from. the line stretches up toward the edge of the page, thin and a little shaky.

your pen pauses. you wonder if you’re doing the same thing—hanging off something delicate and invisible, waiting for it to pull or snap or hold.

your professor’s voice drones on, something about repression now. the subconscious. emotional imprinting.

you huff under your breath. “great timing.”

the girl in front of you glances back, but you don’t bother explaining.

your hand shifts again, pen back to work. you draw another figure next to the spider. smaller. a blur of curls and oversized sleeves. he’d probably laugh if he saw it. or tilt his head in that curious way he does when you’re speaking and he wants to say something but doesn’t.

jungkook’s always holding something back. you wonder how much of it is hiding, and how much of it is habit. you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep, scribble a lazy border around your newest doodle to distract yourself.

you’re being emotional. a tad dramatic. maybe it’s just the weather. or the exhaustion. or the fact that every time jungkook smiles at you, it feels like your ribs are curling in on themselves.

you press your pen down until the tip almost snaps. whatever it is, it needs to stop. you’re not built for this kind of uncertainty. you never have been.

you don’t remember the last ten minutes of lecture.

the lights flick on, and the room starts moving before your brain catches up. notebooks close, zippers hum, someone’s already halfway down the stairs before the professor even says have a good weekend.

you sigh, stuff your notes into your bag, ignore the half-page of doodles that somehow ended with a cracked spiderweb and a boy curled up at the center of it. your legs ache as you shuffle out into the hallway, pulled along by the current of students flooding toward the exits.

taehyung finds you near the vending machines, all slouched posture and too-long sleeves.

“there she is,” he says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth without offering you any. “my favorite academically struggling genius.”

you shoot him a look. “what’s with the weird greeting?”

“you’ve got your crisis face on,” he says, tapping his temple. “it’s very i’m thinking too hard about boys again, so i figured i’d meet you halfway.”

you scoff. “i’m not thinking about boys.”

taehyung squints. “okay, so which boy, then?”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

he lifts his brows, smug. “that’s what i thought.”

you push open the building doors and step out into the cold, the wind catching your sleeves and snapping at your legs. “it’s not like that,” you mutter.

“you always say that when it’s exactly like that.”

you glare at him. “are you going to walk me to my next class or just psychoanalyze me until i melt into the sidewalk?”

“i can multitask,” taehyung grins, pulling his hood up as he falls into step beside you. “so, is it the covalent cutie or your friendly neighborhood rebound?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“nothing.” he stretches his arms behind his head, all faux innocence. “just wondering how many men you’re collecting this semester.” you bump your shoulder into his, harder than necessary, and taehyung wheezes and laughs. “god, you’re so defensive when you’re in denial.”

you don’t respond. mostly because he’s right.

taehyung shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, lips pursed in mock thought. “so, there’s gonna be a party friday,” he says casually.

you glance at him, unimpressed. “cool. have fun.”

he snorts. “you’re not even gonna pretend to consider it?”

“nope.”

“rude.”

“you invited me like you were ordering takeout,” you say, stepping over a crack in the pavement. “not exactly persuasive.”

“fine.” he sighs dramatically. “you, my beloved friend, are cordially invited to a moderately chaotic social gathering where someone’s bound to cry in the bathtub, and no less than three people will make out in the kitchen.”

you lift an eyebrow. “tempting.”

“right? i’m selling this.”

“still no.”

he pouts. “why not?”

you shrug. “i’ve got stuff to do.”

“you always have stuff to do.”

you don’t respond right away. you just keep walking, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk, the wind pulling at the hem of your shirt. taehyung sighs again, quieter this time.

“you know,” he says, bumping your arm lightly with his. “you’re allowed to take a break. have a drink. forget about whatever mess is chewing you up for a couple hours.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you know he’s right. you just don’t know how to say it doesn’t really help when the mess comes with a charming smile and really cute doe eyes and the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

so you shrug again. “maybe next time.” taehyung groans dramatically, flopping his head back as you both walk. “you are so stubborn.”

“thanks.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

you snort. “sure it wasn’t.”

he glances sideways at you, lips pursed. plotting. calculating.

“okay,” he says finally. “what if i told you it’s not just any party?”

you raise a brow. “is this where you tell me it’s a secret underground masquerade with a five-star buffet?”

“no,” he says, deadpan. “but there will be snacks. and possibly jello shots. and—” he pauses for effect, wagging his eyebrows, “your chemistry tutor might be there.”

you blink. “jungkook?”

taehyung shrugs, faking nonchalance. “could be. dunno. hoseok’s throwing it, and i know they’re tight. might swing by.”

your stomach does something stupid. you look away before taehyung can see it. “that’s not a reason to go.”

“oh, it’s definitely a reason.”

“tae—”

“look,” he says, gentler this time. “you’ve been tense for weeks. you deserve, like, two hours of being normal. you don’t have to dance on the table or hook up with anyone. just show up. breathe. hang out.”

you slow your steps. you hate that he’s making sense. you hate that the idea of maybe running into jungkook makes your chest tighten in a way you refuse to examine too closely.

you sigh. “fine.”

taehyung beams. “yes*.* victory.”

“don’t make it weird.”

“no promises.”

you shake your head, but you’re smiling when he throws an arm around your shoulders, loud and smug and already gloating. you pretend to be annoyed.

you pretend it’s not already the only thing you’re going to think about for the rest of the day.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @knivesdoingcartwheels @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

[igwb]

A Black Eye & Two Kisses. (II.)

"keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it, like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause i sure did watch him."

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: strangers to lovers au, angst

summary: you thought jungkook would be different, that he would show you another side of men but as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not be as different as the rest.

word count: 23K

warnings: angst, set in the 90s, mentions of; sexism, patriarcal society, shitty husbands/men in general :(, violence, child abuse, jk becoming suspicious & his story explained (my poor bby♡)

playlist: the boy with the thorn in his side, forwards beckon rebound, chihiro

author's note: this isnt a one shot! you can find the first part here;

part I. part II. part III.

You were still floating in the haze of last night when the first rays of sunlight slipped through the thin, ineffective curtains. Blinking against the light, you let out a small chuckle, still unable to fully process what had happened. But the warmth in your chest quickly faded when you reached out beside you and found nothing but empty sheets.

Panic set in almost immediately. Your heart pounded as you threw the covers off, your mind racing to the worst possible scenario. Not again. Not after everything.

“Stupid Jungkook,” you muttered under your breath, rummaging through your backpack in search of a clean pair of jeans, your hands shaking slightly. “If those men don’t kill you on Friday, I swear I’ll be the one—”

“So now you wanna kill me, sugar?”

His voice came from behind you, laced with amusement, and you spun around so fast you almost tripped. Standing there, hair damp from the shower, bare chest glistening with leftover droplets of water, Jungkook smirked at you. He was wearing only his jeans, belt still unbuckled, looking completely unbothered. Meanwhile, you felt like a complete fool for immediately assuming the worst.

“You idiot,” you huffed, smacking his thigh in frustration. But your annoyance was quickly replaced with concern as your eyes traveled down to his stomach. The bruise from last night was even worse in the daylight, a deep, ugly shade that made your chest tighten. His eye was nearly swollen shut now, and the cut on his lip, just beneath his piercing, looked painfully raw.

How many times had he come home looking like this? How many more times would he have to if he didn’t find a way out? You hated seeing those dark bruises stain his golden skin, and you silently vowed to never let it happen again.

“Come on, we need to go to the pharmacy and clean that up,” you said, nodding toward the bruises on his stomach and face.

Jungkook scoffed, grabbing a towel and tossing it lazily onto the bed. “We don’t have money for that, honey,” he reminded you, his tone almost mocking, but there was something bitter underneath. The reality of the situation was suffocating.

Your shoulders slumped as you let yourself fall back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. He was right. Even something as simple as treating a wound required money—money neither of you had anymore.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the situation finally settled in. Last night had been a blur of warmth and safety, but now, reality was creeping in, forcing you to face the consequences of everything that had led you here.

“What do you owe them?” you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended.

Jungkook hummed in response, seemingly unbothered as he settled between your legs, his fingers lazily playing with the hem of your t-shirt, occasionally brushing over your belly button. His touch was light, teasing, and he chuckled like a child amused by his own game.

“Jungkook,” you sighed, grabbing his hands to still them. “Be serious.”

He only smirked in return, clearly enjoying how easy it was to distract you. Instead of answering right away, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling away entirely, walking toward the small table by the window.

You sat up, watching his back, frustration bubbling inside you. How could he act so casual when the situation was this dire?

“800,000 won,” he finally admitted, his voice flat.

The number hit you like a slap.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your stomach drop. “Jungkook,” you gasped. “Are you serious?”

“I’m glad you’re not overreacting,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the table, refusing to meet your gaze.

Your hands clenched into fists against the sheets as you tried to wrap your head around it. 800,000 won. And only one week to get it.

“How the hell are we supposed to find that kind of money?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. But you weren’t ready to give up yet.

There had to be a way.

Jungkook ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “I may have some ideas,” he admitted, though his voice lacked any real confidence. “But if it goes wrong… it’ll be even worse.”

You stepped beside him, glancing out of the motel window. The view wasn’t anything special—just dim streetlights flickering over empty sidewalks—but it gave you something to focus on instead of the panic creeping into your chest. The thought of what would happen if you didn’t find the money made your stomach twist painfully.

No. That wasn’t an option.

You took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. “I might have an idea too,” you said, turning back to him. “But you need to accept it without throwing a tantrum.”

Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest, smirking at you like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff. “Go on, then,” he challenged.

You hesitated for only a second before speaking. “My mom can—”

Before you could even finish, Jungkook pushed himself off the table with an angry scoff, pacing around the small room.

“For real?” He spat your name, his frustration dripping from every syllable. “You seriously wanna go back there and ask them for money? The same people who threw you out like a goddamn dog?”

You sighed, bracing yourself. You knew he’d react like this.

“My mom would do it,” you insisted, gripping his shoulders firmly, forcing him to look at you. “She’d do anything just to piss off my dad. I’m sure of it.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the way he always did when he was trying to hold something back. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he muttered, “I don’t want your stupid daddy’s money.”

Shrugging off your hands, he stepped back, putting space between you. His expression hardened, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. “I’d rather die than accept a single won from a man who disrespects women.”

His words hit like a slap, and for a second, you just stared at him. Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him that pride wouldn’t save him when those men came knocking—but another part understood. Understood why Jungkook would rather take a beating than owe a man like your father anything.

Still, you refused to just stand there and let him throw away his only chance.

“So what? You’re just going to accept your fate?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought alone was impossible to stomach.

Jungkook let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Fuck yes, why not?” he threw back sarcastically, his expression unreadable.

Your fingers twitched at your sides—you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. But before you could, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course not,” he muttered.

“I’ll work my ass off like a goddamn man,” he added, finally tugging a t-shirt over his bruised torso.

Something in you twisted at his words. The way he spat out the word man like it was something that determined his worth, like it meant he had to suffer to prove himself. It made you want to gag. You were starting to hate everything about toxic masculinity, especially when it came from him.

You pulled on your jeans, grabbed another shirt, and threw it over your head before standing tall in front of him. “Then I’ll work too,” you said, voice firm with determination. “I’ll help you find the money myself, without asking anyone. And you won’t have a say in it.”

Jungkook leaned against the table, watching you with an amused smirk, one eyebrow slightly raised. He couldn’t believe how stubborn you were—so angry, so determined, so ready to prove yourself. It was frustrating, maybe even reckless. But at the same time, something about it made him want to fight even harder, made his chest feel tight in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Where exactly do you think you’ll work, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possibility—the one job he would never, ever associate you with.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tying your sneakers. “A bar, a coffee shop, anywhere that’ll take me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched at that. A bar. He could already picture it—drunken men, leering stares, hands that didn’t know boundaries. The thought alone made his stomach turn. But he knew better than to argue, knew better than to act like one of those men who tried to control women. You had already lived under that suffocating grip for too long.

After a long pause, he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Go to Sukchul.” His voice was serious now. “He’s the only man I trust to take good care of you.”

“What about you?” you shot back, tilting your head slightly as you watched him. Your heart softened at the thought—if you had to work somewhere, at least it would be with Sukchul, the old man who had always treated you kindly. A place where you felt safe, where you wouldn’t have to put yourself in dangerous situations just to survive.

Jungkook shrugged, a casual smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll find something else. Don’t worry about me,” he assured you before leaning in to kiss you softly. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly. “Let’s go, independent woman,” he teased with a grin, pulling you towards the door.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest. The words sounded beautiful—almost unreal—coming from a man.

As you walked hand in hand toward the old man’s shop, a small flicker of hope started to take root in your chest. It was fragile but steady, growing with every step. Maybe—just maybe—things would turn out okay. Maybe Jungkook would be safe, and you would be too. If you worked hard enough, if you pushed through, you could gather the money, put this nightmare behind you, and finally start the life you both deserved.

But you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. Speaking them out loud felt like tempting fate, like inviting the universe to take it all away before it even had a chance to happen. So instead, you just squeezed Jungkook’s hand a little tighter, letting the warmth of his skin ground you.

He glanced down at your hands as you swung them gently between you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “What’s that for?”

You only shook your head with a small smile, unwilling to break the moment with words. Instead, you let the quiet understanding settle between you, filling the space with something that felt an awful lot like hope.

The soft chime of the bell echoed through the small shop as you stepped inside. Almost immediately, Sukchul emerged from behind the counter, his pace slow and measured as always, but his grin widening at the sight of Jungkook.

“Ah, Kook!” he greeted, his voice carrying a note of relief. He gave Jungkook a firm tap on the shoulder before turning to you with a small smile of acknowledgment. He might not remember your name, but he knew who you were—and that was enough.

Jungkook, still holding your hand, lifted it slightly toward the old man, his grip tightening just a little. “She wants to work with you,” he said, his voice tinged with something shy, almost hopeful.

Sukchul’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his expression unreadable at first. He let out a low chuckle, then turned on his heel, making his way back behind the counter.

A long moment stretched between you, heavy with anticipation. You knew you weren’t the usual type to work in a place like this. Maybe he’d refuse. Maybe he’d laugh at the idea.

But then, finally, he spoke.

“I’d be happy to have you by my side,” he said simply.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped in a quiet sigh of relief.

Jungkook immediately bowed, a deep, respectful gesture, and you followed suit, gratitude filling your chest. You had no idea what the coming days would bring, but at least for now, there was a plan. There was a chance. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jungkook turned you around gently, his hands resting on your arms as he looked into your eyes. His voice dropped lower, softer, filled with something raw and real.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmured, leaning in as if to kiss you. But at the last second, he seemed to remember Sukchul was still nearby, so instead, he awkwardly patted your head, making you roll your eyes with a small laugh.

As he turned to leave, you instinctively grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling around it as if holding onto him could stop him from going.

“Wait, Jungkook,” your voice came out shakier than you intended.

He stopped immediately, turning back with concern already etched into his bruised face. You could see it in his eyes—he thought you were going to back out, that you were going to tell him you couldn’t do this after all. That you didn’t have to.

But that wasn’t it.

“Where are you going?” you asked instead, your gaze traveling over his face, trying to memorize every detail like he might disappear the second he stepped out that door. The thought unsettled you, that terrible, lingering fear that one day, he might not come back.

“Finding work, sugar,” he said with an exaggerated grin, despite how swollen his lip was and how his eye was nearly shut. The sight was so ridiculous you couldn’t help but smile.

“Be careful,” you warned, your grip tightening for a second. “Don’t do anything too dumb.”

He chuckled, but before he could respond, you glanced over your shoulder, checking to make sure Sukchul was no longer behind the counter. And when you saw that he wasn’t, you quickly leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s lips before he could react.

It was soft, fleeting, but enough.

You couldn’t help the wide smile stretching across your lips as you walked back to the motel, crisp bills clutched tightly in your hands. You kept counting them over and over again, as if the numbers might change, as if seeing them again would make it all feel more real.

There was something deeply satisfying about it—money earned by your own hard work, not given, not borrowed, but yours.

80,000 won. You were certain of it. But still, you counted again, just to be sure.

If things continued at this pace, you could gather two-thirds of Jungkook’s debt on your own. And if you added whatever money he managed to make, you might even have more than enough—for him, for you, for whatever came after this.

You pulled the lollipop Sukchul had given you from your lips, the sweet taste lingering as you smiled up at the neon lights flickering above the streets. The same ones that once felt suffocating, their artificial glow a reminder of everything you hated about this place.

But now?

Now, they didn’t seem so bad. Now, they marked the streets you walked with purpose, the world you were learning to navigate on your own terms.

This place would be your home for the next week.

Maybe even longer.

You push the door fully open, stepping inside with a proud grin, still shaking the bills in your hand. The door hadn’t been locked, which meant Jungkook was home. Your eyes flicker to the worn-out boots by the entryway, a sight that immediately reassures you.

“Kook!” you sing-song, excitement bubbling in your chest. “Look!”

But he doesn’t turn right away. His back is to you, shoulders tense, his movements rushed as he fumbles with his backpack. Something about the way he moves—quick, deliberate, almost frantic—makes your smile falter.

You slow your steps, watching him more closely now.

“Jungkook,” you say again, this time more firmly.

At last, he turns. His breath is uneven, and as he moves, you catch the subtle motion of him tucking something behind his belt before hurriedly pulling his shirt down over it.

“Hey,” he exhales, as if trying to sound normal, but you don’t miss the way his voice strains, like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “How was it?”

Your fingers tighten around the money in your hand.

Something is wrong.

You shake your head, pushing away the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. You don’t want to let whatever he’s hiding ruin the happiness still buzzing in your chest. Instead, you toss the bills into his hands, watching as his eyes widen slightly before a slow, proud smile spreads across his bruised lips.

Without hesitation, he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The warmth of it lingers, making it harder to question him.

You throw yourself onto the bed, stretching out with a deep sigh. Your feet ache from standing all day, and before you can even complain, Jungkook is already sitting at the edge of the bed, taking your foot into his hands and massaging it gently.

For a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. The quiet care in his touch. The way his thumb presses into the sore spots with just enough pressure to ease the pain.

“What did you do?”

His fingers pause for half a second before continuing, and you catch the way his tongue rolls over his lip ring—a habit of his when he’s thinking too hard.

“I found something that’s gonna pay so well,” he says, exaggerating his tone like he’s telling you the best news in the world. His voice is dramatic, playful even. “After this, when my life isn’t hanging by a thread, we could even go to Jeju.”

Before you can respond, he suddenly throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He presses a quick kiss to your lips before rolling onto his back, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if lost in thought. Then, almost hesitantly, he speaks.

“Wait… are you even planning on staying with me after… that?”

You blink at him, taken aback by the question. As if he really thought you’d just walk away.

Without a second thought, you turn onto your side, cupping his face between your hands, your fingers spread wide across his cheeks. His skin is warm beneath your touch, his jaw slightly tense.

“Of course, idiot,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “You really think you’re getting rid of me that easily?”

At your words, a slow smile stretches across his lips—one of those rare, genuine ones that make his eyes crinkle at the corners. He shakes his head slightly, almost in disbelief, before pulling you down into another kiss, this one deeper than the last.

It starts soft—gentle presses of his lips against yours—but then he tilts his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, and the kiss turns heated. Your hands slip down from his face, tracing over his jaw, his throat. You feel the way his pulse stutters under your touch.

Jungkook groans softly when your lips trail down to his neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. His fingers twitch against your hip, gripping a little harder like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he breathes out, voice raspier now, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips as your fingers trace the lines of his torso. You settle onto his thigh, your grip tightening on the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it over his head. But just as you start to lift the fabric, Jungkook’s hand wraps gently but firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he breathes out, clearing his throat before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

You frown, searching his face for an explanation. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His jaw clenches, his tongue running over his lip piercing—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. And then, without meeting your eyes, he shakes your hands off his shoulders and looks away.

Something twists in your chest at that.

“Jungkook,” you say more softly now, your voice dipping in concern. “Talk to me.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “I just—” He stops himself, clicking his tongue in frustration before forcing out a dry laugh.

You sat back on your heels, watching him pace the small room like a caged animal, his hands running through his hair, his jaw clenched.

“You’re acting like a freak right now,” you huff, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Jungkook stops abruptly and turns to you, his eyes filled with something unreadable—fear? Guilt? Desperation? He crosses the space between you in two strides, his hands landing on your shoulders, his grip not tight but firm enough to ground you.

“You have to trust me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, pleading. “Please.”

His gaze searches yours, wide and vulnerable, and your heart clenches at the way he’s looking at you—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if you don’t say the right thing.

You inhale sharply, exhaling through your nose as you hold his stare. Every instinct in you screams to push for answers, to demand the truth. But instead, you sigh, nodding slowly.

“Okay,” you breathe out, the word heavy on your tongue.

But deep down, something in your chest tightens—a lingering feeling that whispers you shouldn’t let this go.

The bell above the door chimed and without hesitation, you made your way to the storage room to greet the old man. It was only your third day working at the shop, but seeing Sukchul had already become a source of comfort—something familiar in the midst of all the uncertainty. You were grateful it was him and not someone else.

The morning had started like the others: waking up alone in the motel room, Jungkook already gone. You didn’t ask questions anymore, at least not out loud. He was doing whatever job he had found, the one he still refused to give you any real details about. But you trusted him—you had to.

“Hey, darling,” Sukchul greeted, his voice warm as he stepped inside, carrying a large box in his hands.

You quickly moved to take it from him, placing it on the counter with ease. “What’s this?” you asked, already prying open the lid.

The moment your eyes landed on the contents, a breath of excitement escaped you. “Damn,” you whispered in awe, carefully lifting one of the vinyl records from the stack. The sleeves were slightly worn but well-preserved, the kind of treasures collectors would fight over.

“You like them?” Sukchul chuckled, watching your expression with amusement.

“Like them?” You shook your head, flipping through the records with admiration. “It’s my dream to have a collection like this.”

The old man hummed in response, moving to help you unload the box onto the shelves.

“And a shop like yours, too,” you added, glancing around the store with fondness. It wasn’t big or flashy, but it had character. It felt like a place where people came to escape, to find something special among the shelves.

Sukchul shot you a knowing look. “Good thing you’re close with Kook, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate as he wiped down a shelf before carefully placing a record in its new spot.

“He’s the closest thing to family I’ve got,” he admitted after a moment. “I don’t have kids of my own, so I always figured I’d leave this place to him someday.”

You stilled at his words, warmth blooming in your chest. The thought of Jungkook inheriting this place—of having something stable, something that truly belonged to him—made you smile. He’d never had that before.

“He’d be so happy,” you murmured, meaning it.

Sukchul turned to you then, his sharp eyes softening as he observed you. “You kids seem to get along well,” he remarked, a teasing glint in his gaze.

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you tried to busy yourself with the records, but the old man’s knowing grin only grew wider.

“Jungkook, he’s a good boy,” Sukchul’s voice cuts through the silence, making you freeze in place. There’s something in the way he says it, a tenderness in his voice that you hadn’t expected. As he speaks, you can feel yourself hanging on to every word, though you try not to. There’s something invasive about hearing these details, but it’s too late—you’re already drawn in, craving every piece of the puzzle that is Jungkook’s life.

“Life hasn’t been easy on him,” Sukchul continues, his gaze distant as he sets down a record. “His mother was a sweetheart,” he smiles softly, his eyes softening as he remembers her. “But his father… he was a terrible man.” The words hang heavy in the air, a mixture of sorrow and regret, as Sukchul pauses to remember her and the man she had married.

You glance down, your stomach twisting. For a moment, you can’t help but picture your own father in place of Jungkook’s—so much darker, colder. You know deep down that Jungkook’s father was far worse than yours. At least your father never killed your mother. But sometimes, the lines blur, and you wonder if the cruelty, the hatred, is so far removed from the day-to-day suffering that it almost feels too normal.

You try to shake the image of your own home from your mind, but it’s hard. You know all too well how many men beat their wives, how many women live in fear, trapped. The thought of it makes you feel nauseous. You hate the idea that one day, it might be your own mother in the same situation as Jungkook's one. That fear, that uncertainty—it clings to you, even as you try to push it away.

Sukchul’s voice pulls you back to the conversation, his tone quieter now. “With Jungkook, too,” he adds, his face darkening as he finally addresses the truth you hadn’t dared to ask about.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you mean?” You can feel your heart beat harder in your chest. Your mind flashes back to what Jungkook had told you—his father didn’t care about him. He wasn’t even worth the effort because he was a man, too strong to be controlled.

Sukchul turns to you, his expression somber, yet kind. He seems to hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether or not to share more. Finally, he speaks again. “His father never wanted him to be anything but a shadow,” he says quietly. “He never treated him like a son. He only saw him as something to control, to break. It was all about power for him. Jungkook couldn’t win against that kind of man.”

Your throat tightens at his words. Jungkook’s entire life, it seems, has been spent fighting for his humanity, trying to scrape together any sense of self-worth against a backdrop of rejection and violence. It makes you ache for him in a way you can’t even describe. And it makes you want to wrap your arms around him, to tell him that he’s safe now, that he doesn’t have to fight alone anymore.

You swallow hard and, without realizing it, you find yourself asking the question you’d been dreading to ask. “How was his father with him, exactly?” The words come out almost in a whisper, as though you’re afraid the answer might shatter you.

Sukchul’s eyes soften when he meets your gaze, but his voice remains steady. “His father… he didn’t care for him at all. Jungkook was never good enough, not strong enough, not obedient enough. His father’s love came with a price, and Jungkook couldn’t—and wouldn’t—pay it. That made him weak in his father’s eyes.”

The revelation hangs in the air between you both, the silence thick with the unspoken reality of what Jungkook has lived through. And for a long moment, you don’t know what to say. There’s nothing you can say that will make it better. The truth is painful—too painful for you to bear.

Sukchul seems to notice your hesitation, the discomfort settling on your face, and he gives you a small, sad smile. “I don’t mean to burden you with all of this, but Jungkook deserves to know that not everyone is like his father. He deserves to know that there’s kindness left in the world.”

You can feel the weight of his words sinking into you. You nod, but inside, your heart is heavy, weighed down with the knowledge that Jungkook, despite all of his strength, has carried so much more than anyone should have to. And yet, he’s still standing. Still fighting.

“I’ll make sure he knows,” you finally say, your voice steady, though your heart feels like it’s shattering all over again. You have to be strong for him, just like he’s been strong for everyone else.

Sukchul looks at you, nodding in approval. “I know you will.”

After a few moments of heavy silence, you finally find the courage to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you. “Do you know where his father is now?” you ask, your voice tight, betraying the anxiety building in your chest. The thought of Jungkook ever facing that man again—of him being forced to confront the one person who had caused him so much pain—was unbearable. You could never imagine allowing that to happen. Jungkook deserved so much more than to face the one who had made him feel weak, worthless, and alone.

Sukchul scoffs, a harsh sound that seems to come from deep within his chest. “Far away from here,” he mutters, as if the thought of that man is enough to ignite the anger and frustration that Jungkook has carried with him for so long. The old man rolls his eyes, a bitter expression clouding his face. “After he…” He stops for a moment, closing his eyes as if to shield himself from the painful memory, his hands pausing mid-air. For a brief second, it feels like the room itself holds its breath, waiting for him to continue.

“He just left,” Sukchul finally says, his voice breaking slightly. “Didn’t care that his son would have to grow up alone, without a home. Without anyone to protect him. He just disappeared into the night, like a coward.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You already knew the man was terrible, but hearing Sukchul’s account of his abandonment, of the way he let his son suffer without a second thought, makes you feel a surge of anger you didn’t know you had. It’s a cruel thing to do to any child—to just walk away and leave them to face the world with nothing but empty promises and the ghosts of a broken past.

A sense of sadness fills you, the reality of Jungkook’s past hitting you even harder now. How could anyone do that to their child? To leave them like that, abandoned and unwanted? The injustice of it all stirs something deep within you—something protective. You would never allow Jungkook to feel that kind of abandonment again. You would never let that man back into his life.

The evening air was cool against your skin, but the warmth in your chest kept you steady as you walked, your thoughts consumed with Jungkook. It was like the universe had shifted slightly, and now, no matter what happened, it seemed like every thought, every breath was centered on him. He was everywhere, woven into the very fabric of your days, more than just a presence—he was a part of you, a beautiful part that had attached itself to you in ways you never imagined.

You had never believed in love at first sight, or any of the romantic notions that people dreamed about, but with Jungkook, everything felt different. He had snuck into your life quietly at first, but now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to want him close. To need him there, to be near him. It was like he had filled spaces inside of you that you didn’t even know were empty. And even though you had been through so much together already, you knew you were only just beginning to learn about each other. Yet, despite that, you already felt something strong, something undeniable, growing between you two.

You paused in front of a beautiful garden, the delicate, fragrant flowers stretched out before you, their colors vibrant against the evening sky. The scene was peaceful, untouched, as if this little part of the world belonged to no one but the flowers and the stars above. It was the perfect place to find something for Jungkook—something meaningful, something that would show him what you felt inside. You may not have money anymore, but you knew the one thing you could give him that would speak volumes: a gesture, a symbol of your love.

With slow, deliberate steps, you moved forward, heart pounding a little faster with every inch closer you got to the garden. The flowers, in all their glory, seemed to call to you, and you could feel the same quiet, certain energy of the night wrapping itself around you. You weren’t sure what kind of flowers you were looking for, but something about the idea of picking one felt right. It felt simple. Pure. Just like the first night you shared together under the mountains, with only the moon above to witness your connection. That was when everything started to change. That was when you first felt the deep, unspoken bond begin to form between you.

You glanced around, making sure no one was watching, hoping your luck would hold out. The thought of being caught didn’t scare you, but the idea of ruining something so small and meaningful just because you took it for granted made you cautious. The garden, despite its beauty, was not yours, and you knew it was wrong to take something from it without permission. Still, the feeling in your chest pushed you forward.

Reaching down, you carefully plucked a soft purple flower from the ground, its petals delicate between your fingers. It felt like a promise, like a piece of your heart in bloom, a small offering to someone who had unknowingly grown so deep within you. It wasn’t about the flower itself, but the gesture. The thought behind it.

You couldn’t wait to see his face again, to hand him this small, beautiful token of your feelings. You just knew he’d appreciate it. You hoped it would be a moment you’d both remember.

And as you made your way back to the motel, flower in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar flutter in your stomach. A feeling that you knew by now was love, the kind that was growing, blooming, and maybe, just maybe, it would last.

As you stepped in front of the motel, the last thing you expected was for someone to collide into you, knocking you off balance. The impact was sudden, forcing the small flower from your grasp, sending it fluttering to the ground. Before you could even reach for it, a heavy boot came down, crushing it beneath careless steps.

You froze, your lips parting in silent disbelief as you watched the petals crumple under the weight of the stranger’s stride. He didn’t stop, didn’t even spare you a glance. Just kept walking, his broad shoulders cutting through the dimly lit hallway, his presence an unmovable force that paid no mind to anything in its way.

Your first instinct was to snap at him, to demand he at least acknowledge what he had done. But you knew better. Men like him—cold, indifferent, towering with an air of entitlement—never bothered with consequences. They moved through life unchallenged, their carelessness something the world had long since learned to excuse.

So, you bit your tongue, swallowing down the sharp words burning in your throat. It wasn’t worth it. Not here, not now. You had never been the type to cower in front of Jungkook, had no trouble standing your ground with him, but with a man like this? A stranger whose power came not from love but from the silent threat of what he could do? No. You weren’t stupid.

You simply clenched your fists at your sides and watched as he disappeared out the door. Moments later, the roar of an engine filled the air, his car speeding off into the night. The tires kicked up loose gravel, a few stray stones skidding toward you, as if mocking the way you had been so effortlessly dismissed.

Only when the dust had settled did you finally allow yourself to exhale. Slowly, you crouched down, reaching for what was left of the flower. It was ruined now—the delicate petals torn, the stem bent and broken beyond saving. The small, simple gift you had wanted to give Jungkook had been destroyed in a matter of seconds, crushed underfoot like it had never mattered at all.

“Motherfucker,” you muttered under your breath, the words tasting bitter as they left your lips.

You stared at the flower for a long moment before finally letting it go, watching as the wind carried the damaged petals away. There was no salvaging it, no way to undo what had been done. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t matter. Maybe Jungkook didn’t need a flower to understand what you felt for him.

With that thought, you straightened your back, brushing the dust from your clothes before stepping forward. Whatever tonight had in store for you, one thing remained certain—you couldn’t wait to see him again.

The door to your room was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling into the dimly lit hallway. Your steps faltered as a cold dread crept up your spine. Something felt wrong.

Your breath hitched when your gaze dropped to the doorknob—small droplets of blood smeared across the metal surface, stark and unforgiving against the cheap, peeling paint.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea creeping up your throat as your mind raced through the worst possibilities. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to turn around, to run, but your feet betrayed you, moving forward before you could think twice.

With trembling fingers, you pushed the door open, careful not to touch the bloodstained knob.

“Jung—” His name barely made it past your lips, coming out in a shaky whisper before you heard it—low, pained groans and quiet curses slipping through the partially closed bathroom door.

Panic surged through you, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you rushed forward.

Your breath caught in your throat the moment you saw him. Jungkook was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the shower with his legs stretched out in front of him. His bare chest rose and fell heavily, glistening with sweat. His hands—his hands were covered in blood.

Your eyes traveled lower, stomach churning at the deep gash across his right side. A needle and thread were clutched between his fingers, the makeshift stitches half-done, his skin raw and angry where the wound split open.

He lifted his head at your sudden presence, his dark eyes hazy but sharp, assessing your expression.

“Shit,” he muttered, pausing in his work as he took in your pale face.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your backpack slipping from your shoulder, forgotten in the urgency of the moment. Your hands hovered uselessly over his wound, shaking too much to even reach for him.

“What the hell happened?” Your voice wavered, but you barely noticed.

Jungkook let out a breathy chuckle, though it was strained, his lips twisting in something that wasn’t quite amusement. “It’s nothing, sugar. Just a scratch.”

Your stomach flipped. A scratch? His skin was split open, bleeding freely, and he called it a scratch?

Your fingers twitched, aching to press against the wound, to help in any way you could—but the sight of so much blood made your head spin. The coppery scent was overwhelming, and suddenly your stomach lurched, bile rising in your throat.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because his bloodied hand reached for yours, gripping it weakly. “Don’t pass out on me,” he murmured, a teasing edge to his voice despite the obvious pain he was in.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay grounded. You had to push past the nausea. You had to help him.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met his gaze. “Let me do it.”

You had a million questions running through your mind—where had he been? What had happened? Who had done this to him? But none of them mattered right now. Right now, all you cared about was stopping the bleeding.

With shaky fingers, you grabbed the needle, barely holding it at the tips to the blood. Jungkook’s breath was ragged, but he still managed to guide you through it, his voice tight with pain.

The first attempt was disastrous.

As soon as the needle pierced his torn skin, Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his hand instinctively gripping your wrist in a bruising hold. His body tensed, muscles flexing under the strain, and he hissed out a string of curses that made your heart clench with guilt.

“Shit, fuck—!” His jaw clenched, breath coming out in sharp gasps.

“I’m sorry, Kook, I’m so sorry—” Your voice cracked as you tried again, forcing yourself to stay steady despite the way your hands trembled. The sight of his blood, the sound of his pain—it made you want to break down.

But you couldn’t.

So you sucked in a deep breath, gritted your teeth, and pushed through the nausea pooling in your stomach.

You had to do this.

Swallowing back your nerves, you guided the needle through his skin, this time steadier, smoother. Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t protest.

“You’re doing good, sugar,” he murmured, voice hoarse but laced with reassurance. “Just keep going.”

And you did.

As soon as you finished stitching his wound, you dropped the needle onto the floor like it had burned you, your fingers shaking from the tension. Without a second thought, you yanked your t-shirt over your head, using the fabric to wipe away the blood smeared across his stomach. You hated the sight of it—the deep red against his skin, the way it felt warm and sticky under your touch. It made your stomach twist painfully.

Jungkook exhaled a ragged breath, his head falling back against the cold tiles of the shower wall. His whole body trembled, his muscles rigid as he fought against the pain.

“Jungkook,” you called softly, but his eyes remained shut. Panic flared in your chest. You gave his cheek a couple of light slaps, trying to keep him alert. “Hey, don’t pass out on me—stay with me.”

A small, lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he forced his eyes open, lids heavy with exhaustion. His hand found your bare waist, his grip weak but reassuring.

“I’m good, baby,” he murmured, though the way his body swayed against yours said otherwise. “Just… gimme a second.”

“Can you stand up?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He nodded sluggishly, and without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his waist, bracing yourself as he leaned against you. His weight was almost too much, but you gritted your teeth and held firm.

“Alright, come on,” you encouraged, guiding him out of the bathroom step by step.

You barely made it to the bed before Jungkook collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the worn-out sheets. You stayed by his side, still holding onto him, as if letting go meant he’d disappear.

You guided his head onto your chest, and he settled against you without hesitation, as if this was where he belonged. His left arm wrapped loosely around your waist, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, was the only thing keeping you grounded. His soft fingertips brushed against yours, a quiet reminder that he was here—that he was still breathing, still alive.

But the thought of what could have happened if you had arrived just two minutes later made your stomach clench painfully.

You closed your eyes, your fingers gently combing through his silk hair as your mind wandered. If you were to lose him, if he were to slip through your fingers like smoke, you knew you wouldn’t survive it. The thought alone was unbearable.

Then, your mind drifted back to Friday.

Your gaze flickered down to his face, the bruises darkening his skin, the way his eyelashes rested so delicately against his cheek despite the pain he had endured. He looked so soft like this, so human. How could anyone want to hurt him? How could someone look at Jungkook—someone whose heart was so big, whose presence was so warm—and wish to kill him over something as meaningless as money?

His life was worth more than that. More than anything.

Your grip around him tightened instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill, but they burned in the corners of your eyes, stubborn and unrelenting.

If Jungkook reminded you of a flower, it would be a rose.

A beautiful, delicate thing—so vibrant, so captivating—that you would reach out and take it into your hands, breathing in its scent, feeling the softness of its petals. But roses had thorns, and Jungkook was no exception. He had built his own armor, layer after layer, sharp and unforgiving, to protect himself from a world that had tried to crush him too many times. And if you weren’t careful, if you held on too tightly, those thorns would cut you open.

And yet, knowing all of this, you still couldn’t let him go.

Your night had been restless, haunted by the lingering fear that clung to you like a second skin. Every time you drifted off, you would wake up again—eyes immediately searching for him, ears straining to catch the soft rhythm of his breath. You held your own breath each time, waiting, listening, only allowing yourself to exhale when you heard the steady rise and fall of his chest. It felt almost maternal, like checking on a newborn, making sure he was still there, still alive.

But now, sleep was out of reach.

The thought that someone could come and hurt him again—or worse, hurt you both—left your stomach twisted in knots. You stared at the ceiling, willing yourself to push the thoughts away, but they only pressed harder against your mind.

Beside you, Jungkook shifted, a low sigh slipping past his lips as he blinked an eye open. His voice was rough with sleep when he spoke. “Can’t sleep?”

You hummed in response, turning your head to look at him. He pushed himself up, sitting against the headboard as he turned on the small bedside lamp. The dim glow softened his bruised features, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest.

“Why?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.

A scoff left your lips. Sometimes, you hated how he tried to brush things off, how he pretended to be unfazed, like his own life didn’t carry the same weight as everyone else’s. And more than that, you hated the world for making him believe it.

“Because I came home and you were covered in blood, Jungkook,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

He only shrugged, leaning onto his side with a small wince, propping his head up with his hand. “I’ve had worse, you know?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t care. You still got hurt, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

For a second, he just looked at you, then a lazy grin spread across his face—one of those stupid, playful grins that usually made you want to kiss him. But right now, it only made you more frustrated.

“You’re cute,” he teased, his fingers tracing absent patterns over your stomach. “You care that much about me?”

You took a slow, shaky breath, staring at where his fingers danced over your skin. When you finally answered, your voice was quieter but firm.

“Yes. I do.”

His lips traced a slow path along your shoulder, leaving warmth in their wake. You shivered under his touch, but before he could go any further—before you lost yourself completely in the haze of him—you spoke.

“Who was it?”

Jungkook sighed and flopped onto his back, fingers absentmindedly drumming against his stomach. “Some asshole I got into trouble with,” he muttered, his voice laced with nonchalance.

Your brows furrowed. “Some asshole?” You turned onto your side to face him, searching his expression for anything that might give you a clearer answer. “How many men have you gotten yourself into trouble with, Jungkook?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. You know how they are—bruise their ego just a little, and suddenly, they act like you’ve declared war on their entire bloodline.”

You frowned, suspicion creeping into your voice. “And what did you do this time? Stole from him, too?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Jungkook shot up, the casual demeanor melting off him in an instant. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something sharp and unforgiving.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snapped. “So it’s always me, huh?”

You opened your mouth, ready to explain that you hadn’t meant it that way, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“It’s them,” he bit out. “They’re the problem. The rich bastards like your daddy.” His voice dripped with mockery, the words landing like a slap.

Your spine stiffened, and anger coiled hot in your chest. “Maybe you should be more careful,” you shot back, sitting up now, your pulse hammering in frustration. “You act like the whole world is against you, but—”

You watched as he threw the sheets off himself, standing up despite the pain that made him clutch his stomach. His eyes burned with something sharp, something reckless.

“I won’t let myself get walked over like you did your whole life.”

His words cut deeper than any wound.

The words echoed in your chest, setting fire to every nerve in your body.

You shot up from the bed, heart hammering against your ribs as anger surged through you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head as if you were too naïve to understand. “It means I won’t sit back and take shit from people just because they have power. I won’t bow my head to some rich asshole who thinks money makes him untouchable. Not like—”

He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say. Not like you.

Your blood ran cold. “You think I had a choice?” you spat, voice laced with disbelief.

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He hadn’t lived in your skin, hadn’t spent years learning how to survive in a world that never let you win.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless,” you shot back, voice shaking.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Are you serious? You think I don’t know what it’s like?” His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I grew up with nothing. I had no home, no family, no safety. My own father beat me bloody and left me to rot, he killed my mom because he felt like it, and you wanna talk to me about power?”

You swallowed hard, your anger twisting into something else. Something closer to guilt. But the fire inside you refused to die.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Survival isn’t just about fighting, Jungkook. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when not to.”

His eyes softened for a second—just a second—but then his walls shot back up, and he scoffed. “Yeah? And what has that ever gotten you?”

You clenched your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “It got me here. With you.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. For the first time since the argument started, he looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to say.

For a moment, the room was silent except for your ragged breaths. Then, without another word, he turned his back to you, running a hand through his hair.

“I need some air,” he muttered, grabbing his hoodie from the chair.

Your stomach dropped. “Jungkook—”

But he was already walking to the door. And when it shut behind him, you felt like he took all the air with him.

You pulled the sheets over yourself again, as if they could shield you from the cold that had nothing to do with the breeze slipping through the cracks of the motel window. The air felt heavier now, thick with the weight of words that had cut too deep, leaving wounds neither of you knew how to tend to.

You knew you’d go to him eventually. You always did. No matter how heated the argument, no matter how much his words stung, something in you would always pull you back to him. But right now? Right now, you couldn’t face him.

You understood why he was angry. Jungkook had never been given the privilege of stability, of safety. He’d fought for everything, carved his place in the world with clenched fists and bloodied knuckles. And in his eyes, you—no matter how much you had suffered—would always be someone who had been given a life he never had.

But that didn’t mean his words hadn’t hurt. It didn’t mean he had the right to make your struggles feel small. He knew what it was like to live in a world that saw you as something lesser, something disposable.

You curled into yourself, biting your lip to keep the emotions at bay. The night stretched on, silent and still. Somewhere outside, Jungkook was probably pacing, cursing under his breath, maybe kicking at the gravel in frustration.

And eventually, you would go to him.

Eventually, you would remind him that you weren’t his enemy.

You don’t even make it two minutes before grabbing your sweater and denim, the cool air pressing against your skin as you step outside. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of the small stone wall in front of the motel, his fingers curled around a cigarette, smoke drifting in the night air.

The moment you step closer, his eyes ignores you, and you can see the tension in his face. You can’t help but scoff, “Very mature, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, maybe I should ask for some education from them if I’m so—” he starts, but before he can finish, you jump on the wall beside him, shooting him a pointed glare. He immediately gets the message and shuts up, the smirk that had been tugging at his lips fading.

You rest your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s slowing down, the world falling away just to make space for the two of you.

“Im sorry,” you whisper softly, your voice breaking the silence between you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to shut down when I know how much it hurts.”

Jungkook’s body stiffens slightly before he throws the cigarette on the ground. He then shifts, moving his head to rest gently on yours, and for a moment, everything feels right again, as if this is exactly where you both needed to be.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. You can hear the sincerity in his words, feel the weight of them pressing against you as much as the silence that had hung between you earlier.

In the stillness of the night, you both let your mistakes hang in the air, unresolved yet somehow understood.

Jungkook turns your head gently, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. It isn’t rushed or demanding—just a reassurance, a silent promise that you’ll both be okay.

You’re not used to this kind of gentleness. The idea that problems could be solved without shouting, without fists, without bruises. That love could be given without fear. Your parents had always shown you that things were fixed with a slap, not a kiss. But with Jungkook, it was different. It was easy.

As you both make your way back to the room, his fingers laced through yours, a quiet warmth settles in your chest. But just as you reach the door, your body suddenly tenses.

Your heart stops.

Your grip on Jungkook’s hand tightens as your breath catches in your throat.

Because there, just a few steps away, walking out of the motel in the dead of night—

Is your father.

Jungkook felt it immediately—the way your entire body stiffened, how your fingers gripped his with a force that was almost desperate. Your breath hitched, your eyes wide and unblinking as you stared at the tall figure walking ahead.

Your father moved with his head hung low, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, his steps unhurried but purposeful. It was clear he didn’t want to be seen.

But you saw him.

And suddenly, as much as you had tried to ignore it, as much as you had spent years avoiding the thought—there was no doubt anymore.

He was like them.

Like every man who saw women as disposable.

Like every man who took what he wanted and walked away without looking back.

Your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat. Because you knew. Even without seeing the room he had come from, even without hearing the exchange of money or the whispered goodbyes—you knew.

Your father was no different.

You turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. The weight of it—the truth, the disgust, the betrayal—pressed down on your chest, suffocating.

Jungkook pulled you into him, nestling you against the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The moment the first tear slipped down your cheek and dampened his skin, he felt his own heart shatter.

His jaw clenched as his dark eyes followed the man’s retreating figure, his hands twitching at his sides. If you weren’t here, trembling, vulnerable in his arms, he wouldn’t have thought twice. He would’ve walked straight up to that man and made him feel just an ounce of the pain he had inflicted.

Even though your father was nothing but a stranger to him, Jungkook already knew what kind of man he was. The type who would look down on someone like him. Who would scoff at his anger, his presence, his existence.

But Jungkook didn’t care.

He hated the man.

More than before.

More than he hated most men.

Because he had seen what that man had done to you. And Jungkook could never forgive that.

The day dragged on endlessly, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. The usual warmth you found in working with Sukchul had faded, replaced by a dull, persistent ache in your chest. It was Wednesday now, and for two days straight, your mind had been consumed by thoughts of your father. But more than him, you thought of your mother.

Did she know?

Did she turn a blind eye, or had she convinced herself of a lie to keep surviving?

The rhythmic ticking of the clock echoed in your ears, a reminder of time slipping away. No matter how much you tried to push it from your mind, Friday loomed closer. And with it, Jungkook’s fate.

You had gathered a decent amount of money. Enough to give him a chance. But what about Jungkook? He was still so vague about his job, refusing to give you details no matter how many times you asked. The only thing he kept repeating was how well it paid.

You trusted him. You really did.

But you also knew that blind trust wasn’t enough—not when his life was at stake.

And you were done staying in the dark.

Whatever he was doing, you had to know. Because if he was putting himself in danger, you weren’t going to stand by and let it happen.

Jungkook had been acting strange.

Leaving before you even had the chance to wake up. Coming home when you were already in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying—and failing—to fall asleep.

Your mind was a battlefield of worst-case scenarios, endless possibilities circling in your head like vultures, each one worse than the last. And the only thing that ever silenced them was his presence beside you.

But lately, even that had become a rarity.

The only time you caught a glimpse of him was when he would slip into the bathroom, careful not to make a sound. He thought you were asleep, but you weren’t. You would watch him through the mirror, noting the fresh bruises blooming on his skin, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he splashed water onto his face.

And it was killing you.

That was why, the moment you woke up that morning to find his side of the bed cold and empty, you made a decision.

You were going to follow him.

Sukchul hadn’t questioned it when you told him you wouldn’t be coming in today. The moment you mentioned Jungkook, worry flashed in his eyes, but he only nodded.

“Go,” he said simply, as if he understood everything without needing an explanation.

And so you did.

You followed him from a safe distance, careful to keep your steps light and your presence unnoticed.

Jungkook walked with purpose, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his posture tense. Every few steps, he glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the streets as if he expected someone to be watching.

He was cautious. Too cautious.

It only made your anxiety grow.

What was he so afraid of? Who was he looking out for?

And more importantly—what was he about to do?

You watched as Jungkook disappeared into the alleyway, your heart pounding in your chest. You hesitated, afraid that if you followed too closely, he’d catch you. So you stayed put, counting the minutes.

One… two… three…

When he finally emerged, something was different.

His backpack was gone. And so were his clothes.

The black hoodie he had been wearing was replaced by a fitted long-sleeve t-shirt, and his usual denim had been swapped for a pair of black trousers. Only his boots remained the same.

You swallowed hard as you watched him climb the stairs of a random apartment complex, his movements quick and precise, like he knew exactly where he was going.

Your pulse quickened as you rushed into the alleyway, eyes darting around for any trace of Jungkook. Then, you spotted it—his backpack, carelessly discarded into a rusted bin like it meant nothing. A cold pit formed in your stomach as you hesitated for a second before reaching inside, fingers fumbling through the fabric. His hoodie, his jeans—everything he had been wearing earlier.

Before you could process the unsettling thought, voices echoed from the stairwell above. You barely had time to duck behind the bin, pressing your back against the cold wall as you strained to listen.

“Our typical motherfucker,” an unfamiliar voice sneered, his tone dripping with amusement. Laughter followed, mingling with another—Jungkook’s. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, even as your mind screamed for answers.

“Do what you want with him. She doesn’t give us anything special to follow,” the man continued, his words cryptic, yet ominous.

Your fingers curled into Jungkook’s hoodie, knuckles turning white. She? Who were they talking about? And him—who was the man they were discussing?

Then, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension. Steady, indifferent. “Consider it already done.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t recognize him in that moment. There was no warmth, no hesitation—only cold certainty. It terrified you.

You waited, pressing yourself against the cold metal bin, your heart pounding in your chest. The voices above grew quieter, and you risked a glance toward the staircase just in time to see the unfamiliar man disappear into the apartment complex.

He was young—not much older than Jungkook—but old enough to have seen things, to have done things. He carried himself with a kind of confidence that came with experience, but not the kind built from a stable life. No wedding ring, no signs of a man with a family waiting for him at home. Just another lost soul in this world, much like Jungkook.

The silence stretched on, two minutes of nothing but the distant hum of the city.

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, you carefully stepped out of your hiding spot, your body tense as if expecting someone to jump out at you. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, your only goal now to find him. You had to.

It wasn’t hard to spot him amidst the busy crowd. His dark hair stood out, and his black outfit seemed out of place among the well-dressed people around him. He looked like he was trying to blend in, but his attire only made him stick out even more. He wasn’t trying to hide. His gaze flicked down to a paper in his hand, eyes scanning it before he kept walking, heading toward a neighborhood that reminded you of your old one. A place that felt familiar but distant now.

He came to a stop in front of a house. It was tucked away, hidden by overgrown bushes, and he crouched down, his movements quick and purposeful. You stood there, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him unzip his backpack and pull out something that made your heart skip a beat.

He took out a shoulder holster with a practiced ease, strapping it onto his chest. The gun, heavy and cold, gleamed in his hand for a brief moment before he slid it into place. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. The action was so casual, like it was second nature to him now.

Jungkook, who had always seemed so full of contradictions—so gentle and yet capable of such violence. It was like watching someone you loved slowly lose themselves, piece by piece, to a world you didn’t understand.

You felt the urge to approach him, to call out and tell him to stop, to beg him to leave whatever this was behind, but you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you saw the man he was becoming in front of you.

Instead, you stood frozen, watching from behind the corner of a building, your heart heavy with fear and a sense of loss you couldn’t shake off. You wanted to save him, but you didn’t know how.

Jungkook never had a say in his own life. His father never let him forget how weak he was, how useless he seemed to be, and how he wasn’t manly enough. The words were like daggers, sharper because they came from the one person he should have been able to look up to, to feel safe with. He was only eleven when his father’s cruel words first cut deep.

But it wasn’t just his father who shaped his world. His mother, gentle and loving, always knew when he needed her most. She would be there, a soft light in the darkness of his father’s criticisms. Whenever he cried, feeling small and lost, she would hold him close, reassuring him that it was okay to be sensitive, to feel deeply. “Don’t tell your dad,” she would whisper, “and let’s go get ice cream.” And so, with a small hand clasped in hers, they would slip away from the house, the weight of his father’s harshness momentarily forgotten.

They shared secrets, laughter, and tears over ice cream, the simple joys of childhood that Jungkook would cling to, knowing they were the only moments where he didn’t have to be someone else. His mother taught him that he was allowed to feel, that his gentleness wasn’t something to hide or be ashamed of. It was something his father despised, but to Jungkook, it was the one thing that made him feel human, feel real, even in the face of all the hate he received from the person who should have been his protector.

Jungkook’s hatred toward men began when he was just seven years old, the first time his father’s fist landed on him. It wasn’t just a bruise on his skin; it was a scar that dug deeper into his heart. From that moment on, he began to associate every man, every male figure, with the same cruelty. His teachers, classmates, even strangers on the street—whenever they got too close, his body would tense, and he would start crying, clutching his thumb tightly against his mouth as if that small act could offer him any comfort, any sense of safety in a world full of men he no longer trusted.

His mother, always the protector, would rush to the school whenever his cries grew uncontrollable. He had become a disruption in the classroom, but it wasn’t his fault—how could it be? His emotions had a way of spilling out when the fear took over, when the memories of his father’s abuse resurfaced. She’d gather him in her arms, her touch gentle as she ran a hand through his hair, soothing him in the only way she knew how. Then, without any explanation to the teachers, she’d take him home. She couldn’t bear to tell them the truth. She couldn’t risk them taking him away, the only thing that kept her from falling apart. Jungkook, despite everything, was her only hope, her only reason to keep going.

She knew the truth, deep down. She was acting out of fear, selfishly keeping her son close because he was the one thing in that house that made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone. She could never admit it, though. She never let anyone see how desperate she was to protect him, even if it meant staying in a home that was more prison than sanctuary. Every time she took him away from school, every time she shielded him from the world outside, it was because she didn’t want to risk losing him—her child, her hope, her salvation.

She had finally reached her breaking point. After years of enduring the torment, the silence, and the fear, she couldn’t take it anymore. That night, Jungkook’s sobs pierced through the thin walls of their small, crumbling home. His fragile heart, always so sensitive, had been crushed once again by a classmate’s cruel words. He had always been so easy to hurt, so vulnerable to the world around him. And now, in the midst of the quiet night, his cries filled the house, echoing in his mother’s ears as she sat in the dim light of the living room.

His father, meanwhile, was oblivious to the pain his son was enduring. He sat slumped on the couch, a can of beer in his hand, the bottle nearly empty as he let the alcohol do the talking. He could hear his son’s wails, but they did nothing to stir his conscience. His response was anger.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his words slurring as he tossed his beer glass against the wall. The loud crash made Jungkook’s mother flinch, her body instinctively tensing at the sound. Her eyes were wide with panic, but she couldn’t seem to find the strength to move. She was so used to the violence, the rage, but every time it happened, it shattered her all over again. She bit her nails, trying to distract herself from the helplessness creeping in.

Jungkook’s cries only seemed to fuel his father’s anger. He shot up from the couch, his body stiff with rage, and as he stumbled toward the door to their son’s room, he spat, “I swear I’ll kill him.”

The words hit her like a slap. In his drunken haze, he was threatening their son—her precious boy. The thought of him going into that room, storming in with the same fury he always carried, was too much to bear.

In a surge of desperation, she stood up, her legs shaky, and rushed to intercept him. With hands trembling but determined, she grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to hold him back. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “It’s my fault he’s like this…”

Her eyes welled up with tears, her chest tight with helplessness. She couldn’t let him hurt their son again. Her heart was breaking for both of them. She had always been the one to protect him, but this time, the realization hit hard. She had kept him safe, but she had done it by shielding him too much, by not stepping in sooner, by not protecting him from the monster in their home. And now, it was coming to a head.

“I protected him too much,” she whispered through a choked breath, her words falling heavy between them. “Kill me!” she suddenly shouted, her voice raw with anguish. “If someone has to die, it’s me!”

Her heart ached with the weight of her plea. She would take it all if it meant saving him, if it meant saving her son. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness—all of it could be on her. If it meant keeping Jungkook safe, she’d sacrifice herself. But instead, her husband just stared at her coldly, the alcohol still clouding his judgment.

Without another word, he left the living room, leaving her standing there, her legs weak beneath her. Her body trembled as she heard the door close behind him, but she knew this moment of peace would not last. It never did. It was only a matter of time before he would come back for their son again.

With the echo of his footsteps fading away, she let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to release. But it wasn’t over. It would never be over until they were away from this place. She rushed to Jungkook’s room, where the muffled sounds of his cries filled her ears, and found him sitting on the bed, his small frame trembling. His eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, his cheeks flushed from crying.

“Mom?” he whispered, his voice fragile, like he wasn’t sure whether to expect comfort or more pain. His once bright eyes were now bloodshot and swollen from crying.

“Baby,” she croaked, crouching down beside him, her hands shaking as she gently touched his face. Her heart broke all over again at the sight of him, at how small he seemed, at how much pain he carried for someone so young.

Without another word, she reached for his little backpack and began packing it with the things that would bring him comfort. His favorite bunny plushie, the one his father always mocked him for carrying, the one he held onto for dear life every night when his father’s rage threatened to engulf him. She stuffed it into the bag along with a few other familiar things—his drawing book, a set of colored pencils, a worn-out blanket.

“Do you want to go eat ice cream?” she asked, forcing a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She needed to give him something, anything to cling to.

Jungkook, still sniffling, nodded, his eyes wide and uncertain, but he took her hand and followed her out the door. His trust in her, in the only person who had ever truly protected him, was unshaken. And as they walked down the hallway, heading for the door that would lead them to a temporary escape, she promised herself that she would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant leaving everything behind.

She would protect him—no matter the cost.

Together, they made their way to the Han’s house. The Han family had always been kind to them. Sukchul, the grandfather, was the only man Jungkook seemed to have any trust in, and Hyerim, his wife, had always treated them with such warmth. In a world where men had mostly let them down, the Hans were a beacon of normalcy, a reminder that not all men were like the one she was trying to escape.

When they arrived at their modest home, she didn’t need to say much. As soon as she knocked, Hyerim opened the door, her face immediately reflecting concern as she saw the state of her and Jungkook.

Without hesitation, she explained what was happening, and although Hyerim didn’t ask for details, her eyes spoke volumes. She could see the fear, the desperation in her friend’s face, and without another word, Hyerim handed her the keys to the car. She knew the urgency in her voice, the panic that was barely held together by the need to protect her son.

“Take care of him,” Hyerim said softly, her voice laced with understanding. “You know you can always come here.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her throat tight with gratitude.

Jungkook didn’t speak a word as they got into the car. He climbed into the passenger seat silently, his eyes blank, too exhausted and hurt to ask what was going on. She could feel the weight of his silence, how heavy the air between them had become in such a short time. She could only imagine what he was thinking, how much he was trying to hold it together. He was only a child, and yet, he had carried more weight than any child should ever have to bear.

As she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, her foot pressed hard on the gas. The car shot forward, the tires screeching slightly as she sped through the familiar streets. Her heart was racing, the thudding in her chest a constant reminder of what was at stake.

Her eyes flicked over to Jungkook every few moments, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going on behind the blank stare. But he wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his hands clenched in his lap, his fingers twitching from the anxiety. She wished she could tell him everything would be okay, but she didn’t know if she could promise that. She didn’t know if anything would be okay until they were far away from here, until they were safe.

Jungkook never imagined his twelfth birthday would be spent in such a grim, cramped motel room—dust settling on the worn furniture and the stale smell of the air making his stomach churn. It wasn’t the day he had dreamed of, and it certainly wasn’t what he deserved. But in that moment, as he sat there on the edge of the bed, his heart softened just a little when his mother stepped into the room, holding a small cupcake, the candle flickering brightly on top of it.

“Happy birthday to you, my Kookie,” she said, her voice a little shaky but filled with love. The bright smile she gave him was the only thing that kept the room from feeling completely bleak, though the exhaustion in her eyes couldn’t be hidden. She tried not to let her mind wander to the price she had to pay to be here with him, the sacrifice it took to rent that bed for the night, to get that cupcake and candle. Every penny counted, and every smile from Jungkook was a reminder of the reason she kept going, even when the weight of the world was crushing her.

She had hoped, for his birthday, they could at least sleep somewhere safe, somewhere clean—something that felt like normal for once. The car had been their home for the last week, and Jungkook’s complaints had become a constant soundtrack in the background of her thoughts. He hated it. She hated it too, but there was little she could do.

She couldn’t work a traditional job, not with the way things were. So, she did what she had to. She gave what she could. Her body, her warmth, her time—anything to scrape together enough for them to survive. She tried not to think about the toll it took on her, tried not to think about how the men who walked away after they were done with her left her feeling empty inside. But it was worth it. Every single time Jungkook’s smile lit up, every time she saw him happy for a moment—she told herself it was worth it.

And now, watching him blow out the candle, making a wish with a shy grin, she realized something. No matter where they were, as long as they were together, there was still a kind of magic in the moment. For just a second, they were free from the weight of their circumstances.

Jungkook’s eyes met hers, and in that brief exchange, she saw the love and trust he had for her, despite everything. It made all the sacrifices worth it.

“Thank you, Mom,” he whispered, his voice soft, but the sincerity in it made her heart ache. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“You’re welcome, baby,” she replied, her voice trembling, but she pushed through it. She smiled at him, a genuine smile this time, because, in this moment, they were okay. For now.

Jungkook grinned, and for the first time in a while, his eyes sparkled with a light that wasn’t dimmed by fear or doubt. That was all she needed. That smile, that moment, was enough to get her through another day.

“Let’s eat it,” she said, grabbing a fork and cutting into the cupcake, the frosting smearing slightly as she handed him the first piece.

Together, they ate, the simple sweetness of the cupcake offering a rare moment of peace in their chaotic world. Even in the worst circumstances, they still had each other. And sometimes, that was all they needed.

The moment the door crashed open, the world seemed to shift into something dark and unrecognizable. His father’s presence filled the room like a storm, overwhelming everything in its path. Jungkook’s mother froze, her body tense with dread, knowing exactly what was coming.

“You fucking slut,” he spat, his words sharp and venomous, as he threw the small table with the cupcake across the room. The sweet, innocent little moment they’d managed to create was shattered instantly, just like everything else in their lives. “How dare you fucking go away from me?” His voice was dripping with disgust and rage, and it wasn’t just directed at her—it was like he hated everything she was, everything she did, everything she tried to be.

Jungkook, his tiny heart pounding with terror, scrambled to hide behind the headboard of the bed. His hands trembled as he pressed them over his ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds, trying to block out the reality of what was happening in front of him. He held his bunny plushie close to his chest.

The shouts, the punches, the cries of pain—all of it blurred into a sickening hum in Jungkook’s ears. He closed his eyes tightly, curling up into himself, hoping somehow that by shutting everything out, he could make it stop. But it didn’t stop. The sound of his mother crying, the muffled thuds of slaps and punches, each one more violent than the last. His heart ached with each passing moment as he cried silently, feeling utterly helpless, knowing that he couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself.

Time seemed to stretch on forever, and it felt like the darkness had swallowed everything whole, leaving only the pain and terror. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a sudden, chilling silence. The shouting stopped. The sounds of the violence ceased, and all that remained was the thudding of his own heart in his chest, a reminder that he was still there, still alive, still hurting.

And then his father appeared in front of him, his face twisted with disdain, his presence looming like a suffocating shadow. Without a word, he walked up to Jungkook, his hand raising before coming down with a hard slap. The force of it left Jungkook reeling, his cheek stinging as he stumbled back. His father didn’t even look at him after that. He just stood there, cold and distant, as if Jungkook’s existence meant nothing at all.

“You’re nothing but a disturbance,” his father muttered, his voice devoid of emotion, as if the words didn’t even matter anymore. “Do whatever you want. You won’t last long in a world like that anyway.”

And with that, he left. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving nothing but a trail of destruction in his wake. Jungkook was left there, in the aftermath, his mother’s lifeless body beside him.

Jungkook’s anger grew like a fire that could never be extinguished. From the moment he witnessed the violence his father inflicted on his mother, he made a vow in the deepest corners of his heart: to never trust another man, to never allow himself to be vulnerable to the kind of cruelty that men like his father carried.

As he grew older, his anger transformed into something else—something sharper, darker. His pain drove him to make himself into something different, something stronger. He covered his body in tattoos, a visual representation of his defiance and his anger. Piercings adorned his face, as if he could pierce through his pain and somehow make it more bearable. The more he changed on the outside, the more he pushed his rage inward. He looked for fights, not just with men who would give him trouble, but with anyone who dared to challenge his perception of himself.

He sought out men to fight, people who he knew would be easy to rile up. He would provoke them, knowing they would retaliate. But the real satisfaction wasn’t in the violence itself—it was in proving to himself that he could overpower them. Jungkook knew, deep down, that when it came to men, he could never let his guard down. He had to be stronger than them. He had to make sure they knew that no matter how hard they tried to break him, he could stand up for himself.

When he threw punches, he always scoffed at how easy it was. Men like them—pompous, self-assured—were nothing more than a punching bag. They relied on their strength to intimidate, but when faced with someone who didn’t flinch at the thought of pain, someone who had endured far worse, they crumbled. Jungkook relished in that moment of power. It felt like justice—like every man who hurt someone would eventually pay for it, in one way or another.

That was how Jungkook found himself standing in the pristine halls of a vast, cold house, the walls echoing with emptiness. His mind was sharp, his thoughts focused solely on the task at hand. It wasn’t his first mission, and it wouldn’t be his last, but something about this one felt different. The woman’s plea had shaken him, her voice cracking under the weight of years of suffering. He’d heard similar stories before—stories that made his blood boil, that set a fire in his chest.

She had barely told him anything—just enough to point him in the right direction, just enough to know where he needed to go and who he had to face. But it was enough. Jungkook didn’t need much more than a name, a face, and the knowledge of what had been done. He didn’t need to ask questions or hear the full story. He already knew what kind of man he was dealing with.

He reached the room where he knew the man would be. His heart didn’t race; it didn’t need to. He wasn’t afraid of men like this anymore. He had learned to channel his anger into something productive. It was about precision, about being the action behind the words that so often fell on deaf ears.

He opened the door without hesitation.

Inside, the man was lounging on a leather chair, a drink in hand, as if he owned the world. His arrogance was palpable, his face one of entitlement. The moment Jungkook stepped in, his eyes lifted, narrowing in confusion, then in recognition.

“Who the hell are you?” the man sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The man’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jungkook’s calm, unyielding expression. He could tell something was different—this wasn’t just some random intruder. This was someone with a purpose.

Without warning, Jungkook moved. In an instant, he was standing in front of the man, his fist connecting with the side of his face with a force that sent him crashing to the floor. The man gasped for breath, looking up in disbelief.

The man tried to stand, reaching for a weapon, but Jungkook was quicker. He grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease, his fingers tightening around the fragile neck.

“You’re nothing,” Jungkook whispered, his voice icy cold. “You’re weak. And you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

In his world, women held the power, providing clear instructions on how they wanted things to unfold. Jungkook’s role was simple: to carry out their demands without question. And what they asked for, more often than not, was the death of their husbands.

Without a second thought, he drew the gun from his holster and fired, the bullet finding its mark between the man’s eyes.

Within minutes, other men arrived to handle the aftermath, taking care of the body. That wasn’t his responsibility. He was the one who acted, the one who made sure the job was done. The action-taker.

You ran back to the motel, your heart racing, before you could see him leave the house. You were overwhelmed with confusion. Jungkook, in your eyes, wasn’t capable of violence. Even though you knew he had been in fights before—like that one time in the alley when they took his bike, or when you walked into the motel to find him stitching up his own wounds—he always seemed to be the one getting hurt, not the one causing it.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. The image you had of him—gentle, kind, a boy who’d never harm anyone—suddenly shattered, leaving you with a cold, unsettling feeling you couldn’t shake.

He came home earlier than usual, his presence filling the room before you even heard his footsteps. The moment his hands slid around your waist, you felt a sudden urge to pull away, but you stayed still, frozen in the warmth of his touch. He was dressed in his usual attire, and that ever-present playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if nothing had changed, as if everything was still light and carefree.

“You had a good day?” His voice was soft, almost soothing, but it didn’t reach you the way it normally did. He plopped down onto the bed casually, kicking off his boots and setting his backpack beside him. His movements were so natural, so familiar, but all you could focus on was the sight of that backpack. The same one that probably carried the remnants of his darker side—the side you hadn’t truly seen, but felt creeping at the edges of your mind.

Your gaze lingered on it, the thought of where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and who he’d become when he wore that outfit—the one that made him capable of violence—made your stomach twist with a sense of dread. It was all too much. The image of the gentle, playful Jungkook you thought you knew was starting to crack, splintering into something darker, something you hadn’t expected.

“Sugar?” His voice cut through your thoughts, a note of concern creeping in as he noticed your unusual silence. He furrowed his brows, a frown beginning to form. “What’s wrong?” The words were simple, but they felt like a lifeline thrown to you in the midst of a storm, and you weren’t sure whether to grab onto it or let it slip through your fingers.

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky as you sank down onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. The weight of everything pressing on you felt suffocating, like you could hardly breathe.

Jungkook crawled over to you, concern etched deeply on his face. He reached out, gently placing his hands on your shoulders, his touch warm and comforting in contrast to the turmoil inside you. He kissed the top of your head softly, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly.

“Hey, what happened? Was it Sukchul? Did he do something to you?” His voice was soft, filled with a quiet urgency, as though he needed to fix whatever was wrong. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of distress, and the thought that anything could have happened to you made his mind race in a hundred directions. He wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t sure of anything, but one thing was clear: he needed to protect you, even if it meant doing whatever it took.

You pushed him away gently, your body tense as you looked up at him with wide, almost frantic eyes. “Fuck, Jungkook, no,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He frowned, a furrow appearing on his brow as he leaned in slightly, trying to bridge the distance between you. “You need to tell me if something happened, something I don’t know about. If someone—”

“So what? You’ll kill him too?” The words came out before you could stop them, sharp and biting, a rush of anger and hurt spilling from you. The instant you spoke, you froze, the weight of your own words hanging in the air. You shut your mouth quickly, as if regretting the outburst, but the tension still lingered, suffocating.

Jungkook’s eyes went wide at your words, as if they struck him deeper than anything else you could’ve said. He opened his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no sound came. He stepped back, his lips trembling slightly, as if trying to make sense of what you’d just said.

Jungkook’s grip tightened on your wrist, his fingers almost painfully firm, but his eyes… his eyes were soft, filled with something close to desperation. He was silently pleading with you, begging for you to understand.

“What do you mean?” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud might make it all too real. His breath was shallow, like he was holding on to something, afraid that if he let go, the truth would spill out in ways he couldn’t control. Not that he didn’t trust you, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing him as something you should be afraid of.

You refused to meet his gaze. The weight of his hold made it feel like the air was closing in around you. You tugged at your wrist once more, but he didn’t release you. His eyes were still fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for something he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as the distance between you felt insurmountable. You didn’t know what you were asking for, didn’t know how to stop the flood of emotions rushing through you.

Then, in an instant, he stood up abruptly, and the sudden motion made you flinch, your heart racing in your chest. His tone was sharp, as if trying to convince both of you that there was nothing to fear. “Wait, seriously? You think I would hurt you?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration, the kind of frustration that came from feeling misunderstood.

“I don’t know you.” The words came out in a rush, raw and honest. It felt like a slap in the face, but it was the truth. You didn’t know him, not the way you needed to. You only knew the parts he chose to show, the parts that made you feel things you couldn’t quite put into words. But the rest? The side that might be capable of violence, of things you couldn’t even imagine? You didn’t know that Jungkook, and that thought was enough to make your heart ache.

You stepped back slightly, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t control, trying to create some kind of distance from the confusion swirling in your mind.

“Well maybe if you let me explain—”

“What do you want to explain?” you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a tremor of fear in it that you couldn’t hide. “That you’re a monster just like every other man here?” Your words hit him like a punch, and you could see the flinch run through him. His eyes darkened, a coldness creeping into them as he heard you compare him to the very thing he hated most—his rival, the men he despised.

“Do you even do this for money, or for your own pleasure?” you asked, your voice trembling, but the anger inside you was hard to ignore now. You needed answers, and you needed them to be true, no matter how much it hurt.

The question seemed to throw him off, as if you had hit him with something unexpected. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though the lie he had been telling himself and others was on the tip of his tongue. But this time, the lie stayed stuck. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to you, not now.

“Be honest for once,” you said, your breath shaky but your eyes not leaving his. You could see the hesitation in his face, the battle between his usual deflection and the truth that was forcing itself out.

Jungkook lowered his head, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. It was in that moment, in the silence that stretched between you both, that he finally spoke the words you were terrified of hearing.

“Because I want to. Money is a plus.”

The words hit you like a wave, your body freezing in place as the meaning behind them sank in. If he was doing it for money, you could almost understand, because you knew his life in danger. But this? This was different. This felt like a choice, and it was a choice that made your stomach twist.

You grabbed your backpack, your hands shaking as you hastily packed your belongings, trying to escape the suffocating tension in the room. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, and the only thing you knew was that you had to leave.

Jungkook was there, his presence overwhelming, his hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. Those eyes. The same doe-eyes you had come to love, the eyes that once made your heart flutter, now filled with pain and confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the words breaking through the thick air, on the verge of tears. His fingers trembled as they hovered near your cheek, begging for an answer that made sense, but there was no way to make sense of this.

“I want to go home,” you muttered, your voice shaky, trying to pull away from his grasp as you moved frantically around the room, gathering the rest of your things. You could feel your chest tighten with each step, each moment that passed.

“Home? You can’t be serious,” he scoffed, disbelief clouding his voice. “Your father’s a bastard and—”

“At least he’s not a fucking killer!” you snapped, your words cutting through the air like a knife. You turned to face him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, your body trembling with anger. “Don’t tell me what’s right for me when you should be the one I should be running away from!”

You grabbed the plastic bag with the money you had won and you tossed it at his feet, the crinkling sound of the bag hitting the floor echoing in the silence that followed.

“Here,” you spat, your chest heaving with rage. “Take that.”

He didn’t even acknowledge the money as it fell at his feet. Instead, he dropped to his knees, his body sagging, and his head hung low. His silence was deafening, the weight of your words settling in the space between you both.

“The money I fucking worked for your stupid life!” you shouted, your voice cracking with the sheer intensity of your emotions.

He stayed kneeling, the tears you had been holding back now threatening to spill. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had shattered something inside him—something that even he hadn’t been ready to confront.

And you couldn’t stand there anymore. You couldn’t stand to watch him fall apart, because the truth was, you were falling apart too.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the weight of it sinking deep into your chest. Each step you took away from the motel felt heavier than the last, as if the walls were closing in around you. Shame clung to your skin, suffocating you with every breath. You didn’t even know if you were still welcome in your own home anymore.

Your father’s words rang in your ears, a reminder of how unwanted you had become in his eyes. His cruel dismissal was something you’d never be able to forget, but despite it all, the thought of returning home was the only thing you could hold onto right now.

With every step, you wondered if your return would only confirm that you were nothing more than a burden, unwanted and lost. But you kept walking anyway. Because it was the only place left where you might find something to hold onto. Even if it was just the walls, the stale air, the broken pieces of a home that was no longer yours.

You felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt when you saw your mother open the door. Her expression was cold, and her eyes narrowed when she saw you standing there, but she quickly pushed the door wider, letting you in without a word. There was no warmth, no embrace, only a faint flicker of something behind her eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“He isn’t here,” she said curtly, not bothering with a greeting, her tone sharp and detached. Her movements were quick, almost frantic, as she grabbed you by the shoulders and steered you into the house, guiding you towards your room without a second thought. “You shouldn’t be here. What happened?” The faintest trace of concern flashed in her eyes, though it quickly vanished behind her guarded expression.

The words were stuck in your throat for a moment before you spoke, the realization of what you had learned about men “I was wrong,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re not one better than the other.”

Her hands were on your chin before you could even react, forcing you to look at her. Her fingers dug into your skin with surprising strength as she locked her gaze onto yours, her eyes searching you in a way that made you feel exposed. “Does he hurt you?” she asked, her voice calm but there was an edge to it—a raw, demanding edge that you had never heard before.

The words flew from your mouth without hesitation, fueled by the raw confidence and certainty you felt in that moment. “Never.” The anger in your response surprised even you, as if your own heart had built a wall in defense, not just for Jungkook but for yourself. You were almost angry that she would ask such a thing, even though, deep down, you knew why she was concerned.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her face remained stern. She looked at you for a long moment, as if weighing the truth in your eyes. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again, her voice a bit softer, yet still tinged with that same determination. “Then he is better than them,” she said, her words almost resigned, as though she had already come to that conclusion in her mind.

“Your father made it clear, he doesn’t want you there,” your mother finally says, her voice low and resigned as she stands up from the bed. She walks over to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if your father’s car isn’t parked outside. She lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t keep you hiding here for long. Things would be terrible for me if I did.”

She gestures towards the bruises on her arms. Your body tightens with rage at the sight, and something inside you burns. Anger floods your chest, but you stay silent, the truth sinking in. She had to keep quiet. She had no choice.

She presses her fingers to her temple, brows furrowing as though she’s trying to come up with an escape, a way out. “My hairdresser…” she starts, her voice suddenly shifting. You look up at her, confused. She smiles, but it’s not the smile you’ve grown used to. It’s something unfamiliar, almost like she’s found the solution to her problem. A spark of something new. “You know Park Yejin, right?”

You nod slowly, your mind struggling to catch up. Yejin was the small woman your mother always went to for her haircuts. The one place where your mother could be herself, if only for a moment, away from the suffocating presence of men. Yejin’s shop wasn’t just a place for hair—it was a sanctuary for women. A place where they could sit together, laugh, and share stories without fear of being judged or watched. It was the rare space where they could be free, even if just for a little while.

You remember the joy in your mother’s eyes whenever she returned from those visits. She would always speak about Yejin with such warmth, telling you how the other women in the neighborhood would gather there, all of them gossiping and laughing, sharing a rare kind of freedom.

Your mother’s eyes gleam now as she thinks of something, a plan forming in her mind. “She’s a good person,” she continues, almost to herself. “She wouldn’t turn you away.”

“I’ll come to see you tomorrow,” she said, her voice filled with an odd sense of finality as she moved toward the window. She opened it wide, the cool air rushing in. “Climb out here, follow the same path, and you’ll find her.”

Her words were clear, almost rehearsed, as though she had thought this through many times before. Without hesitation, you nodded and swung your leg over the windowsill. Your heart pounded in your chest, unsure of what you were walking into, but trusting her in a way that only a child could.

Following the directions your mother had given you, you made your way through the winding streets. The same familiar neighborhood that you had grown up in, where everything felt safe and comforting, but now it seemed different. You were walking through it with a new purpose, your thoughts swirling with confusion and uncertainty. Each step felt heavier than the last, but you kept moving forward.

Finally, you reached Park Yejin’s shop, nestled between two other small buildings. The warm light from inside filtered through the windows, casting a golden glow onto the sidewalk. You could see the faint silhouettes of women inside, their laughter and chatter muffled by the walls. This was it. This was where your mother had found her moments of freedom, her small haven away from the chaos.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, lifting your hand to knock on the door. The moment felt surreal, as if everything was leading you to this point. The woman who had been your mother’s safe space, now holding the key to your escape.

You quickly explained your situation, the words tumbling out as you felt the weight of everything that had led you here. Park Yejin, without hesitation, opened the door wider, letting you in without a single question when you mentioned your mother’s name. It was as though she already understood.

She guided you inside, offering you a glass of water, the cool liquid a soothing relief as it ran down your throat. She led you to the back of the shop, where a soft beige couch rested against the wall. The simple, cozy space seemed like a world away from the chaos you had just left behind.

Without a word, she handed you a blanket, its warmth wrapping around you like a hug. It was the first time today that your heart finally began to slow down, the tension in your chest starting to ease.

You sank into the couch, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you. Your mind raced with everything that had happened—your mother, Jungkook, the things you’d said, the things you’d learned. It was all too much.

“Rest,” Park Yejin said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re safe here.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and drift into a fragile, peaceful sleep.

Kim Taehee was a woman consumed by anger, a rage that had burned within her from a very young age. A rebellious spirit that refused to bow to the limitations society and family imposed on her. She had always known, deep down, that she didn’t want to fall into the same destructive spiral her mother had lived. Yet, despite her fierce resolve, she eventually found herself bound by the very chains she swore to avoid when she chose to marry Lee Minhyeok.

At first, everything seemed perfect. He was kind, promising her the life of luxury and security she had always dreamed of. Beautiful houses, expensive jewelry, and a life of comfort that seemed too good to be true. For a while, it was a fairytale—she felt cherished, important, and above all, loved. She thought she had found a man who truly cared for her. But like all fairytales, this one was fleeting.

The moment she gave birth to their daughter, everything changed. Minhyeok, once so attentive and loving, became distant and indifferent. He had gotten what he wanted—a child. He had only ever wanted one, and after that, her role was reduced to nothing more than the mother of his child. No longer the wife, no longer the woman. She was just a vessel, a caretaker for their daughter, nothing more. The love they once shared withered away, and Taehee found herself trapped in a marriage that had lost all its meaning. She became everything she despised—just like her own mother.

Her rebellious fire, the one that had always burned so brightly within her, only grew fiercer with time. She was no longer content with being a mere shadow of herself. The woman who once dreamed of a life of autonomy and power now sought more than mere survival. She sought freedom, control, and, above all, the power to change her fate.

As she climbed the stairs of the apartment complex, a smile tugged at her lips. Her lipstick, a deep red, was perfect—bold, unapologetic, just like her. She had long fantasized about a space where she could take charge, a place where she could dictate her terms, and the men inside would bend to her will. She had imagined this for years, but now it was becoming a reality.

It was almost a dream came true when while Kim Taehee sat in the salon chair, her hairdresser carefully wrapping a curler into her hair, she half-listened to the hum of the hairdryers around her. Her fingers drummed against the edge of the magazine she was flipping through. It was the only place where she could exist without the weight of her marriage bearing down on her—without the suffocating presence of her husband.

Her friend, who had been quietly getting her hair done at the station beside her, leaned in close. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, filled with an air of secrecy. “Taehee,” she began, her eyes scanning the room before settling back on her. “My husband… he’s dead.”

At first, Taehee froze, she was ready to apologize. But then her friend began to laugh, and with that, something inside Taehee clicked. The air between them shifted, and she could see the satisfaction in her friend’s expression.

Taehee let out a soft laugh too, unsure whether it was from disbelief or the strange relief creeping into her chest. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “What do you mean? How did that happen?”

Her friend leaned back, looking around as if checking for anyone else who might be listening before she spoke again, this time in more of a confidential whisper. “I did it. I had him killed—paid men to do it for me. Men who’ll do anything for money. I told them everything, everything they needed to know. And now, I'm free.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken truths. Taehee’s heart pounded, the reality of what her friend was saying sinking in. “You really had him killed?” Taehee murmured, her voice shaky, but inside, a new excitement was building.

“Yeah, Taehee. Just like that. We made the deal. They took care of it. And now I can do whatever I want, without him breathing down my neck. I'm free.”

Taehee let the words settle in her mind. It was almost too surreal to comprehend—until she looked around at the other women in the salon, who had gathered to listen. The three of them erupted into laughter, mocking the situation, laughing about the man’s death, about how easy it seemed. In a space where women often shared their secrets, their frustrations, and their gossip, this was just another story, another tragedy turned into something absurd.

But Taehee’s mind was far from the laughter around her. While the others continued to mock her friend’s late husband, she was lost in thought. Her heart raced, her mind spinning with ideas and possibilities. Could it really be that simple? Could she also find a way out? A way to be free from the suffocating grip of her marriage?

For the first time in years, the spark of rebellion flickered in her chest, rekindled by the stories of men willing to kill for a cause—willing to erase the obstacles standing in the way of freedom. In that moment, her mind was already racing, already devising plans for her own escape. She didn’t have all the pieces yet, but she knew one thing: if others could do it, so could she.

She looks at the paper in her hand, her friend’s handwriting scrawled across it with the address she was supposed to go to. With a deep breath and a heavy heart, she knocks on the door.

The door opens, and a young man stands there, his sharp, cat-like eyes studying her with a penetrating gaze. For a second, the silence between them feels thick, almost suffocating, before he steps aside and gestures for her to enter. The click of her heels echoes through the small apartment as she steps inside, the faint smell of smoke and the dull hum of city life seeping through the walls.

On the couch, another man lounges lazily. He’s younger than the first, dressed in a tight black shirt, one long sleeve and the other bare. His chest is adorned with a holster, and he’s smoking quietly, the cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers.

Taehee notices his disheveled appearance—his eyes are red, his hair a mess, and there are bruises on his face. His doe-eyed gaze seems oddly familiar, but she can’t place where she’s seen him before.

The first man finally speaks, his voice deep and calm, as he sits himself down at a desk, his eyes never leaving her. “So,” he begins, folding his hands in front of him, “I’m sure you know what we’re doing.”

She meets his gaze, unsure of how to respond but knowing there was no turning back now.

Taehee shook her head, finally finding the strength to stand taller, her posture changing as she squared her shoulders.

She took a cigarette from her own packet, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. The small, familiar motion grounded her, and the smoke was almost comforting as it filled her lungs. Exhaling slowly, she leaned back against the wall, her voice steady but firm as she began explaining how she found them—and why she needed their help.

“My husband,” she began, her voice low. “I need him gone. And I don’t care what it takes.”

The man sitting at the desk—his eyes calculating, patient—nodded, absorbing her words. He didn’t interrupt, letting her speak freely. When she finished, he leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge, “what makes you think you can trust us? And why now? What changed?”

Taehee straightened, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve been living in a prison for too long. I can’t keep pretending that things will get better. I need him out of my life, once and for all. You’re my only way out.”

The man at the desk exchanged a glance with the other one, the one with the bruised face. He took a long drag from his cigarette, eyes still locked on Taehee.

“We’re not in the business of doing favors,” the man at the desk said, his tone sharp. “But if you’re serious, we need to know everything—how, when, and where. Every detail matters. One wrong move, and it all falls apart.”

Taehee nodded, her expression cold but determined. “I know what’s at stake. I’ll give you everything you need.”

She watched as the man jotted down some notes, preparing to make her request a reality. The weight of her decision was heavy, but for the first time in years, she felt like she was finally taking control of her life.

She provided them with every detail they needed—when he would be home, where he usually spent his time, the places where he could be found without delay. Her heart raced with a dark sense of satisfaction, the anticipation growing as she laid out the plan.

“Make him suffer,” she said, her voice steady but cold, as she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray on the desk. Her gaze never wavered as she continued, her words laced with a cruel finality. “Don’t kill him right away. I want him to feel every ounce of pain before the end. Let him beg for mercy.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and it was almost unnerving—this smile wasn’t the kind of expression you’d expect from a woman in her position. The two men exchanged a glance, their eyes flicking between each other, both surprised by her intensity. Most women who came to them were broken, scared, or hesitant. But this one—this woman—was different. She was calm, almost eager for the outcome.

Jungkook, however, was more focused on something else. He wasn’t just listening to her words; he was studying her every movement, every subtle change in her expression. He knew her. There was something about her that seemed familiar, something that resonated deep within him. As he watched her speak, something clicked—a recognition. Her posture, her coldness, her sharpness—it all reminded him of someone. You.

The way she held herself, the fire in her eyes, the way she seemed untouchable despite everything she had been through—it was eerily similar to you. He could see it now—the rebellious spirit, the drive to survive.

It wasn’t just a sense of familiarity—he knew her.

His gaze sharpened, and he stepped forward, slowly crossing the room toward her. There was no mistaking it now. This was her. This was the mother he had heard so much about.

“Any children we should be aware of?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, his tone more serious than before. His eyes were fixed on her face, studying every detail, looking for any sign that she was lying. He couldn’t afford to miss anything.

“My daughter is safe,” she said firmly, and Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was relieved, but that relief didn’t last long.

“But while that fucker is still alive,” she continued, her voice growing colder, “I can’t guarantee she will stay safe. I need him out of my life. I need him gone so I can protect her, to care for her the way a mother should.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, a quiet understanding passing between them. His thoughts aligned with hers. It was everything he needed to know before he spoke again.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, the resolve clear in his voice.

The older man nodded in agreement, and with that, the plan was set. Jungkook knew his next move, and nothing would stand in his way.

It would happen on Thursday night. Tomorrow.

Your mother had told them everything—how he always came home early that day, how work finished earlier than usual. On Thursdays, he was often exhausted, too drained to even raise a hand against her. It was the one night where silence filled the house instead of violence. The perfect day to strike.

But after it was Friday and it wasn’t just any other day for Jungkook.

It was the day he, too, would have to face the men who wanted him dead. A confrontation he had been preparing for, one he had always known was inevitable. But that didn’t matter. Not right now.

He had a job to do first.

He would make sure the bastard was gone before he even thought about his own fate. If he had to die, so be it—but not before he saw this through. Not before he knew that you were safe.

If finishing this mission meant risking it all, then he would. Without hesitation.

“Still okay?”

It was the first thing he asked when Jungkook stepped into the dimly lit apartment. He always checked in before they did something they couldn’t take back.

Jungkook gave a firm nod, not a hint of hesitation in his movements. He double-checked his gun, ensuring it was fully loaded before strapping the holster securely across his chest. His fingers slipped into his half-finger gloves, tightening them as if they were part of a ritual.

“I did,” he said, his voice steady, offering silent reassurance to the older man.

There was a pause before the man exhaled a slow drag from his cigarette, observing him through the haze of smoke.

“You seem different today,” he finally noted, tapping the ash into an overflowing tray.

Jungkook didn’t respond, merely raising an eyebrow as he adjusted the straps across his shoulders.

The man sighed, his tone turning more serious. “Listen, Jeon.” Jungkook’s fingers twitched at the sound of his last name. He hated it—hated what it reminded him of, who it tied him to.

“The woman paid well. She’s determined. If you mess this up, it won’t end well.”

“I know,” Jungkook said simply. His voice carried no doubt, no room for error. He clapped the older man on the shoulder before stepping toward the door.

Outside, the night awaited.

Jungkook was grateful the streets were empty. He always preferred to do this kind of work under the cover of darkness. Sometimes, he didn’t have a choice—some targets lived their lives in broad daylight, forcing him to move under the sun. But tonight, the absence of light was a relief. He could already feel guilt creeping into his chest, tightening its grip around his heart.

He thought of you. Your face. Your eyes, the way they looked at him before you left. Did you know? Had your mother told you what she had planned? He hoped—God, he hoped—you did. Because if you knew and hadn’t tried to stop it, maybe that meant you understood. Maybe, in some twisted way, you agreed with what he was about to do.

The house loomed ahead, dark and silent except for a single light near the entrance. Just as your mother had said. A signal. An invitation.

It was unsettling how methodical she was, how she had orchestrated everything from start to finish like she had done this before. He had worked with desperate women before—women who barely spoke above a whisper when they gave him their husbands’ schedules, who hesitated, who broke down before the deed was even done. But your mother? She was something else entirely.

Jungkook made his presence known with a quiet knock, and almost immediately, the door creaked open. She stood there, her manicured fingers pressing lightly against her lips, a silent nod directing him inside.

It was easy. Too easy.

Most times, he had to break in, move like a shadow through unfamiliar halls. But here? Here, he was welcomed like a king into the home of a man he was about to kill.

She didn’t speak, just pointed toward the living room. And there he was—sprawled on the sofa, mouth hanging open, his breath a slow, rumbling groan.

Completely unaware that his life had just run out of time.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered around the house, taking in every detail with sharp precision. But when his eyes landed on the family portrait hanging on the wall, his breath caught in his throat.

It looked like something out of a picture frame catalog—perfect, polished. A family that seemed whole. Your hands rested on your father’s shoulder, your smile bright, your eyes shining. You were beautiful.

But Jungkook knew better.

To anyone else, that smile could be convincing. But not to him. He had seen your real smile before—the one that made your nose scrunch, your eyes crinkle at the corners, the one where your teeth showed in an unguarded, genuine laugh. The one you gave when you were truly happy.

This? This was rehearsed. Controlled. A mask.

Your mother watched him, her brows furrowed in silent observation. He had been calm, detached, efficient throughout the planning of this whole thing. But now, he was standing there, staring at a photograph with more care than he had shown the entire night.

Then, she followed his gaze. Her daughter.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Her lips parted slightly as she finally recognized what had been nagging at her since the first moment she saw him—the familiarity in his face, in his eyes. Doe-eyes, fixated on the girl in the photograph.

It was him. The man you had clung to and the one you had apparently run away from.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Your mother’s voice was quiet, almost testing.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. He tore his gaze away from the portrait, shaking his head quickly as if to rid himself of the distraction. Focus.

He felt like an idiot for letting his thoughts drift when he was supposed to be here to kill a man.

“I’m doing it for her,” your mother murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She cast a quick glance toward the living room, ensuring he was still asleep. Then, with unwavering certainty, she met Jungkook’s gaze. “So think about her while you do it.”

Jungkook didn’t respond��he only gave a sharp nod before stepping forward.

It should have been easy. It had always been easy. But now? His heart felt heavier than it ever had before.

Your mother lingered by the doorframe, watching intently, her arms crossed as if bracing herself for what was to come. She wanted to witness it—the moment the man who had caged her for so long finally felt powerless. She was waiting for Jungkook to make the first move, for the violence to begin.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked one last time to the family portrait on the wall. His breath came out slow, controlled, but his chest burned with restrained emotion. His gaze locked onto yours—the same eyes that had glared at him with betrayal as you walked out of the motel room. The same eyes that had widened in fear when you realized what he was capable of.

Then, he thought about your father.

The man who had thrown you out into the night like you were nothing. The man who had slaped your cheek without remorse. The man who had made you suffer in ways Jungkook couldn’t even begin to understand.

And suddenly, the guilt in his chest burned into something else entirely.

Without hesitation, he seized the sleeping man by the collar, yanking him upright. The sudden movement jolted him awake, but before he could even process what was happening, Jungkook threw him down with brutal force. His back slammed against the corner of the coffee table, the sharp crack of bone meeting wood echoing through the silent house. A muffled groan of pain escaped him as he writhed on the floor.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward.

Jungkook’s fist met the man’s face with brutal force, knuckles splitting against skin and bone. The impact jolted through his arm, but he barely felt it. The man beneath him groaned, weakly trying to grab Jungkook’s wrist in a feeble attempt at defense. It was useless. Jungkook didn’t stop. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he threw another punch. And another. And another.

A sharp, ringing laughter broke through his daze.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. His vision, which had been tunneled on the bruised and bloodied face beneath him, flickered to the side.

Your mother was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, legs crossed, a cigarette between her manicured fingers. Her lips curled into a smirk, eyes alight with something that unsettled him. She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as she tilted her head.

“Add more pain,” she murmured, her voice smooth, almost amused.

Jungkook’s grip on your father’s throat tightened instinctively. The man beneath him coughed, a wet, gurgling sound as blood dribbled from his mouth. His swollen eyes barely opened, his expression a mixture of confusion and agony.

Jungkook didn’t look at him.

He looked at her.

His stomach twisted.

This was not the reaction he had come to expect. He had seen women filled with rage, with desperation, with grief. Women who sought vengeance through gritted teeth, who flinched at the sight of blood but swallowed their fear for the sake of justice. Women who paid him because they had no other choice.

But she? She was different.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t trembling.

She was enjoying it.

Jungkook could see it in the way her lips curled, the way her eyes gleamed with something almost… eager. The way she leaned forward slightly, as if she wanted a closer look at the damage he was inflicting.

It unsettled him.

He thought he was the monster. The killer. The animal. He had believed it himself, accepted it, worn it like a second skin. But now, sitting here, watching this woman—your mother—smile at the suffering before her, he felt something foreign settle in his chest.

Disgust.

For the first time, he wondered if maybe he wasn’t the real monster in the room.

Jungkook’s mind was spiraling.

He couldn’t understand it. You were their daughter? You, who recoiled from violence, who looked at him with something close to fear when you found out what he had done? How could someone like you come from people like them—one cruel, the other heartless?

His breath shuddered as he loosened his grip.

The man beneath him gasped sharply, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths, his body trembling from pain but still clinging to life.

A sharp sound of heels clicking against the floor.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Your mother’s voice sliced through the air, cold and sharp as she loomed over him. The amusement in her tone was gone, replaced with something more threatening. She stubbed out her cigarette in the glass ashtray with unnecessary force, eyes narrowing in fury.

“I want him dead.”

Jungkook stayed still.

His body felt heavy, his hands limp at his sides. He was kneeling over your father, straddling him, his head hanging low. He could finish it—one final blow, a bullet to the skull, an end to it all.

But he couldn’t.

Not when he saw your face in his mind.

You may have hated your father. You may have wished him gone, but death? Death was different. It was permanent. Unforgiving. No matter how much he deserved it, Jungkook knew the weight of it would stay with you. He knew the burden of living with the knowledge that someone took your parent away from you. That someone played god with their life.

And that someone would have been him.

His fingers twitched at his sides. His jaw clenched.

He couldn’t do that to you.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your mother’s voice dripped with venom now, her patience thinning.

“I—”

A flash of movement.

Pain exploded across his jaw as your father, fueled by desperation, threw a weak but determined punch. His knuckles collided with Jungkook’s face, sending his head snapping to the side.

The room seemed to still for a moment.

Jungkook inhaled slowly, tasting blood. Then, exhaled.

Your father had the upper hand now.

Jungkook barely had time to react before another punch landed, this one more forceful, knocking his head back. Pain burst through his skull, sharp and dizzying.

“Who the fuck are you?” your father roared, voice raw with anger and desperation as he grabbed Jungkook by the collar, shaking him.

Jungkook’s fingers fumbled for his holster, for the cold metal of his gun. His vision was blurry, but he knew if he could just—

CRACK.

The sound was sickening.

The weight on top of him slumped suddenly, heavy and lifeless.

Jungkook blinked rapidly, his breath ragged, tasting blood on his tongue. He smelled it first—the thick, metallic scent of it filling his nostrils—before he saw it.

Your mother stood above them, her chest heaving, fingers tightly clasped around the heavy glass ashtray. Its edges were darkened, slick with blood.

Jungkook’s body stiffened as he processed what just happened.

The back of your father’s head was caved in. Blood pooled onto his shirt, soaking into the fabric like ink spreading over paper. His body was completely still. Silent.

Jungkook spit out blood onto the floor, his breath shaky. His ears were ringing.

For the first time since entering this house, he wasn’t sure what terrified him more—what he had done, or what she had done.

There was no turning back now.

One of your parents was gone. Erased from existence in an instant. And even if Jungkook hadn’t been the one to deliver the fatal blow, he had still been part of it. He had still held the gun in a way.

The weight of it crushed him.

He felt sick—dirty. Like the blood soaking into the carpet had somehow seeped into his own skin.

And what made it worse—what made his stomach churn with something close to disgust—was that your mother didn’t seem to care.

She let the ashtray slip from her fingers, the sound of it hitting the floor sharp and final. She didn’t tremble, didn’t even hesitate. There was no shock on her face, no guilt in her eyes. Only cold satisfaction.

Jungkook sank onto the floor, ignoring the lifeless body beside him. His chest heaved, his mind racing.

“What the fuck was that?” she snapped, voice sharp and accusing. “I paid you, and you—”

“I can't hurt her!” The words ripped out of him, raw and desperate. His hands clawed at his hair as he doubled over, his body shaking with sobs.

He was a monster.

And the worst part?

He had no idea if you would ever forgive him.

At that, her frantic pace came to a halt. It was as if the weight of her actions finally struck her—like she was just now realizing the gravity of what she had done. Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Fuck, what did I do?”

Jungkook could only watch in disbelief, his eyes narrowed. She was a lunatic, pacing frantically around the room, her fingers tugging at her hair like she was losing her mind. She had been so cold, so calculated, but now… now she was unraveling, and it was only making him more confused.

Without warning, she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands gripped his face, and the sensation made his skin crawl. He hated it. He had always loved it when you touched him, your fingers gentle and warm, but this? This was suffocating. The coldness in her touch was a stark contrast to anything he had ever known.

“Listen,” she urged, her voice a mix of desperation and confidence, her eyes scanning his face like she was studying him, gauging his reactions. “She can’t know it was me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

“I’m her only parent now,” she continued, her grip tightening on his face as if she could will him to understand. “I promised her—I promised I would take care of her. And now I will. No matter what it takes.”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw her hands off of him, demand she understand the mess she had made. But instead, he was silent. His heart raced with guilt, with confusion, and with fear. Fear for you—because in the end, this wasn’t about her. It was about you.

“It was you, you did it, okay?” she snapped, her hands tightening around his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

Jungkook recoiled, pulling his head back in disbelief. “What—” he began, swatting her hands away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You heard me,” she said, standing tall, her voice cold and firm. “I’ll give you money, whatever you want, but—”

Her words fell on deaf ears as Jungkook stormed toward her. His anger surged, raw and uncontrollable, as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the kitchen. The force of his movements made her stumble slightly, but she didn’t falter, only meeting his eyes with an icy stare.

“I don’t want your money,” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. “How can someone like you even think you can take care of her? A cold, heartless bitch like you?”

Your mother’s hand lashed out with lightning speed, striking him hard across the cheek. The sharp sting of the slap burned his skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight of her words.

“Because you can?” she retorted bitterly, her voice laced with venom. “With all the blood on your hands? Don’t act like you’re any better than me.”

Jungkook froze. Her words cut deeper than the slap ever could. His hands trembled with rage, but now, something else gnawed at him. Something darker. What was he doing? How could he judge her when he was no different? His actions were just as guilty, and the weight of it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“So either you run away, leave her life, or I tell the police it was you,” she threatened, her voice sharp, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “They won’t ask any questions. You scream trouble,” she sneered, her eyes scanning him with a judgmental gaze. “You’re the perfect culprit.”

Jungkook’s heart raced, a mix of anger and panic flooding his chest. He could already feel the weight of her words sinking in. She was right—his appearance, his bruised face, the tattoos and piercings that made him look like nothing more than a criminal; to anyone who didn’t know him, he was the ideal scapegoat. All she had to do was point the finger, and he’d be the one to take the fall.

He refused to be imprisoned for something he didn’t commit. It would be unjust, unequal—everything he had spent his life fighting against. He wanted fairness, not a life where he was sent to jail simply because he had nothing—no money, no home, no power.

“I’ll leave her,” he finally says, the words heavy in his chest. The thought of running away again feels different this time, more painful. He had spent his entire life moving, escaping, but now, it felt impossible to walk away. For the first time, there was something worth staying for—someone to care for, someone to love.

Your mother smiled, her hand resting coldly on his shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “When will the men come to take care of the body?” she asked, her voice almost casual, her smile unnervingly calm.

Before Jungkook could respond, she pushed him out of the door with a swift, practiced motion. He stumbled back, feeling a mixture of anger and confusion. Inside, she sat down on the couch again, eyes focused on the lifeless body of her husband, as if waiting for the next step to unfold—calm, patient, and completely detached.

He stood frozen, his body tense and rigid, eyes locked on the door. Anger surged through him, every fiber of his being clenched as if ready to explode.

“Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart stopped, his palms suddenly drenched in sweat. His thoughts became a blur, a chaotic storm of confusion and guilt. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn around, to face you.

Your voice—quiet, shaky, full of vulnerability and worry—pulled him back from the storm inside his head. He wanted to answer, wanted to make things right, but all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Thank you for the reblog girly 🥺 I’m so happy you’re enjoying it! Looking forward to seeing your reaction when the next part comes out 🤭

The Art of Etiquette Part 11 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: The days leading up to the ball become fewer but a harsh reality hits you leaving you more conflicted than you already were. Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 2k~ Warnings: No real warnings a/n: So yeah...it's been a while. Sorry it took me so long to update this story and sorry it's so short but I wanted to bring this one back into the light. I know I keep on saying the ball is in the next chapter but it really will be in part 12 I promise. I wanted to make this chapter longer but I figured I made you guys wait long enough...plus I needed to reintroduce something I spoke about in the first chapter. Start from the beginning

The next couple of days go by in a blur. 

Extra long lessons with Jungkook after my seemingly never ending lectures have my head pounding. 

"Miss y/n?" my professor calls me over to his desk, finishing up my last lecture before I have to go see Jungkook. "Yes?" I ask and wait patiently for him to hopefully get to thee point sooner rather than later. 

"The submission deadline for the writing contest is this weekend. Have you submitted your piece?" he asks, looking up at me through his glasses from his seated position.

I curse at myself internally, having completely spaced about it.

"I haven't but I plan on doing so as soon as I can! The deadline is Sunday night right?" I pray, hoping that I'm correct. "It's Saturday night at 11:59 pm. Do you think you'll be able to complete it in time?" he questions, adjusting his glasses. 

"Yes, of course. They won't be holding the awards ceremony until next month though correct?" I ask and he hums, confirming my suspicions. "Should be around two or three weeks after depending on how many submissions they get" 

I nod and thank him once more for the opportunity and luckily the reminder as well and quickly rush out. I choose to text Jungkook this time the reason why I'll be a few minutes late again, hoping that'll keep him from nagging me about it too much

~~~~~

"You seem...distracted today" Jungkook points out, watching as I wondered off in thought for the fifth time today. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. What were you saying?" I ask, feeling guilty since he's gone out of his way to go through the guest list of the rsvp'd attendees of the ball this weekend. Making sure to tell me a little about each family to hopefully prepare me for the kinds of people that'll be there and how to compose myself around them.

"Let's take a break, otherwise you'll start mixing everyone up" he chuckles and sits down in a chair that's more or less facing me. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, tilting his head and taking note of the wrinkles between my brows as I'm clearly fighting some sort of internal battle that doesn't involve him today. 

"I have this writing contest that I had completely forgotten about and the due date is this Saturday" I sigh, slumping in my chair but this time he luckily doesn't scold me for it. 

"The same day as the charity ball..." he trails off and I nod, covering my face with my hands.

"He told me about it over a month ago" I grumble and Jungkook chuckles warmly at my inner turmoil. I groan as a response and he decides to not tease me about it anymore. 

After a while of sitting in silence he pulls my hands away from my face, making me glare at him as a response.

"Today is Tuesday correct?" he asks and I respond with a sigh of a small 'yes'. "I have an idea then" he says, peaking my interest. "Why don't we spend part of our time on our lessons and the rest of the time on your paper" he offers making my brows furrow.

"You'd do that for me?" I say, sitting up straight in my chair, trying to figure out if this is a joke or not but he simply nod.

"I don't see why not. You've been doing well in all of your lessons with me and I think you're more than prepared for the ball so there's no need to beat a dead horse. We'll just spend a little bit of our time getting to know the attendees and do a dance or two to keep you sharp and then I'll help you with your paper" he says and get's up to clear a space on his desk. 

"You'll help me?" I question, his willingness to sacrifice our lesson time for my extracurriculars surprising.

"I know it's important to you and if there's any way I could be of any sort of help to you then just let me know. You can work at my desk if you'd like" he says, picking up my bag that he knows has my laptop in it and bringing it over to said desk. 

It's times like these where he's sending me mixed signals of going from an etiquette teacher to someone who seems to truly care about me that makes me almost want to ask him questions like 'What are we?' or 'What are your intentions with me?' but even that last one is too open ended. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, when I haven't moved a muscle to walk over to his desk yet leaving me shaking my head in a way to get me out of my train of thought. 

"Yes. Sorry, yes I'm fine. I'm just trying to figure out what sort of topic I'd like to write about" I explain, owning up to what my partial train of thought might've been earlier. 

"Well what sort of contest is it? Is it for an article? A study?" he asks, going at it with a more academic approach, which makes sense in this case it's anything but that.

"It's creative writing. Basically anything from stories of love to poems of heartbreak to even the most suspenseful horror thrillers you could come across!" I say, getting more excited as time goes by, thinking about all the possibilities and topics I could write about. 

Picking one though is going to be difficult.

"Have you chosen your genre yet?" he asks and I plop myself down on his desk chair, sighing and opening up the blank document that I've been staring at off and on for weeks. 

"You haven't even started it?" he sighs and I shake my head, disheartened at the thought of waisting so much of my precious free time with nothing to show for it.

"What do you usually write about?" he asks, helping me work through the creative process. "Mostly love stories" I sigh and when I look up at him I see him smiling down at me, "Don't laugh" I glare and he holds his hands up in surrender. 

"I wasn't laughing, I was smiling. There's a difference" he smirks and brings a chair over to sit near me. "Yeah well don't do that. It makes me feel like you're mocking me for being a lovesick schoolgirl" I grumble and he chuckles. 

"Aren't you?" he says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin on his fist, giving me that infuriatingly attractive grin he knows does wonders on a girl's nervous system. "No, I'm not. Now would you please be quiet if you're not going to be helpful" I huff, pulling the flyer out of my bag and giving it a once over. 

"Okay enough with the teasing I'll help" he says and looks over my shoulder to check it out as well before I hand it to him and go looking through my Pinterest board to see if I can find some inspiration.

"Have you ever written a love story set in the eighteen hundreds? Something to do with kings and queens? Princes and Princesses?" he suggests and I know for a fact that I haven't. "Isn't that a little too cheesy with the whole fairytale kind of route?" I say, pointing out how cliché it would be.

"Not if I help you" he offers and I look at him suspiciously. "What sorts of people do you think I would have to study in order to be a proper etiquette teacher?" he says, his words answering the question I had telepathically asked. 

"I guess you'd be the perfect collaborator in that respect" I admit and he nods and moves his chair closer making me lean away from him as a response. 

"You know I don't bite pretty now come on, we've got some work to do" he taunts, slipping in that pet name he knows messes with my head, leaving me scoffing in response before turning back to the blank document staring me in the face on my computer screen. 

~~~~~

The next two days we do just as he had said, spending an hour or two on my lessons and the rest on my story. However rushed it is I feel like it's my best story yet. 

The research on the time period has been simple since Jungkook's had all the answers and if not he finds them out for me, making this whole piece seem even more authentic.

When I take breaks Jungkook pours over the text, doing edits here and there and talking me through the scenes to help formulate some parts a little more artistically, making the regal setting come to life. 

Friday has been a different story, as both deadlines approach us the time we have left is in conflict of where our priorities should lie.

"We can skip our lesson today" Jungkook finally says after I've put my heels on. "But tomor-" "You're ready" he say, cutting me off mid sentence. "Spend the rest of your time on your story" he smiles softly and places a hand on my shoulder before leaving the room, no doubt to get us some sustenance to keep us going.

Something about the interaction made my heart flutter. His confidence in me as well as his want for me to spend time on something I'm truly passionate about makes a sort of funny feeling settle in my stomach. 

Am I-?

"Black or green tea this time?" he asks, coming back into the room with a little tray of food and tea pot ready to envelop the tea leaves of choice. "Black please, I need all the energy I can get" he chuckles and does just that, adding a few scoops to the pot before closing the lid and letting it steep. 

"Were you able to work on it again once you went home?" he asks, bringing my bag over to his desk and pulling my laptop out for me. "I did but it's hard to work on it without yo- without being here" I say, not wanting to admit that I in some way needed him, my cheeks heating up at the slip up.

"Right" he smiles, not sparing me a glance as he plugs in my charger and pulls the chair out for me. 

"Is everything alright?" he asks once he sees my hesitance in coming closer but I shake my head and as a result shake myself out of the headspace I had allowed myself to trail into.

"There's nothing to be nervous about" he says, reading me perfectly like he always does. "What if it's not good enough?" I sigh, my hands resting in my lap, not making moves to reach for the keys. 

"It's a beautiful story told from the heart about a love so true one could only dream to experience something so heartbreaking" he says and his compliment however sincere seems unable to reach me now.

Once he's seen my head droop further he turns my chair around and crouches in front of me, tilting my chin up the slightest bit. "Your writing is beautiful. Anyone who's eyes get to land on a single word of yours should thank their lucky stars" he says making me smile just the slightest bit.

"There she is" he says with a warm tone, one I had never heard before making my heart flutter once again. 

"Now come on" he says spinning me back around to face the screen. "We've got a deadline to meet do we not?" he says and places his hands on my shoulders as a way to show some confidence and solidarity, believing in me until his last breath.

"We do indeed" I chuckle softly and finally rest my fingers upon those familiar keys.

prev / next Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in the comments 💜

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[champagnevi]

˚. totally my type —jeon jungkook ✧ ˚.

[ about. two dumb friends finally getting closer. ] ★ :inc. swearing, them being blind and idiots, genre. smau, crack, f2l

[bighitfics]

jeon jungkook fanfics that deserve to be turned into kdramas and selling books.

(a recommendation you badly need) ⭑.ᐟ

Sauvage ౨ৎ by @tljunglebook

— grumpy x sunshine, cold and detached jungkook (who turns into a whipped puppy later on) office romance, slow burn.

(starting off strong! this book’s got the most delicious slow burn to ever exist! screaming at how sexy, dirty minded, down bad & protective for oc jungkook’s in this fic ugh the wattpad girlies already know that they’re my adopted parents)

10 Seconds ᥫ᭡ by @deepdarkdelights

— yandere jungkook, abduction, stalking, stockholm syndrome.

(this series is my first love, i would do anything to read this for the first time again!)

Penpal 𓍯𓂃 by @laughing-with-god

— yandere prisoner jungkook, stalking, breaking in.

(gotta contact some directors and producers to turn this into a drama! it would slay so hard with its refreshing plot line! and tbh no words are enough to describe her writing abilities, she’s a pro✨)

Risqué ✧˖° by @mercurygguk

— age gap, forbidden romance, smut, angst.

(the time stamps and drabbles are the essence of this fic, the smut is so well written! ALSO THE SEGSUAL TENSION AND OVERALL YEARNING MA’AM!? can someone already turn this into a mini netflix series please!?)

About Time ִ࣪𖤐 by @yoonia

— time travel au, major angst, second chances, smut, fluff.

(if i had the chance to devour a book, i’d eat this one (obviously) it’s one of the best books of my life, i would die to see a live version of this)

I Want You To Stay ʚɞ ⁺˖ by @ahundredtimesover

— ceo jungkook, strangers to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut.

(no slow burn ever slow burned the way this story slow burned! lemme warn ya’ll this fic will keep getting better as you read it!)

Bride Of Devil ♰ 𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ by @jasminefanfics

— dark romance, gangster au, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, age gap, kinda yandere husband jungkook.

(my youtube fanfic girlies assemble! this is the best mafia jungkook fic i can recommend for ya’ll! the bgm is so addictive and perfect)

An Abundance Of Luck And A Sprinkle Of Fate 𐙚 by @borathae

— strangers to lovers, romance, found family, smut, angst, healing.

(I remember being unhealthily obsessed with this lord, aaol!kook & oc will forever be my babies TT this book tugs at your heart in a way that’s inexplainable)

ps — have a good read girlies <3

follow for more.

[writesvani]

down low — jeon jungkook

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

friends with benefits au, situationship au

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: porn with plot, smut, angst, dry humping, fingering, jerking off, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, choking, spanking, slapping (light), hair pulling, biting (light), doggy, missionary, sideways, cowgirl, shower sex, mirror sex, cheating, semi-public sex, club toilet sex, unprotected sex (stay safe, please), discomfort, lying, manipulating, gaslighting, explicit scenes, explicit language, fighting, substance abuse (weed, cigarettes, alcohol), angst no comfort, seriously fucked up characters

word count: 40-50k(ish), still editing it

chapter index ^᪲᪲᪲

— chapter one: u up? (coming on April 10th)

— chapter two: I See Her

— chapter three: Say My Name

— chapter four: Thinking About You

— chapter five: In Your Eyes ; FINAL

drabbles + extras ^᪲᪲᪲

— red polo shirt (pending...)

— don't cut your hair (pending...)

— DL playlist (soon...)

the drabbles in this story are part of the DownLowVerse, so i highly recommend reading them to get a deeper understanding of the plot. as the story unfolds, new drabbles will unlock, and they’re designed to enhance the experience. i suggest reading the chapters in order, and in the author’s notes, i’ll let you know when’s the best time to dive into each drabble, as they’ll be posted after certain chapters.

but don’t worry — reading the drabbles isn’t a MUST. they won’t change the story, but they’ll add extra layers to it, helping you connect with the narrative in a more meaningful way.

DISCLAIMER:

Listen, if I did own Jeon Jungkook, I wouldn’t be writing this fic—I’d be too busy staring at him in awe like a fool. But alas, I do not. BTS? Also not mine (shocking, I know). This is purely fiction, and if you think this is an accurate representation of Jungkook or any BTS member, I have some bad news for you. This is a toxic, messy, morally questionable story born from my weird imagination, not a documentary. So don’t take it seriously, and for the love of all things holy, don’t send this to the real Jungkook. Let’s keep our delusions in this safe little corner of the internet, okay? Cool. Now, enjoy the chaos.

all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[buryhny]

here's this month's top 10 best Jungkook fan fics, [ for Jan ]

.☘︎ ݁˖ make you mine by @mercurygguk

friends to lovers ; college au ! slow burn | 37k wc

.☘︎ ݁˖ meraki by @taegularities

enemies to lovers ; grumpy x sunshine | 26k wc

.☘︎ ݁˖ limerence by @kooktrash

exes to lovers | 18k

.☘︎ ݁˖ not in that way by @girlygguk

childhood f2l's | 30k wc

.☘︎ ݁˖ i don't mind by @bratkook

strangers to lovers ; band au | 66k

.☘︎ ݁˖ bewitching by @taaegularities

fwb ; vampire au | 10k wc

.☘︎ ݁˖ between takes by @jeonstudios

pornstar au | series [ the best fic everrr! ]

.☘︎ ݁˖ coquet by @shina913

fake boyfriend ; escort au | series

.☘︎ ݁˖ one night stand by @buryhny [ me!! ]

enemies to lovers ; ceo au! | 150k wc

.☘︎ ݁˖ wait for your love by @spideyjimin

parents au ; firefighter! | 17k wc

like my recommendations? check my monthly reading list.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch18

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

content warnings: jk is beggingggg. he ALMOST drunk drives ( nari is a lifesaver ) manhandling… by nari?????? ANGST. nari tries making jk jealous but it makes oc more upset idk lol, NARI IS SO FUCKIN MEAN GUYS!!! SHES SO MEANNN!!!! i lowkey felt bas for jk ngl… but it has to happen. uhh, mentions of sex?? no smut tho </3

wc: short

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

masterlist , < prev | next >

You wake up dead. Not literally. But you may as well be. Your body feels like lead, your head is pounding, and your throat is drier than the Sahara Desert. You blink at the ceiling. Then you groan.

From beside you, Nari lets out the most disturbing croak of a sound.

“Why the fuck am I alive?” she rasps.

You roll over and check your phone. Big mistake. Because— Jungkook.

Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

Your notifications are flooded. Messages all through the night. You squint at the screen, the words blurry from sleep.

Jungkook [1:02 AM] : babt, please answer.

Jungkook [1:02 AM] : r you drunk? Who are you with?

Jungkook [1:10 AM] : I knoj you hate me but please, please, please just andwer.

Jungkook [1:32AM] : I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorrt

Jungkook [2:30AM]: I miss you.

Jungkook [3:15AM] I can’t do this without you.

Jungkook [4:07AM] : I hate msyelf. I hate this. Please

And then—

The last one.

Jungkook [5:02 AM] : i love you.

Your stomach twists. It’s not normal—this amount of typos. He must have been drunk. Just like you were.

And it achingly reminds you of the night after the concert.

Nari groans again. “What time is it?”

You open your mouth—But before you can even breathe, she suddenly sits up. She sees your phone. Her eyes narrow.

“PUT. IT. DOWN.”

You jolt. “I wasn’t gonna check—”

“BULLSHIT.”

“I swear—” Nari glares.

You sigh dramatically, dropping your phone onto the bed. “Good,” she mutters, flopping back down. “Go back to being a hater.”

You groan again, dragging yourself out of bed. You’re an hour late to work already.

But honestly? Your boss is probably just happy you’re showing up at all.

——

As expected—

The second you walk in, your boss gasps. “My darlings!”

You and Nari both flinch at the volume.

“Where have you been?!”

You rub your temples. “Sick.”

He clutches his chest. “You poor baby.”

Then he turns to Nari. “And you?”

Nari deadpans. “Sick,” she says flatly.

Your boss gasps again. “My two precious angels, both at death’s door?”

He shakes his head dramatically.

“This is awful.”

You stifle a yawn. “Yeah, tragic.”

“Tragic!” he agrees, eyes shiny.

But luckily— That’s where the conversation ends. Because even your overdramatic boss can see that neither of you are in the mood.

So It’s back to work.

Nari tries to cheer you up.

She forces you to partake in your usual diner traditions—aka, ruthlessly making fun of customers.

“Okay,” she mutters, glancing around. “Where’s Smelly Man?”

You snort. Smelly Man—the nickname for the unfortunate regular who always forgets deodorant. You spot him near the entrance, scanning the menu like he doesn’t order the same thing every time. You sigh.

“Okay, rock, paper, scissors. Loser serves him.”

Nari raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’m gonna lose?”

You do not have the energy for this. You motion for her to just play. You both throw your hands out. Rock. Scissors.

You groan. She smirks. “Good luck, babe.”

You roll your eyes, trudging towards Smelly Man. But before you can even reach him—

The door chimes.

And then— You hear Nari mutter, “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t even have to look. You already know. Slowly, you turn your head.

And there is Jungkook.

Walking in.

Looking like absolute shit. You almost feel bad. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave.

Just scans the room with dark, tired eyes—And then sits at table three.

Nari bristles, you can practically see the fire ignite in her pupils, and then— you panic.

“Nari, please—” She ignores you. She slams down her notepad.

“I’m going over there.”

Your stomach twists.

“No, Nari, please—”

She turns to you, eyes blazing.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

And then— She marches towards him.

And you can only watch.

You step in the bathroom. You have to. Because if you stay in there—if you watch this unfold—

You’re going to lose it.

So, you push open the bathroom doors, the bell jingling behind you, and you take a deep breath of the warm, stuffy air.

It doesn’t help. Not at all. Because your mind is still racing.

Because Jungkook is right there.

Because Nari is about to destroy him.

And you?

You can’t handle either.

You lean against the tiles, eyes shut, inhaling slow, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.

But inside—

Nari is not going easy.

The notepad slams against the table. Jungkook flinches. His head snaps up—red eyes, dark circles, tear-stained cheeks. He looks—

Fucking awful.

But Nari? Doesn’t give a shit. She stares down at him, unbothered, arms crossed.

And Jungkook? Jungkook just swallows, voice so weak when he whispers “Is she okay?”

Nari scoffs.

Oh, now he wants to know?

She leans forward, mocking concern. “Oh! You care?!”

Jungkook flinches again. Nari tilts her head.

“Well, that’s fucking funny.”

Her voice drips with sarcasm.

“Didn’t seem like you cared when you sat across from her last night, smiling with her parents, knowing damn well you were lying to her.”

Jungkook winces. His hands fist on his lap. His voice shakes.

“Nari—”

“Three weeks, Jungkook.”

She’s seething. Her glare is deadly.

“You had three weeks.”

Jungkook sniffs, shaking his head. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, please,” she snaps. “Save the tears. I don’t give a fuck.”

And yet— Jungkook keeps crying. Right in front of her. Face crumpled. Eyes downcast. Hands trembling. He deserves this. But, even Nari isn’t totally immune to a crying man.

She rolls her eyes, groaning.

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

Jungkook wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Nari snatches her notepad off the table.

“What do you want?”

Jungkook just blinks. “What?”

“To drink, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, wait—”

She clicks her tongue.

“Actually, don’t even answer. I already know.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. She storms off. And minutes later, she’s back— Slamming down his usual.

Iced Americano. The exact way you always make it for him. But it doesn’t taste the same.

Jungkook knows it immediately. The ice is wrong. The coffee is bitter. It’s not yours. And for some reason— Even that makes his throat close up.

Nari storms into the bathroom.

You jump.

“What—”

She grabs a paper towel.Wipes her hands aggressively. You blink. Then— “What happened?”

Nari pauses. Then— She sighs. “Fine.”

She tells you everything. Quick. Blunt. Spiteful.

You listen, heart twisting, fingers trembling. And Nari grins. A dangerous grin.

“Oh, I have an idea.”

You squint. “What?”

Nari smirks. She lunges. Before you can process, she’s already— Hiking up your skirt.

“Nari—!”

“Shut up.”

She rips your tights.

“What—!”

She ruffles your hair.

“Mmm, needs to be messier.”

She licks her thumb.

Smudges your lipgloss.

And then— She grabs your face. Grins at her work.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

You stare.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Nari’s eyes glint.

She spins you towards the mirror. You gasp.

Because—

Oh. Oh, no.

You look like… you just got railed.

Your skirt is shorter. Your tights are ripped. Your lips are smudged. Your hair is a mess. And then—

The worst part.

The door opens to the mens bathroom. Another guy walks out. Some random man. Nari grabs your shoulders. She pushes you out—

At the exact same time as him.

And—

Jungkook sees.

Jungkook stills. His grip tightens around his cup. His jaw locks. Because there you are—

Looking fucked out. And there’s a man walking next to you. At the same time. Jungkook’s stomach sinks. His eyes flicker to you. And you?

You look right at him. And then— You walk right past. Not sparing him a single glance.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook has never felt worse. Even though he knows Nari is behind this. Even though he can see her smirk. Even though he can hear her whisper—

“Fucking go, bitch.”

Even though he knows this isn’t real. It still hurts. More than anything. Because the truth is— Even if it was real? Even if you had moved on? He couldn’t even be mad. Because he deserves it. Because he did this. Because he lost you. And there’s no one to blame. But himself.

A few minutes later, you’re behind the diner, hands gripping the brick wall, trying to breathe.

Trying to fix whatever the fuck Nari just did to you. Your skirt is still too short. Your tights are still ripped. Your hair looks like you just rolled out of bed. And you? You want to kill her.

You spin around. Eyes narrowed and huff— “Nari—what the fuck was that?”

Nari just leans against the wall, arms crossed, grinning. You glare.

“I swear, if you ever—”

“Shh, shh, shh.” She tilts her head towards the window. “Look at him.”

You don’t. But Nari does. And oh—

She is so pleased with herself. Because Jungkook looks— Like he’s about to combust. He’s still at his table, jaw tight, hands shaking around his coffee, staring like he wants to die. Like he hates every second of this. Like he’s mad.

You glance. For just a second. And then you smirk.

Nari gasps, clutching her chest like a proud mother.

“Bitch,” she whispers. “You did not.”

And then— You giggle. At first, just a little. Then Nari giggles. And then suddenly— You’re both laughing.

Even though your heart still hurts.

Even though there’s still this heavy weight in your chest. Even though nothing is actually okay. For this one moment, you laugh.

And Nari?

Nari is just happy she could make you.

——

You leave early.

You weren’t supposed to. But— You just can’t do it anymore. Can’t keep up the act. Can’t keep pretending you’re okay.

So, you slip out when your boss isn’t looking.

(Not that it’s hard. The man is oblivious as hell. He once lost his own car and took an Uber home.)

And Nari— She doesn’t even try to stop you.

She just watches you go, lets you leave, and picks up your shift without a word. Because like always—She understands. She knows you need to be alone.

——

It’s closing time. The chairs are flipped onto tables. The floors are being swept. The lights are dimming. And yet— Jungkook is still there. Still sitting at table three. Still staring at his full iced Americano. Hasn’t taken one sip. Hasn’t moved in hours.

Just… sitting there.

Nari sighs, tossing her rag onto the counter. She marches over. Stops in front of him. Hands on her hips.

“Are you gonna leave or what?”

Jungkook winces. Nari rolls her eyes.

And then— She notices. His eyes are bloodshot. His lashes are wet. The bags under his eyes are darker than ever. And suddenly—It clicks. He’s been crying this whole time.

She pauses. And then— “Oh.”

She smirks. Fucking perfect.

“Sorry,” she says, voice sickly sweet. “Forgot you’re leaving in three weeks.”

Jungkook flinches again. And then— His face crumbles. And he cries. Even harder.

Nari sighs, dragging a mop across the floor.

“Do you wanna get locked in here or what?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. At first, he just sits there. Then, suddenly he blurts “I’m sorry.”

It’s a whisper. Then a murmur. Then a desperate plea.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”

Nari freezes. Hands tightening around the mop handle. Jungkook doesn’t stop.

“I love her, Nari.” His voice is wrecked. “I love her, I love her, I love her—”

Nari scoffs. Crosses her arms. “So fucking what?”

Jungkook flinches. And then— He breaks.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, hands in his hair, fingers gripping at his scalp like he’s physically trying to hold himself together.

“I didn’t tell her because I love her so much,” he whispers. “I didn’t tell her because I was so fucking scared—”

Nari laughs. Cold. Sharp.

“You didn’t tell her because you were selfish.”

Jungkook nods. No excuses. No protests. Just pure defeat.

“I know.” His voice cracks. “I know.”

Silence.

Nari watches him, then, “…You fucked up, Jungkook.”

Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

“I know.”

“I really don’t…know if you can fix this.”

Jungkook lifts his head. His eyes—god. They’re red. Bloodshot. Fucking haunted.

“But,” Nari continues, voice softer now. “She hasn’t told me directly, but…” She sighs. Leans forward. Looks Jungkook right in the eye. “As much as this is so fucked up, I know she loves you.”

Jungkook’s breath catches. Nari’s gaze doesn’t waver. “And I know you love her.”

Jungkook nods. Frantic. Desperate.

“But what you did…” Nari swallows. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to come back from that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods again. Wipes his face. Drags his fingers through his hair. “I know.”

Silence again. Then— A sigh. “You have three weeks, right?”

Jungkook jerks his head up. Eyes wide. Hopeful.

“Yes.”

Nari leans back. Crosses her arms.

“You have three weeks to fix this.” Jungkook inhales. Then— She smirks. “But I’m not helping you.”

Jungkook shoots up from his chair, nearly trips over it in his rush to leave— And Nari laughs.

Hard.

“Holy shit, you loser.”

Jungkook’s face flares red. But— He doesn’t care.

⸻

Jungkook is still in his car parked outside the diner.

His hands shake against the steering wheel. His head pounds. His heart feels shattered. It’s been—what? Half an hour? Maybe more? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he’s never felt this kind of pain before. And maybe— Maybe if he just drives— The thought barely settles before—

BANG BANG BANG.

Jungkook jumps. His blurry vision focuses.

And there is Nari. Standing outside his car. Raging. Her face is pure fury. She pounds on the window again, harder this time.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”Jungkook doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move.

She notices. The bottle. In his hand. On his lap. On the fucking driver’s seat, and her stomach drops.

“Jungkook,” she says, voice suddenly dangerous. “Open this door.”

Jungkook sniffs. Rolls the window down, his movements slow, sluggish.

“…What?” His voice is slurred.

Nari’s blood boils. “Are you fucking—are you fucking serious?!”

She yanks at the handle, but it’s locked.

“Open the door.”

Jungkook ignores her. Rolls the window back up. Wrong move. Because now— Nari loses it.

“DON’T FUCKING IGNORE ME!” she roars. “I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL BREAK THIS WINDOW.”

Jungkook hesitates. And then— He sighs. Reaches over. And, Click. Unlocks the door.

Nari yanks it open, immediately ripping the bottle out of his grip and tossing it across the parking lot, landing with a loud shatter. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands.

Jungkook slouches in his seat. Stares at his lap. Doesn’t answer. Nari seethes. “You were actually gonna fucking drive like this?”

Jungkook shrugs. Shrugs.

Like he didn’t just almost make the dumbest decision of his life. Like this is all just some minor inconvenience.

“What would Y/N think?” She snaps. Nari sees red.

Like, pure fucking red.

Jungkook’s breath catches. She leans down. Gets right in his face. “What would she think if she caught you doing this shit?”

Jungkook winces. Doesn’t—can’t—look at her.

“You’re not helping anything,” she presses. “Stop being so fucking pathetic.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens. And then— He cracks.

Nari exhales sharply and yanks open the passenger door. She throws herself into the seat, slamming it shut. Hedoesn’t even react. Still crying. Still looking like he’s about to completely fall apart.

Nari glares. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

Jungkook sniffles. Doesn’t say anything.

“Like, I knew you were dumb,” she continues, voice sharp. “But this? This is next level.”

Still—nothing. Jungkook just stares down at his lap, his chest heaving, his eyes red-rimmed and empty. Nari folds her arms.

And then—

“You sound exactly like her.”

Nari freezes. Her breath catches. But then—She scoffs.

His whole body trembles. Nari watches him carefully. She’s still fucking pissed, but, there’s something gut-wrenching about seeing him like this. He’s not just crying. He’s grieving. She sighs. Then—

“Listen,” she says, voice softer now. “I know this shit hurts.”

Jungkook flinches.

“But you can’t sit here,” she continues, “drinking whiskey like it’s water, acting like this wasn’t your fault.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. Like he doesn’t want to hear it. But Nari doesn’t let up.

“Because it is your fault,” she says bluntly.

Jungkook nods. Just— Nods. Like he’s already told himself this a thousand fucking times. Like he knows. Nari sighs again. Leans back in the seat. Glances over at him.

“Are you done yet?” she asks.

Jungkook sniffles. Nods again. She gives him a look.

“Then let’s go.”

Jungkook hesitates. He wipes his face with his sleeve. Then looks at her—finally looks at her—his gaze desperate, pleading.

“…Where?” Nari tilts her head.

And then— She shakes her head.

“You think I’m gonna let you drive?” she scoffs. “Move your fucking ass. I’m driving.”

She drags him out of his seat, swapping quickly.

Nari is still mad. Like, really mad. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t gonna bask in the luxury of Jungkook’s fancy ass car.

“Damn,” she mutters under her breath, adjusting the seat so she can sit even more comfortably. “No wonder she kept you around.”

Jungkook barely reacts. Still slumped in the passenger seat. Still looking like he’s about to burst into tears again. Nari rolls her eyes and runs her fingers over the ridiculously high-tech dashboard.

“So,” she says casually. “Where to?”

Jungkook sniffs, “…Her apartment.”

Nari immediately scoffs. “Fuck no.”

Jungkook turns his head, slow and sluggish. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please, Nari—”

“I said no.”

Jungkook groans, slumping even further into his seat, letting his head fall back against the headrest. And then— He starts talking. Like, really talking. Slurry, emotional talking.

“You know,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut, “she—she really didn’t know who I was that first day.”

Nari glances at him. Silent. Letting him speak.

“And I—I thought she was fucking with me, right?” Jungkook sniffs. “Like—like I really thought she was lying, ‘cause who doesn’t know BTS? We’re fucking BTS.”

Nari rolls her eyes. “Jesus.”

“But she really didn’t know,” Jungkook breathes, voice cracking. “She just—she just served me.”

Nari taps her fingers on the wheel.

“I watched her wipe down the counter,” Jungkook says suddenly, voice distant, like he’s lost in the memory. “Like, she didn’t even fucking look at me, Nari. I don’t think I’ve ever been ignored so hard in my life.”

Nari snorts.

“She made me pay for my food.”

Nari bursts out laughing. “Oh, shit.”

Jungkook smiles.

Just for a second. Then—

“She’s so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles. “Like, like even when she’s mad at me. I—”

His voice wavers. Nari tightens her grip on the wheel. And then, Jungkook suddenly groans, throwing an arm over his face.

“Fuck,” he says, all raspy and desperate. “She—she was so soft the other night, Nari. You don’t even fucking know.”

Nari immediately tenses.

“What.”

“She—she was crying—”

“Jungkook.”

“She was holding onto me—”

“Jungkook, shut the fuck up—”

“And I just—”

“STOP—”

“—had to make her come so hard she couldn’t even think.”

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

Nari slams her feet on the breaks. Jungkook lurches forward, slamming into the seatbelt. He winces. Nari just stares at him. Stares at him like he’s lost his fucking mind.

Then— “WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT?!”

Jungkook bursts out laughing. It’s messy laughter, cracked and broken, still stained with sadness. But it’s real.

“I don’t know!” he cackles. “I don’t fucking know anymore, Nari! I don’t!”

Nari groans, rubbing her temples.

“Just take me home,” Jungkook giggles.

“Gladly,” Nari mutters, aggressively selecting his address on the GPS.

Jungkook knocks out the second Nari gets on the city road.

Like, fully slumped in the passenger seat, mouth parted, completely gone. Nari sighs.

Typical.

By the time they finally pull up to his building, she’s already bracing herself for what’s to come. Getting Jungkook into his apartment is going to be a fucking mission.

“Alright, dumbass,” she mutters, shifting into park.

Jungkook doesn’t move. Nari groans. She unbuckles herself, steps out, slams the door behind her, and then yanks his door open.

Nothing. He’s still dead to the world.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

With a lot more effort than she’d like to admit, Nari drags him out of the car, managing to sling one of his arms over her shoulder.

A pause.

Because oh shit.

She’s standing in broad daylight, very publicly manhandling Jeon Jungkook in front of his luxury apartment building.

Fuck.

She immediately scrambles to grab whatever disguises she can find. Digs through his cup holder. Finds a black mask. Pulls it on. Grabs one of his oversized caps from the back seat. Shoves it over her head. Still in her work uniform.

She looks fucking insane.

Jungkook stirs. Slowly opens his eyes. Squints at her.

And then—

He fucking giggles.

Nari immediately smacks his stomach.

“Shut the fuck up, you dumbass,” she hisses. “This is your fault.”

Jungkook just laughs harder.

“You look crazy,” he mutters, voice still laced with sleep.

Nari grits her teeth.

“Yeah?” she deadpans. “Well, you are crazy. Now move your fucking feet.”

Somehow—somehow—she manages to get him inside. It takes way too long. By the time they reach his door, Jungkook is swaying, struggling to get his keys out of his pocket.

Nari watches him fumble. Waits.

Waits.

And then— “Oh my fucking God.”

She snatches the keys out of his hands. Unlocks the door. Shoves him inside. Jungkook stumbles, but catches himself on the couch, blinking at her like a dazed idiot. Nari glares.

Then—

“Three weeks, Jungkook.”

Her voice is sharp. Unforgiving.

“Fix it.”

Jungkook’s expression shifts.

Something flickers in his eyes.

And then—

The door slams shut.

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

────୨ৎ────

content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

────୨ৎ────

Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.